Bildkollektion
Snipers' Life in Aleppo by Stanley Greene | NOOR
Snipers' Life in Aleppo - Iyad is 32, a broken expression nestled in strong muscles, he was a carpenter. "My workshop is at the end of the corner," he tells you, even if at the corner there's but a slid ceiling, the stump of a wall, and even if he now is a sniper, two hours per day, every day, he sleeps here, a mattress and a blanket next to a door's skeleton, his brother died his father died, his best friend died, everybody died, his two-year-old daughter died, in his Nokia the photo of her body covered in blood, and now he is a sniper, that's all, two hours per day shielded by sandbags, you look through the hole where he shoots from and the helmets of the last soldiers he hit are still there, in the street. - Whatever your question is, the answer is the same. But how do you feel, you ask him, the first time? and he shows you his daughter's body - while a man wheezes, in your gun sight, what do you think?, and he shows you his daughter's body, you ask him: but once all this will be over, what will you do? and what kind of Syria will come? and only his daughter's body, only blood that trickles - until he tells you: anything else to know?, and he puts his mobile away, and he goes back to shooting. (Text by Francesca Borri)