The eyes sparkle like a mirror to the universe, which is hidden behind it. The mouth is smeared with food and the skin bears signs of the road. It is the deep look into the eye, which makes me freeze.
It is a suburb in Diyarbakir, the unofficial Kurdish capital in Turkey. The streets are the children’s playgrounds. Even without toys they have fun with just things. Catching and races are among the classics. Occasionally children sell handkerchiefs in small groups. The sense of community is obvious and keeps the memory of the children singing, playing and dancing on the street.