This is just one family of millions in Iran living under the poverty line. This is their ‘home’, a mixture of thatch, broken bricks and wood piled up to just build a simple shelter. When you go in through the door, you see the mother sweeping the house and the daughter, ashamed of being seen by a stranger, flees into the house.
 

 
At a corner of the yard, a water tank speaks of the family not having running water. The mother says a tanker comes once in a while and fills this water tank and the water is not filtered…
In this home whoever needs water can only resort to this source, from washing their hands, clothes or even dishes…

 
Of course when you talk about the food, you have to first listen to the mother’s hard feelings of the suffering she goes through seeing her children being hungry.
She opens the refrigerator and says, “I swear to God when my child goes out to play and comes back, I feel so ashamed because I know he is hunger. I just wish I could say Saeed, go and get something to eat from the fridge… but I can’t”. 

 
Most of the time the family’s meal is just bread and cheese with tea. She says, “Tea is so expensive that sometimes we have to use the same tea and brew it over and over again, or else we have to eat the bread chees with just hot water.”
 
At the corner of the room is a small TV and cassette player that is apparantly the only means of recreation that the children have. But the only thing shown in the TV programs is nothing bu the mullahs. One can’t even ask the children what kind of music they like?
 
This is some sort of a kitchen. Cooking is done on a small picnic stove. The mother of tha family is always quiet and says, “I wish I could have a stove oven. I like to learn how to make pastries…”
 
Mashallah, returning tired from a long days of work, enters the kitchen and with a concerned look to the picnic stove being on for too long, is staring at the fire. He wants to drink a cup of water and smoke a cigarette.
 
When he comes out of the kitchen with a very thin body, he taks a long and tired look and leans to the wall, saying my God, I would like to have my daughter play in the house, wear good clothing, go and learn how to make pastries, and learn everything that is good and enjoy her childhood. But…
 
I saw the most beautiful room of the house in the morning. Where little Saeed was leaning to a traditional back pillow and was staring at a glow of light outside the window for no reason at all.
What is Saeed thinking of?
What is he seeing?
Maybe a light at the end of the dark tunnel of life, feeling the heavy weight on his own shoulders!