I have a very soft spot for my father’s home country – Yemen.

The last time I traveled there in late 2013 was an emotional time. I could feel the ends of what I’ve known my whole life as Yemen and it was beyond my control.

 

I made a series of photos one evening called “Ghosts of Yemen,” not realizing that this would be the last time I’d see this place the way it was and always has been to me. Old, vibrant and majorly flawed. Power outages plagued these streets hourly, no clean water to keep the country or its people clean and hydrated, an immense amount of Qat chewing leading to a numbness of the people. A country so old, streets and corridors that have remained untouched since the beginnings of time. Yet I loved it so much.

I look back at these photos and truly see those ghosts. Knowing that everything I’ve photographed no longer exists the way it always has, these photos are all I have left and they now haunt me.

 

Some of these ghosts are more present than others, light and fleeting, just passing through. Others watch me, eyes that gaze, stinging like a burn that just won’t shake. I imagine these streets destroyed, crawling with fears, paranoia, and threats of another attack at any given moment.