We came on a photography trip — a small group, a local fixer, a security escort.

We arrived at sunset and stayed until dark, walking the narrow streets, stopping, watching. There were no formal introductions. Communication happened mostly through gestures and the universal language of a camera pointed with respect rather than urgency. Some people smiled. Some looked back with quiet suspicion. Some asked us to leave, and we did.

What surprised me was how quickly the camera became a way of being present rather than distant. There is something about looking through a lens that allows you to absorb what would otherwise be too much — the density of lives being lived in very little space, the colour and noise and smell of it all. Emotionally it wasn't easy. But I was in a flow, and the photographs happened.

I'd looked at the pictures that night in the hotel and realised I wasn't done — that I wanted to see it again in different light, with different eyes.

I came back the other day morning. The second visit was quieter, and in some ways more honest.