In the quiet early mornings, before the world stirs awake, Hamida Alqasmi lifts her camera to the sky. She watches how the light slowly spills over rooftops, how the shadows stretch and shift like memories. To most people, it's just a photograph. To Hamida, it's a way to breathe.
She wasn’t always a photographer. Once, she was a young girl in Syria; surrounded by the warmth of family and the quiet hum of everyday life, her heart brimming with dreams. But in 2013, everything changed. War shattered the walls of her home and the rhythm of her childhood, forcing her to flee and seek refuge in Jordan. The journey was long, uncertain, and heavy with loss. In the silence that followed, she carried with her the weight of grief, fading memories, and a thousand of unspoken emotions.
For years, she struggled to understand what had happened to her country, her family, and to herself. There were things she couldn’t explain, even to those closest to her. The trauma sat heavy in her chest, unnamed and unresolved. That began to change in 2023, when she stumbled upon a photography training offered by Pro Peace Jordan.
At first, it was curiosity. She had never touched a real camera before. But from the moment it rested in her hands, something shifted. It felt like a lifeline, a way to frame her world and begin to make sense of it. The training didn’t just teach her about light and shadow; it taught her how to see again. It even made her learn how to feel, how to express, and how to begin speaking a new language made of images.
Hamida learned to express her emotions through pictures in a workshop offered by Pro Peace.
Hamida, like many other refugees who had participated in this training found themselves connected. What made the training more meaningful to them, was the presence of the trainer, Mohammad Farraj, a Palestinian journalist who himself had fled to Jordan after years of reporting in conflict zones. For Hamida and the others, being in a room with fellow refugee participants and a refugee trainer who share the same struggles, created a space of deep understanding and shared resilience.
For Hamida, Farraj’s story of founding “Freedom Photographers,” an initiative inspired by Freedom Writers, where he worked with children in Balata refugee camp in Palestine, left her with amusement and hope. “When I heard him speak about turning pain into purpose, about helping kids find strength through a camera lens, I felt something click inside me,” she says. His words didn’t just inspire her, they gave her a roadmap. She began to dream of opening her own photography workshop, a kind of art therapy space where refugee women could use photography to express feelings they couldn’t put into words.
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The training was followed up with a photo exhibition, giving participants the opportunity to express what peace truly meant to them. It was a moving, unexpected collection of truths. For some; especially refugees; peace meant access to education, to work, or simply to services they had long been denied. Others depicted peace as harmony with animals, or as living in green, healthy environments. Some captured the essence of peace as the freedom to choose, to speak, to make decisions for oneself. It was a kaleidoscope of dreams and longings.
But Hamida’s photos stood apart. They were heavy, raw, almost haunting. In one, a girl sat behind the bars of a cage. In another, a figure with no mouth, unable to speak. There were no bright colors, only shadows. It turned out, Hamida had been telling her own story. A story of feeling trapped, voiceless and invisible. Through her lens, she finally gave those feelings a shape, a space, and a voice. Each click of the shutter helped her release a little of the weight she’d carried for so long. Sometimes, editing her photos, she would cry; not out of sadness, but because she could finally see what she felt.
Photography enables Hamida to process her experiences on the run.
But even as her passion turned into purpose, the realities of refugee life continue to loom large. Like many Syrians living in Jordan, Hamida faces restrictions that make formal employment nearly impossible. Most refugees are not allowed to work legally outside a few permitted sectors, and for women especially, the barriers are even higher; layered with social pressure, economic hardship, and limited access to opportunities. “You have the will, the skills, even the dreams,” she says, “but sometimes it feels like you're running in place.” The camera, in many ways, gave her a path that didn’t exist before, a way to work and to build something of her own despite the odds.
What began as a therapeutic outlet has now become a livelihood. Hamida works professionally, photographing weddings, portraits, and community events. Her clients admire her ability to capture emotion in its rawest, most honest form. But for Hamida, photography is more than a job; it’s a quiet rebellion, a way to reclaim her narrative.
Thanks to her trainer Mohammad Farraj, Hamida was able to find new strength through the camera lens.
When asked whether she dreams of returning to Syria, now that the situation seems to be improving, her answer comes slowly. Syria, she says, is stitched into her heart. But it’s also a place that carries both love and loss. “I’ve grown new roots here,” she says. “Jordan gave me space to heal, to become someone new. Although going back feels the natural thing to do, yet at the same time, it feels impossible. The scars are still tender, and the future is still uncertain”.
And yet, she dreams. She dreams of opening a studio; small, warm, full of light; where women like her can learn photography, can tell their stories without fear. She wants to create a space where creativity becomes healing, where silence is replaced by vision, and where cameras are tools of liberation.
Through her lens, Hamida has found something she never expected: herself. In every photo she takes there is a trace of her journey, a whisper of all she’s endured and all she hopes to become.
She may have left her home behind, but in the soft click of the shutter, in the glow of captured light, Hamida is building something new. Frame by frame, she is finding her way to heal.