His pipe was broken too, with a piece of tape holding it together. He lit it, cranked up the gramophone and out came the voice of an Arab singer from the 1940s, the same one that my grandfather used to listen to in Lebanon. For a moment I was no longer a photographer shooting ruined Aleppo. I was a boy in my mountain village, my grandfather sitting on the sofa in the afternoon listening to the “belle epoque” songs of Arab music.

That image is amazing. How powerful music is, emerging from that quiet little gramophone. No, I think it’s exactly because it comes from a quiet little gramophone…
Read the article here: AFP Correspondent