We met Reda on a farm in Bir Jdid, breaking horses for others. Originally from Safi, he belongs nowhere in particular he lives wherever horses are. First, you notice the long scar running down his face and the two missing fingers. Then, you notice the horses do not care. They simply walk to him and stand still.

We came to photograph horses, but found a man they had already placed their faith in. That first afternoon, we realized the real story lay in the space between Reda’s ruined hand and the animals that trusted it.

An ongoing project I am currently working on alongside Amal Moutawakil.