Through the Lens of Resilience Accidents are termed miracles when they end well. My miracle occurred during a storm so severe it made roads impassable, creating a long traffic jam in many parts of town, including where I lived with my aged mother in a house desperately needing a paintbrush. This house, sheltered thirty families, all varying in their degree of disrepair. My mother, with her leathery skin and eyes that could pierce, seeing through souls without judgment. The flash flood’s fury was somewhat mitigated by a marsh near our home, beyond which lay a forest, the town's unofficial dumpsite of both human and material refuse. I knew the rains were coming; I saw the clouds outside the mosque after my prayer, but I had planned the photo shoot and the YouTube video I watched earlier spurred me on. I kept hearing his voice "If you are 25, you have 25 reasons to fight on". Donning a scarf, I grabbed my camera and ventured out, drawn by the toads’ croaks, as I had