Islamic calligraphry art in Turkey is like a puzzle, a challenge, says author

TRIPOLI, Lebanon — The calligraphies on the walls and the doors of the small mosque at the foot of the Tigris river in this predominantly Sunni Muslim country have a unique message.

It is a reminder of the centuries-long struggle between Islam and the West, said Muhammad al-Maghribi, who has spent the last five years documenting the calligraphys in the predominantly Sunni city of Makhmour.

Makhmours calligraphists, he said, are doing what they have always done: drawing the faces of people.

The first thing they do is draw the faces, and then the eyes, and the hair and all of that, and that is what they do.

It’s very, very simple, but they are doing it to keep the people of Maghours community together.

Makhour has about 2,000 mosques, most of which are built in the old Ottoman style, with the main mosque being built on the Tigri riverfront.

Its walls are decorated with Islamic calligraphic writing that traces the history of Islam, but it has no official symbols.

The mosque is the first in Lebanon to be built in a traditional style, and it is often the first to be renovated after being destroyed in the 1980s.

The calligraphers say that their calligraphic art is a way to show the Muslim community how to be united and to express their love for Islam.

A sign on the front of the mosque says, “This is not a mosque.

This is a mosque for Muslims to live in peace.”

Al-Makhribi is a Sunni Muslim from the eastern province of Ras al-Ain who is part of a community of mostly Shiite Muslims who call themselves “Maghouris.”

They are the only minority group in the country with a history of peaceful coexistence with the West.

He said they are very proud to have been called to the profession.

“We’re here to preserve this legacy of the people and the tradition of Mounir,” al-Tawil, the calligraphy teacher, said.

Since the 1980 war between Iraq and Iran, Makhouris have been trying to carve out their own identity and culture.

After the war, the area around Makhout and the nearby village of Salfik, home to about a quarter of Moulay Kebir, were occupied by the government.

For years, they have been living in makeshift homes, living off the land and collecting food.

They have been forced to flee to neighboring Lebanon, and al-Najjar, the largest town in the area, is now a ghost town.

Al-Nabjar is the only place where Makhounis live today.

The town is one of the last remaining areas of the former Ottoman Empire that is still under Turkish rule.

It was home to thousands of Middinites, a religious group who migrated from Turkey during the Ottoman Empire and lived in a nearby town called Tarsus until the Syrian Civil War.

Today, the only thing that remains of the Middins is the ruins of the town.

The remnants of the ancient Middiner village are strewn around the ruins.

The city has had a number of other ethnic groups that have lived there.

Many of them have been displaced by the Syrian conflict, and some of them fled to Turkey.

But there are also many who remain, and they want to live there.

They want to see their ancestors’ homes.

In Makhoud, the Makhomen are living in their ancestral village.

Makhorn, the local name, means “home.”

For decades, Maghoums lived in peace with the rest of the country, and many of them worked as teachers and gardeners, and enjoyed the freedom of living in the countryside.

They also loved to make their own crafts and take their own pictures and paintings.

But things changed in the 1990s, when the Syrian government cracked down on Makhoums for not following the strict interpretation of Islam.

The Syrian government then opened the country to them.

People were scared.

The authorities started cracking down on them, and so we began to lose our village.

That was a very scary time.

We were living in fear and we were trying to do what we could, to live our lives, to be peaceful, but we couldn’t.

The government started cracking us down and taking us away from our villages.

We were scared to even open our homes, but people started going to the border to take us away.

I felt like I was losing my family.

There were a lot of Mougheen, people who had been living together for years.

It felt like we were living under the