It all started with a sketchbook. Just me, a pencil, and some restless energy. I didn’t plan on becoming a muralist. I just wanted to draw. I’d sit by the sea, watching freedivers disappear into the blue, or wander through town soaking up all the textures—cracked walls, shadows from palm trees, the hypnotic patterns of Arabic tiles, cats lounging in sunbeams, and the wild chaos of color that is Dahab. The town pulses with life and chill vibes at the same time—it’s magical. And for someone like me, an introvert who prefers expressing thoughts through colors instead of words, it felt like the perfect canvas.
The first time I painted a wall, it was terrifying. What if I messed up? What if it looked bad? What if I got halfway and realized I hated it? But as soon as the first strokes of paint hit the wall, something clicked. It was like a dream opening up in real time. Suddenly, my art wasn’t just mine anymore—it was part of the town. People walked by, watched, asked questions, took selfies. Some even brought me tea (because this is Dahab, and kindness here flows like mint in the wind). I felt seen. Not in a flashy, spotlight way, but in a quiet, soulful way—like my work was speaking for me.
Every mural I paint has a little piece of my heart in it. Some are love letters to the sea, filled with dolphins, fish, and swirls of deep ocean blue. Others are about connection and community—Bedouin faces, desert spirits, cosmic creatures dancing under the stars. I like to mix it up. I don’t stick to one style because I’m not just one thing. I’m a little chaos, a little calm. A bit of soul, a bit of punk. I’ve painted murals on houses, hostels, coffee shops, even secret corners that only a few wandering eyes will ever find. And every time I finish a mural, I leave a little secret in it—something only I know. Like a symbol, a tiny message, or a brushstroke that went wrong but felt right.
Every mural I paint has a little piece of my heart in it. Some are love letters to the sea, filled with dolphins, fish, and swirls of deep ocean blue. Others are about connection and community—Bedouin faces, desert spirits, cosmic creatures dancing under the stars. I like to mix it up. I don’t stick to one style because I’m not just one thing. I’m a little chaos, a little calm. A bit of soul, a bit of punk. I’ve painted murals on houses, hostels, coffee shops, even secret corners that only a few wandering eyes will ever find. And every time I finish a mural, I leave a little secret in it—something only I know. Like a symbol, a tiny message, or a brushstroke that went wrong but felt right.
So if you ever find yourself wandering the alleys of this town, look around. You might just stumble upon a wall whispering a story in color. And that story… might be mine.
But maybe, just maybe, it could also be yours.
Because that’s the thing about murals—they don’t just belong to the artist. They live with the town. They belong to the barefoot kid who walks past every morning. To the traveler who stops mid-ride and stares for a second longer than expected. To the barista who makes coffee with my mural behind them. To the lovers who take a photo under the stars I painted. They become landmarks in people’s stories. Backgrounds to real life.
And I want to keep doing that—painting stories that stick, even after the paint fades. I want to fill Dahab (and maybe someday beyond) with walls that pulse with energy, tenderness, weirdness, wild joy. I want to keep learning, keep messing up, keep sweating through sunrises with a brush in one hand and a smile I can’t wipe off.
So if you ever feel like saying hi, asking about a piece, commissioning a mural, sharing an idea, or just talking about art, dreams, or how weirdly awesome donkeys are—reach out. Let's make something real together.
The journey’s far from over. In fact, I think it's just getting good.
📲 Let’s Connect!
If you want to commission a mural, collaborate on a project, or just say hi—hit me up!
📸 Instagram | 📍 Dahab, Egypt
