Contemplation
Burkina Faso (West Africa) 2001
Blind now. Old and alone, she sits in her tiny home lost in thought. Despite her handicap, she takes care of herself. Her dress is freshly laundered. Her home is clean: her possessions neatly stacked in the way of every good Burkina Faso woman. She agrees to let us enter to see her home, but she does not acknowledge us.
The stacked bowls and other items are her pride and joy. Her fetish hangs to her left and her other possessions, mainly cooking utensils, were placed neatly along the wall. She has not given up.
The small homes in the village are made of adobe or mud mixed with straw. The women of the village take great pride in painting designs on the outside of the hut. The doors to the hut are low. We had to crouch to enter and immediately we encountered a low wall which we had to climb over. It’s the Burkina Faso defense mechanism. If an intruder enters, he is vulnerable to a blow on the head as he enters.
The houses have no window, only the light from the door. I had no flash so I waited until the other tourists had left and I used the light from the door which luckily fell on the woman.