Reclusive
Mali, somewhere in the Sahara between Araouane and Tombouctou, 2001
Our guide’s keen eye spotted this white Touareg tent even though it blended into the grayish white sands of the desert. Just one family occupied the tent…an old man, a few young boys and these women. The family’s other men were in the desert grazing their animals on the sparse vegetation.
The tent is made from white cotton woven in narrow strips by the Dogon people. You can see how the strips of woven cotton have been sewn together in the photograph. How does a cotton tent keep the rain out? It’s easy. The amount of rain in the desert is almost non-existant. It doesn’t matter if you can see the sky through the tent roof, the main purpose of the tent is for respite from the sun and protection from the wind.
When we arrived, our guide spoke to the old man who agreed to let us visit. Unlike a Moorish family, the Touareg did not begin preparing tea for their guests. To be fair, most likely they had none to spare. The nearest store was hundreds of miles across the unforgiving sands of the Sahara. Perhaps we should have made tea and shared it with them.
The tent was open on one side so it was easy to enter. The women shrank into the corner and lifted their head coverings to hide their faces. Touareg women do not veil, but covering the face is the same as going behind a closed door when you don’t have a door to close.
I loved the way they looked, all huddled together, with the light reflected from the sands bouncing off the shiny indigo fabric of their clothing. But I wanted more than hidden faces. I wanted an eye to show. I knew the Moroccan Arabic word for eye and began to say it over and over. I removed my shoes and entered their tent, much to the consternation of the other tourists, and began to shoot.
I don’t know if the women had a clue as to what I was saying, or maybe they just thought I was crazy and felt that they had to watch me.The younger women lowered the cloth from their eyes. They didn’t need to understand my words to know that I was pleased. I don’t know how many shots I got, but only a few are good. What if I had only take one shot? I would surely have missed it.
Fulani Mother and Child
This portrait of a young Fulan woman was shot in a market near the Mauritanian/Mali border. I don’t think she had ever seen a camera as she seems to be transfixed. The Fulani women in this area wore these attractive coin headdresses. I hadn’t seen that before. These were the days when I was shooting film. I’d get excited in situations like this one. I’d forget to adjust for the huge difference in the amount of light from under the market covers to the glaring sun of the street. I’d worry almost the whole trip about getting home and finding that none of my photos were properly exposed. Some were, some weren’t. You can see that I left the scratch on the slide made from sand entering the camera. Now there are plug-ins to simulate scratches. Heck. I’ve got the real thing!