The few weeks I spent in the USA over Christmas were not just a literal winter for me, but a symbolic one as well. The sort of winter where you’ve spent far too much time outside and you are chilled all the way through. The only thing to do is come inside and rest. Warm … Continue reading On Winter
In the morning, the crackling embers of the last night’s fire still glowed in the pre-dawn haze. I sat alone, but glanced toward the tents, behind me on the rise, just as the sun broke deep violet and burning orange across the horizon. Slivers of light crept down toward the savannah below, illuminating herds of … Continue reading Queen Elizabeth National Park
We cut through a clearing in the tall papyrus and there it stood, alone on a small grassy island. Blaeniceps rex, the shoebill stork. Continue reading Searching for the Shoebill
Agnes and Beatrice are two of the women I admire and respect most in Uganda. Not only are they incredibly hardworking and kind, they genuinely love beads. It’s a strange obsession- I have it too. Over the years, these two ladies have constantly shown a desire to learn. They spend nearly all of their free … Continue reading Agnes + Bea
Zwervend. It’s the Dutch word for wandering, though not quite the same as the English equivalent; it goes beyond aimlessness to carry a sense of being without a home, without roots. Home doesn’t mean any concrete thing, not to me. It is constantly being redefined. I was born on the East Coast of America, spent my early … Continue reading Why Zwervend?
Reality in the Danakil, then, is not a land or a people untouched by time, as the salt pans may appear at first glance, as our images pretend to capture. The truth is that it exists in the space between two worlds, or really one changing world, and waits uneasily to see what tomorrow will bring. Continue reading The Salt Miners of the Danakil
The smell of boiling acid wafted up from the bubbling technicolor sea below, burning my eyes and lungs and making me cough. “Come to this side,” a voice shouted toward our small group, “the wind is becoming too strong.” I picked my way across the crumbling rusted surface to higher ground and stopped to catch … Continue reading Dallol