Colombia: Waiting For The Grim Reaper?

Old Cofan Indian enjoying an afternoon nap in his wall-less hut in Colombia’s Amazon rain forest along the San Miguel River, a stone throw away from Ecuador.

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Vieil indien Cofan savourant une sieste dans sa hutte ouverte au vent en Amazonie colombienne, le long de la rivière San Miguel, à un jet de pierre de l’Ecuador.  

Colombia: Leaving Home Toward A Brighter Future

In a poor neighborhood of Cali, Colombia, proudly observed by her parents, a little girl marches away from a loving home on her way to school. Faith in a brighter future is evident on this small family’s faces.

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En chemin vers l’école dans un quartier pauvre de Cali, en Colombie, une fillette s’éloigne résolument de parents qui l’observent de leur porte avec fierté. La foi en un futur meilleur est évidente sur leurs visages.

Sahel: Riding Home From The Well

 Tuareg girls in Niger’s Sahel riding home from the well with goat skins filled with water. The girl in front covered her head with the bowl they used to drink.

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Fillettes Touarègues du Sahel Nigérien retournant au camp avec des outres remplies d’eau. La première s’est coiffée du bol dont elles burent.

Sahara: Living With Camels

Little Tuareg girl of Niger’s Sahara holding a bowl under the udder of a she-camel her mother is milking on the other side. The baby camel had its share of the milk first, but is trying to push the girl aside to resume its suckling, which will be allowed later. The Tuareg of Niger have only camel milk for breakfast. For lunch and dinner they wet a millet porridge with more camel milk.

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Petite fille Touarègue du Sahara Nigérien tenant un bol sous le pis d’une chamelle que sa mère est en train de traire de l’autre côté de l’animal. Le bébé chameau, qui a déjà tété sa part du lait, en voudrait davantage et essaie de reprendre sa place au pis. La nourriture des Touaregs du Niger se limite à du lait de chamelle et a de la bouillie de mil.

Argentina: Patagonian Gaucho

This sheep-herding gaucho of Argentina’s Patagonia shows more than a little Mapuche ancestry in his eyes. He does not use the traditional black Zorro hat popular in the Pampa to the north because tempestuous winds would keep him running after it. On certain days or places he would need to pull his cap down so much that they would bend his ears down too. The Patagonian wind is so violent that, in 1984, having lost one of my two horses while crossing that vast empty green universe, it pulled so much water from my eyes that they would not let me scan the horizon.

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Ce gaucho éleveur de moutons de la Patagonie argentine laisse voir dans ses yeux qu’un peu de sang Mapuche. Il n’usait pas le traditionnel chapeau noir de Zorro, populaire dans la pampa au nord, car les vents tempétueux le feraient courir derrière lui tout le temps. Certains jours il devrait enfoncer sa casquette jusqu’aux yeux et sur ses oreilles. Ce vent est si violent qu’en 1984, ayant perdu l’un des deux chevaux avec lesquels je traversais la Patagonie d’océan à océan, il m’arracha tant d’eau des yeux qu’ils ne me laissaient pas scanner l’horizon.

Colombia: Beauty Hides In The Rain Forest

Little Noanama girl I found some years ago along the Choco’s Docordo River in Colombia. People living the ancient life have a natural grace that is rarer in our stressed modern world.

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Petite fille Noanama que j’ai connue il y a quelques années le long de la rivière Docordo, dans la forêt colombienne du Chocó. Les peuples qui vivent hors du temps retiennent une grâce rare aujourd ‘hui dans le monde moderne surmené.

Colombia: Daydreaming In The Rain Forest

Some years ago, when I left a canoe to follow a Noanama man to his garden in Colombia’s Choco rain forest from which he needed plantain bananas, his son lay down to daydream while awaiting our return.

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Il y a quelques années, quand j’abandonnai une pirogue pour suivre un indien Noanama à son jardin de la forêt colombienne du Chocó, d’où il ramenerait des bananes plantains, son fils s’allongea à se perdre en rêverie.

Huffpost: Death From Thirst in the Sahara

HUFFPOST Article:

DAKAR, Senegal -- DAKAR, Senegal (AP) — The governor of Niger's Agadez province confirms that 92 bodies have been recovered in the desert, after trucks ferrying migrants to Algeria broke down.
Col. Garba Makido told The Associated Press that the men, women and children died of thirst after being stranded in the punishing heat last month. Authorities were not alerted until a woman, who is among 21 known survivors, managed to walk to the city of Arlit, about 50 kilometers (30 miles) south of where the trucks broke down. The next day, Makido said, a father who had been walking with his two young daughters also arrived, though the children perished just before reaching the city.
The dozens of migrants were being smuggled along a well-established trafficking route to North Africa.

Sahel: Wilderness Innocence

The Azaouak Valley, in Niger’s Sahel, offers unexpected surprises like this lovely littleTuareg girl.

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La vallée de l’Azaouk, dans le Sahel nigérien, offre des surprises inespérées comme cette charmante petite fille Touareg. 

Unnerving Evening Door Knocks

Last Friday, October 25, at around 7 p.m., my wife Martha came down to my basement office, where I rarely see her.

     “Some people are knocking on the front door,” she said. “Very hard.”

     “Hard-knocking people cannot be friendly,” I replied. “Relax and let them knock until they tire of it. My brother in Belgium always rushes to his door when his bell rings (we removed ours), and it always ends up costing him money somehow. We’re not expecting the Nobel price and don’t play the lottery. And if by chance our neighbors think it’s time for us to rake again the leaves on our lawn, let them come back tomorrow morning.”

     Somewhat reassured, Martha went back upstairs to her own computer. But she was down again five minutes later.

     “They keep knocking,” she said. “So it could be important. What if it’s my cousin Juan Carlos driving by?”

     “And what if they are thieves?” I asked. “We know no one in town and the knockers can only be a nuisance. As for Juan Carlos, he would not visit us without giving us a buzz first. And he would call out your name. Look, there is no law forcing us to open our door to strangers at night.”

     Not quite convinced yet, Martha went back up. But five minutes later she was down again.

     “Now they’re knocking on the back door,” she said. "And now I’m scared.”

     Finally realizing Martha did need my help, I pulled myself from my desk and went up to spy on the knockers. Hiding behind a curtain I saw the back of a woman pulling away a little girl with a bow in her hair.

     “Who in the world...? I wondered, stunned.

     And then I knew. Whatever the reasons, our town’s Halloween was being celebrated nearly a week early, something I might have known had I read the local newspaper. The repeated knocks had been from different groups passing by. And as we had not prepared early for the event we had no candy to distribute. Embarrassed, we had to keep playing dead until 8 p.m.