Invisible Barriers

Frank and Betty invited us to join their family for dinner during our stay in Konombe. I have an ample collection of images of their three daughters and a young boy friend that exude joy – bright eyes and big smiles, the oldest cocking a proud pose in front of her father's car... but I keep coming back to this image and this one. It's representative of our beginning. Their questions. The children had not yet eased into themselves. Curious. Unsure. Wondering what to think of these two Muzungus (white people) with their big cameras. It reminds me of the presence of invisible barriers we craft on instinct. And the power of trust to tear them down.

Unfolding

There's a certain amount of openness that's required. To let yourself feel the fullness of love. It's easy to hold back. To sit properly – upright – on the sofa with your legs crossed and your hands folded neatly in the comfort of your lap. To just look. To connect on an intellectual level, avoiding the intensity and vulnerability of human touch. I do this. But to see Jen unfold herself, opening her heart in this way not just with these children, but with nearly every person we touched, moved me.

Found in the Dark

Each night in Konombe around 6:45pm, the lights paused a slow off and on, ultimately leaving us in the dark for an extended period of time. "This happens," Alex explained to us that first night. "It is the same time each night." A young man entered the sitting room quietly with a flame. Tilting the candle, he let a drop of wax ease onto the center of the saucer and placed the candle on it, securing it in place. Had there not been darkness, I would have missed the beauty of this light.

What Else

They haven't seen their mother in almost four years, and I'm not sure if anyone remembers to tell them when this official document or that one means they're one step closer to being with her once and for all.

Still, without encouragement or the facts, they hold on. To each other, to the future, to the sound of her laughter echoing on the phone, a continent and ocean now removed.

And why not hold on? Stephanie and I say to each other as we begin to piece together the stories of their ancestors. These girls come from a long line of women who trust in the future, who believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's worth it to hold out for the life you were meant for, no matter how far away it feels or how preposterous it sounds.

What else could you possibly hope for?

Just Boys

After spending several days in Konombe, a suburban area in Kigali, Jen and I moved out to the village in Umutara. Soon after I passed the girl carrying sticks, this group of young boys appeared in the distance. They chased a thin bicycle tire with a stick along the path, chattering and tugging on each other with excitement. I wondered how they might react when they got close to me. "Bite," I said breathlessly as they began to slow and creep in close to me. ("Bite" is pronounced "bee-tay", meaning "hi, how are you?" in Kinyarwanda) Within an instant, they were enamored with my camera, making goofy faces in my big wide angle lens and laughing at the images and video sequences I captured and played back for them. Such sweetness. Pure innocence. Just boys being boys.