7. Lucil

There is a man standing in front of me holding his green cotton hat in his hands.  With the help of a boy named Antonio, who translates for me, we’ve just had a conversation about his life and what it’s like to live here with the Dasanech tribe.  The man, Lucil, told me about his long marriage to his wife, who recently died.  As he spoke, I could see the tenderness he still associates with her memory.  He also told me about his daughter, and with a smile, he shared stories about his two energetic grandchildren.  It was a very personal conversation for a man to have with a woman he just met.  I’m touched by his willingness to share and be so open with me.  When I first approached him sitting next to his home and asked to photograph him, I didn’t expect it to lead to such a heartfelt conversation.  He tells me another story — this time about the sun.  “The sun,” he says, “look”.  He takes his finger and points to the sun shining brightly in the blue sky.  He then looks down and pokes his finger through the holes on the top of his hat.  I can see his frustration, and I assume that it’s because his hat can no longer properly shield him from the intensity of the dry heat.  That turns out to be partially correct.  I watch as he leans forward and shows me the top of his head.  I get a clearer understanding of his issue as he points to patches of yellow in his dark hair.  “He doesn’t like how the sun is turning his hair blonde,” I say.  Antonio interprets my words, and I watch Lucil point again to the sun and then back to his hair that was once dark and full.  “I understand,” I say.  He asks me for a new hat.  I take a deep breath, knowing that I have one in my luggage, but it’s hours from where I am.  There is no way for me to get it for him and that frustrates me.  I pause for a moment and think about how the people of this village warmly greeted my photography group when we arrived.  The welcome was enthusiastic and infused with dancing, hand clapping and laughter.  Then, while I meandered through the village, I saw boys who walked with rifles, ready to protect the members of the village from attackers.  I quickly realized how serious life here can be at times.  The blonde patches in Lucil’s hair speak volumes about how hard day-to-day living is here, especially in this heat without the shade of a tree anywhere in sight.  His concern about the change of his hair color also tells me that he is a proud man and how something as simple as a hat can make a big difference in someone’s life.