Hani Girl

The midday sun was harsh over Luomadian Village. Most of the adults had gone to work in the fields, leaving the village unusually quiet. We walked slowly along its narrow paths, looking for something that might make a photograph, until we noticed her beneath the eaves of a house.

She was perhaps seven or eight years old, carrying a chubby little boy of two or three on her back in a batik cloth sling. At an age when most children would still be running about and playing, she had been left at home to care for her younger brother.

She became shy and wary when she saw a group of strangers approaching with cameras. Not wanting to unsettle her, I stopped some distance away and raised my camera slightly, hoping she would understand that I was asking permission.

She remained beneath the eaves, uncertain whether to stay or move away.

Perhaps her brother was becoming too heavy. She slowly lowered him to the ground, then looked up at my camera once more and gave the faintest nod.

I raised the camera, composed the frame and pressed the shutter.

"She was not looking at the camera, but somewhere in the distance."

Of the few photographs I made, this is the one I remember most. She was not looking at the camera, but somewhere in the distance. Sunlight fell across her face. There was a trace of uncertainty in her clear eyes, and a quietness that seemed unusual for someone so young.

Nothing had been posed or directed. It was simply the expression she wore at that moment, and it has stayed with me ever since.

When I had finished, I walked over with a smile and showed her the image on the back of the camera.

She stared at it for a moment, then began to smile. The reserve and caution she had shown only moments earlier disappeared.

Perhaps she had seldom seen herself in a photograph. As she continued looking at the screen, her smile grew wider. For that moment, she was no longer the serious little girl looking after her brother. She was simply a child of seven or eight, delighted by her own picture.

We said goodbye quietly and continued on our way out of the village.

Years later, I remember more than the distant look in her eyes. I also remember the smile that lit her face when she first saw herself.