The journey to Guinea Bissau was a journey of discovery. Having travelled over so many years to various Portuguese speaking countries I realised that I had come full circle in Bissau, the country’s modest capital. Here, the taste of mango reminded me of Maputo. In Maputo, the smell of palm oil had elicited memories of Praia and in Praia, the vibration of the drums had brought me back to Salvador da Bahia. In each city I sensed the echo another one and in Bissau I sensed the echo of all of them. The people, the wrinkles on their faces, the endless horizon, the roots of the trees – everything intertwined on a communal cultural map.
For centuries, people in these parts have been peering out to sea from the two parts of the city – cidade baixa and cidade alta – overlooking the estuary that lets out onto the ocean. The city’s port was where Portuguese colonisers first set foot, followed by slave traders who took untold thousands across the Atlantic, never to return. The fertile soil below sprouts palms and mango trees, manioc, sugarcane and cocoa. The sky above is where indigenous spirits sleep, resisting the colonisers’ evangelisation and still inspiring people in their prayers.
And on people’s faces is written the same Africa – not just a continent or a colour but a complex history, cultures, traditions, languages, ways of self-representation and a multi-faceted identity. Those faces, marked by the unforgiving sun, is where I start to tell my story, through images, about those who are charting a course through life – fighting, smiling, loving, crying and hoping.
