Moments in Space and Time #5: Niger River

Sunsets in Niamey were predictably beautiful, particularly in the months following the rainy season before so much dust obscured the atmosphere that the sun could lose itself in the haze. The near-desert air, tinged with sand particles, and cloud-free in the absence of reliable moisture, gave warm orange dusks while the sun itself showed its true colours as an orb of burning gas melting into the horizon.

The Niger River runs north-south through the city, with the bulk of Niamey on the east bank, from where several vantage points gave stunning aspects of the sun going down behind the river itself. From atop the hill on which was perched the Grande Hotel, we would sit with dew-drops wrapped around our cold beers and nibble on barbecued meat on an open poolside deck watching the sun slip behind a low rise of plateau-like hills a few miles away. Better still, from our favourite little hideaway the Diamangou, an old riverboat-turned-restaurant moored on the eastern bank away from the city centre, we would feel the slow gait of the moored craft beneath us as we enjoyed leisurely drinks beneath strings of fairy lights, watching fishermen pole past in their little pirogues and batting at persistent mosquitoes.

This photo was taken in September 2005, during an evening where most of our team had gathered in Niamey. Myself and several colleagues had spent most of our time in the border town of Maradi, close to Nigeria, which was where a large portion of our famine-relief activities were happening. Maradi was a hot, dusty and frenetic town, with little by way of entertainment and less by way of charm. By contrast, Niamey had excitements such as shops, restaurants and freshly-baked french bread that didn’t have the taste and texture of gritty dough.

The fisherman in this picture presumably came from the nearby village, and spent a few minutes moving up and down the bank close to the riverboat, pushing the canoe along with his pole. I took a few shots of him, but this was by far my favourite, shot just as he framed himself in pose, balanced with the backlight of the sun setting. The quiet lap of slow-moving water against the boat, the plop of the pole in the water, the sound of voices drifting through the bushes from the nearby village, soft conversation and buzzing insects all leant the place an exotic peace. The air was warm, the beer was chilled, and the company was good. While there were a lot of times from Niger I would choose never to revisit, this particular riverside moment is one I continue to cherish.

Moments in Space and Time #10: Pai

Recovering from a tough year in Papua New Guinea, I spent five days in north-western Thailand. Pai sits in the middle of a gentle valley in Mae Hong Son Province, beset by soft rolling hills, hay fields, rice paddies, and a slowly arcing river. Morning mists gave way to cloudless blue-sky days as the air warmed, which in turn surrendered to evenings dotted with fluffy clouds, the better to play in the rays of the lowering sun.

Celebrating the freedom of my little scooter, I found myself exploring the byways around the local villages as the light shifted. It was delightfully peaceful, with nothing to do but sit, read, write, and explore the offenseless countryside. Stopping alongside a farmer’s field one late afternoon, I fell in love with the way the slanting light fell before the hills and played in the smoke from a bonfire, and the way the warm beams lit off the dry grasses in hues of amber and gold. The air stirred slowly and was disturbed only by chirping birds and singing insects, and the sense of peace was tangible like an aroma. I’ve never really been much good at sitting and doing nothing, but I have to say that Pai was the one place I can look back to and say I truly rested there.

Echoes of the Evening

(Written in early June 2009)

 The days here are gentle. I guess we’re at a little over a thousand metres, not many degrees south of the equator, and yet it’s surprising cool in the valley. In the mornings, the sunlight is warm and strong, angling where it strikes the flowers in the garden, and casting the terraces into stratified relief, the bright fields broken by the shadows of the steps that seperate them. As the day warms, butterflies flit among the gardens. Everything is very green.

By early afternoon the cumulus is building above the ridgelines. Sometimes we hear thunder rolling back and forth between the ghostly grey-white columns above, although the sunlight stays strong. Occasionally we have a light shower, although it’s only really rained once here. The sun is strong but not overpowering. The air is warm and pleasant, and still maintains a freshness to it that is quite invigorating. The walk up the hill from my room to the main complex causes me to breathe a little harder than I ought.

But it’s the evenings that are most evocative here. Around six, the light has grown soft. Clouds have settled in, but they’re broken enough to allow the hues from the setting sun to paint them in pastel pinks and oranges, making the sky glow with soft colour, giving the valley an otherworldly cast. The call to prayer sounds from the minarets of at least a dozen little mosques dotted up and down the communities, and like a round, they pick up the refrain one after another, until they’re all singing out together in disjointed unison, Allahu akhbar, God is greater. The sound rings back and forth between the valley walls and grows just a little hollow, like an echo in the mist, and the strains hang in the air for many minutes as the light gradually fails. Finally, they fall silent, and like the curtain closing on the stage of the day, the valley seems to take its cue from the fading song and comes to rest. We’re in the heart of modernity, a highly sophisticated and rapidly developing region in one of the most populous corners of the world, but somehow, come evening time, this little pocket feels very isolated from all the bustle I know is going on just around the corner. I can almost imagine that it didn’t sound all that different a hundred years ago. Now that’s a trip I’d love to be able to take someday…

A Melbourne Skyscape

Central Melbourne on Wednesday night, viewed from a supermarket walkway in an inner-city suburb.  Manually underexposed to capture the darkness and texture of the clouds overhead.