As I looked at people’s faces through the van’s window in Jamaica, I wondered about their lives. I was glad to get away from the resort. I got to see people in their everyday routines. I saw where they lived. I caught glimpses of their lives.
It wasn’t all easy to see. At times, I felt intrusive. Sometimes, my eyes met someone’s, and we had a brief connection, smiling a moment of encouragement. Other times, I saw pain, irritation, impatience, hunger…or at least, something that prompted me to assume those things. I took no photos. It was too private and personal. Sometimes, the memory of someone in his or her context creates a more searing snapshot than a framed photograph.
We headed down the mountain about the time the second wave of school children were out for the day, along with many people heading home from work. The sporadic, small…
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