~~~~ A Photographer tells ~~~~

Wild Fruits and Red Fingers

The football match in Chitimba had not yet started. The first supporters were already standing along the field when I saw her standing there: Mery Chavula. Her lips and fingertips were strikingly pinkish-red, a color you wouldn’t expect. I knew immediately where it came from. Mery had just eaten wild almond fruits.

The fruits fall in the tree’s season and the children pick them up from the ground. They peel the fruit with their mouths, after which the juice from the pulp causes the pink/red color on their lips and fingers. The pulp itself has a slightly sour taste, but the real reward is the almond inside the large pit of the fruit. The children crack open the pit and eat the nut.

When I saw Mery standing there, with her strikingly colored lips and fingers, she was calmly looking at the people along the field. She had no idea I was observing her. As I took a few photos without her noticing, she suddenly turned around and looked directly into my camera, a moment I immediately captured.

Cheers,

~~~~ A photographer tells ~~~~

Mushroom Wonders

With the arrival of the rainy season, our garden in Malawi transforms into a breeding ground for all kinds of mushrooms. Everywhere you look, they sprout from the ground in various shapes and colors. Some stand alone, like tiny islands in the soil, while others cluster together, nestled closely side by side.

Between the pebbles on the sandy shore, delicate caps emerge, their striking pink hues contrasting with the damp ground. Further on, in the dark, moist soil, brown and cream-colored mushrooms appear, while in other spots, white ones push their heads up.

The warm, humid climate allows these fascinating fungi to thrive, as if the garden has a life of its own. The mushrooms come and go, a silent reminder of how dynamic and unpredictable nature can be.

Cheers,

~~~~ A photographer tells ~~~~

The Lonely Guardian of the Honeycomb

In the heart of our garden in Chitimba, a remarkable event took place. High up in a tree, firmly anchored between the branches, a colony of bees built an impressive hanging nest. A masterpiece of nature, a honeycomb formed from perfectly symmetrical hexagonal cells, carefully constructed from beeswax.

For weeks, they were there—a vibrant community, endlessly buzzing, working, building. I observed them, capturing their busy existence, the harmony of their movements, and the dedication with which they maintained their home. Their presence had become natural, a small ecosystem in itself—until that one morning.

Suddenly, there was silence. The familiar buzzing was gone. The bees had disappeared.

Curious, I walked toward the nest and saw what remained: an empty honeycomb, abandoned by its inhabitants. But not completely. One single bee still clung to the honeycomb. Silent, motionless. As if waiting for the colony to return, or simply not knowing where to go. A lonely guardian at a deserted home.

I raised my camera once more and captured the moment: the last bee, faithful to what was once a thriving community. A still image of change, a reminder that nature always follows its own path.

Cheers,