|Seeing Watkliff - not for the first time|
I know him. (So do you.)
Squatting there, watching him, “Why am I taking his picture?” I took it anyway, and a few others, then a short video clip. Objectifying him.
Not that I haven’t seen him and thousands others over the 12 summers and then some that I have spent in Haiti, agonizing over Haiti, agonizing with Haiti, living , among the farmers in remote mountains. Watklif is the boy next door; he’s Denis’s grand nephew or something. The grandson of Madam Dominik. Last summer he was the ugliest toddler, all large head, covered with scabs, flea bites. Now, he is an ugly child of maybe 3 or so. Nobody much knows or cares.
Suddenly, I do.
"I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred..." Ralph Waldo Emerson
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