Home is Where I Am

For these two sisters, beauty is an imperative. They adorn the world around them in every way they can — a flower garden by the side of the road; a henna tattoo on a tired hand; bright colour paint on dull tin walls. They think of beauty as acts of kindness, small gifts they leave in our path to trip us up and lift our spirits. Rays of light on a hidden truth. They believe that life is beautiful, or that it can be. All they want is for everyone to see it, and so they spread the word wherever they can. Not like religion, but like a prayer.

Trains run right through the city of Bogura at its north end. A two-kilometre embankment elevates the tracks to shoulder height and lifts the rail cars even higher to where the lens of this camera has found the frame of this photograph. — A husband and wife outside their home, standing as they do when the trains rumble by. Cargo trains. Everyday. Without passengers and without stopping. Without malice and without empathy.

Hidden within the mountains of south-eastern Türkiye and nestled against the borders of Iran and Iraq is the Türk province and Kurdish refuge of Hakkâri.

The climate here can be harsh: hot, dry summers and cold, snowy winters. The Kurds themselves will tell you that no one ever comes here, and even if they tried the rugged terrain makes travel difficult at best in the summer and impossible in the winter. They will also tell you that life in this small province of Hakkâri is like no one even knows they’re here. But in a good way. Over the years they have grown to accept that being hidden within these mountains and isolated from the rest of the world might just be their best chance to live in peace.

For much of their history the Kurdish people have thrived as pastoral nomads, living in tents throughout the summer months, and roaming from pasture to pasture as they tend to their herd of sheep and goats. Even though their way of life has been repressed for generations, all has not been lost.

Here in the remote regions of Hakkâri province some Kurds still live a nomadic life. They travel together as a small tribe of families, roaming the hillsides throughout the summer months, and feeding their herd on the open land.

This photograph is taken at sunset, an hour north of Hakkâri city. The workday has just ended, dinner will soon be prepared over an open fire, and an evening of song and dance is about to begin.

This woman and her husband live in Tbilisi, the Republic of Georgia’s capital. They’re part of a small Russian population who remained in Georgia after the fall of the Soviet Union, and in their elder years they still live in the same tiny house where they’ve lived most of their lives.

Were you to walk the streets of Tbilisi today you would see a nation on the rise: crumbling buildings are being restored; boutique hotels are welcoming new tourists; and government programs are encouraging the development of a new digital economy to entice younger generations to settle here and grow the country anew.

But for the elderly, like this lovely woman and her husband, little has changed over the past 35 years. Most have only a small pension to live on, and little government assistance to help them. They have become this growing nation’s new class of the aging poor.

These two women live in the same 4-story walk-up in the Armenian city of Vanadzor. The buildings here and throughout the country are all Soviet-era construction with steep stairwells that make for tough climbs on hard concrete steps. For these women it’s a climb they need to prepare for. They will often sit here whenever they get home, thirty minutes or so, waiting to get their legs back.

In southern Bangladesh, just outside the town of Patuakhali, is a small, planned, residential hamlet where Muslim and Hindi families live side-by-side in modest homes just like this one. There’s a small mosque and a Hindu temple along the main road, but the rest of the town and its community grounds are intended to bring the religions together, and without government intervention.

This community has been left alone to become what it’s residences make of it. Though as poor and sparse as other villages in the region, this one has become a model neighbourhood, and everyone works hard to keep it that way.

This small neighbourhood in the big city of Antalya is a close-knit community of lower income families who’ve all come to know one another well. During the day the front door is left open, replaced by a curtain that’s more for shade than privacy, and a few chairs are always kept outside as a standing invitation to stay a while. It may be far from the wealthiest place to live, but no one spends the day alone.

The women of the house have assembled for a family photograph, and are actually more excited about it than it may seem.

While the city of Sanlıurfa is an ethnically mixed population of almost 2 million people, the surrounding hillside neighbourhoods, like this one, are almost entirely Kurdish. In fact, this southeastern part of the country, stretching all the way east to the Iranian border, is commonly referred to as Türk Kurdistan.

Like many cities and towns in Armenia, the city of Kapan is still waiting to discover the 21st century. Most of life looks much the way it did fifty-odd years ago and were it not for the fact that so many buildings and neighbourhoods have long been abandoned it might also feel as though little has changed. But that would be mistaken.

While Armenia’s capital is a beautiful, thriving, city, most of the country has been suffering from a slow, quiet decay that has almost become a way of life here: family homes are often attached to crumbling buildings; food vendors open and operate their stalls in half abandoned markets; and store-front shop keepers are sometimes the only ones left on the street who open their doors at all.

There is more than enough blame to go around for how Armenia got this way. Time and war and corruption have all had a role to play, but they are not the whole story, and for that matter, nor are these photographs. There are so many beautiful things about this country and its people. This is just the way things look from here.

At the very southern tip of Hakkâri province is one of the most isolated regions in all of Türkiye. The cool, picturesque mountains that surround and protect villages in the north have collapsed into this barren, dry landscape of the south with summer temperatures hovering around 40°C. ―But this is home for the people of Derecik, a small Kurdish village where no one ever comes to visit, and where most of the people who live here can think of a hundred places they’d rather be.

This young boy is full of energy and excitement. He was so eager to have his photo taken he orchestrated this entire photo shoot himself, tidying up and deciding where to stand. After his photo was taken, he continued to bring friends and family into the house so they could also enjoy being photographed.

These three boys have broken away from a small neighborhood ceremony and decided to enjoy the ritual face and body painting for their own play. They may look a little like troublemakers, but they’re really just sweet boys trying to enjoy a little halloween fun.

These three girls and their young brother looked out the window early in the morning to discover that this beautifully ornate and perfectly dilapidated sofa had been left just for them, right outside their home.

It is now only mid-day. Together the four of them have already written and performed seven plays, hosted nine neighbourhood tea parties, and each been twice crowned prince and princesses of this wide, wonderful world.

This family home is a single room dwelling with a kitchen fire outside the front door and a communal washroom and bathing area shared with the neighbours. It probably has little in common with where and how you live, except for the fact that it is the place we call home—the idea and emotion of it, not just its comforts; where we begin our day, and rest our bones, and feel like we’re right where we belong. It also just so happens to be where we all are right now, and it’s the only place on earth that feels this way.

In another life there is no telling how close the two of you would be. Whether you were together here in this town of Banaripara or on the street where you live, this man would want to talk with you forever about all the things that matter in your lives; he would want to learn all about you and never pass judgement; he would share his home and his cherished possessions, his perspective on the world and of this time in your lives. There is nothing he would not do for you, now or ever. There is no telling how close the two of you would be.

A small gathering for a big occasion: This is the second year into the pandemic and we’re all still cautions and on guard, but this small gathering is big enough to lift everyone’s spirits.

Here, 30 minutes outside of Sheki on the family farm, this young man is celebrating his 16th birthday. His mother has prepared more food than anyone could ever hope to eat, baked more sweets than anyone should, and danced at least one song with or for every single person who has come to celebrate this day.

These three women are trying their best to enjoy themselves during the new pandemic lockdown measures that have been put in place here in Istanbul in this month of May, 2020. The bottom step is as far as they’re willing to venture, and they only took their masks off for this photograph (which was probably the most exciting part of their day.)

Today this woman was not going to let anything stop her from enjoying the morning sun. Not housework or the kids or anything at all. She lives on the bottom floor of an old stone building, and this single step down into the front door is the closest she has to a balcony or patio. On a beautiful spring morning like this one, it’s simply perfect.