After the storm, Uncle watched as we played with his brother’s family.
We’d been invited to visit a family in the town of Lubumbashi. The journey was rugged. It had rained. Roads were muddy. Occasional lighting flashed and thunder cracked. Their home was modest, brick and stone. Uncle sat outside watching us pull up in our Land Rover. He did not speak English. We could not communicate in words. As we played with his brother’s children, Uncle remained in his chair, following us with his eyes, perspiration glistening his skin in the moist afternoon heat. When I asked about his story, they simply said, “He has seen much.” I showed him my camera, hoping for permission to take his picture.
Our eyes met. He nodded, but did not smile.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
Use promo code: PREORDER2015 to receive a 10% discount. The book will be available as both a hard copy and an ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc. It is scheduled for release in two weeks.
Although this may seem like a dramatic departure from my regular blog posts, I wanted you all to know, and to share, and to buy 🙂
It takes a lot of effort to get a new book out there, so, please share this will all your friends and contacts. And, please buy the book 🙂 It WILL keep you up at night. Comments are welcomed. Please be honest 🙂
Here’s what it’s about:
Daniel Monson is about to find that Death Comes at Night.
Driving home from work one night, Daniel nearly runs over a woman standing in the road. Distraught, screaming, she appears to need his help. When Daniel gets out of his car to help her, what he doesn’t know is that she is already dead. From that moment, Daniel’s life spirals out of control. The dead woman has an agenda.
Kill her killer.
Tormented by the dead woman, Daniel is compelled to help. The closer he gets to her killer, the closer her killer gets to him. The hunter is hunted. Daniel’s life is in jeopardy. Then, the killer turns his attention to Daniel’s wife and daughter. Now, the dead woman must help Daniel before her killer destroys his family.
From the book:
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” Daniel said in his most understated yell. “What are you doing standing in the middle of the road? You could get killed.”
The woman turned slowly toward Daniel, arms at her side. She was barefoot, wearing a black cocktail dress, soaked to the skin. She was slender. Her hair was long and dark and very wet. She could have been swimming. Her eyes looked empty somehow, vacant. Daniel couldn’t tell if she could even see him, or hear him.
He took a step toward her.
“Are you O.K?”
She looked right at him.
Then, she SCREAMED.
A blood-curdling scream.
She backed away from Daniel, pulling her arms across her chest. She convulsed in a gag, bending over.
Daniel took another step toward her.
“NO!” she sobbed. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.”
Daniel backed off. Holding his hands out, to show her he meant no harm.
“It’s O.K. I won’t hurt you. I can help you.”
“Help me?” she sobbed. “Help me, please,” she repeated, desperately.
Daniel took a step toward her.
“No, don’t,” she backed up.
Daniel stopped.
“I won’t,” he said. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Her sobs continued.
“I…don’t…know. Something…happened.”
“What? Where?”
She pointed down a muddy road, into the dark woods. Drizzling diamonds glistened in the yellowing headlights from Daniel’s car, still on. All Daniel could see was mud, trees and rain.
“It’s so cold.”
Daniel looked at the woman. She didn’t look crazy, just wet. He was the crazy one.
“Here, take my jacket.” Daniel slipped off his soggy sports jacket and held it out to her.
“Hurry,” she said. She turned and began to run down the muddy road, into the darkness, barefoot. That was crazy.
Though she is old, she leads–perhaps because she is old.
Three hours from Accra and the roads got really rough. We had been driving into the bush and each mile seemed to take a millennium. The more we drove, the farther back in time we went. As we drove into the village of Yamoransah, young girls stared at us as they mashed roots for food. Young children surrounded us, posing for our cameras. The village Matriarch watched our approach, proudly. She did not speak English. There was no need. This was her village.
As we approached, she slowly rose and the children quieted. She did not need her walking stick for authority. Her voice was soft and quiet, yet the young mothers gathered their children and went inside.
Somewhere, in the delicate balance of past and present, she kept her village safe. The old ways still worked, although her eyes were growing dim.
Teenagers charged their cell phones at a generator near the village well.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
It can be painful when a pilgrimage is not all it was supposed to be.
Tired, alone and far from home, the Eternal City, can be an unforgiving place. Religious tradition may favor the Catholics in Rome, yet Islam entertains apocryphal hope for ultimate victory in the struggle for religious domination. Global politics and religious ideology lose their import when you are sick and hungry. With no place left to go, a bridge over the Tiber River is as good a place as any to end a pilgrimage.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
It was raining in Paris that morning as I sought shelter beneath the balustrades and terraces of the Louvre Palace. My timing was off. The museum was closed. I was not alone in my disappointment as I watched a woman trudge beneath our columned shelter and sit, wearily, against stone. She was not present with the host of tourists surrounding this space. She looked beyond, focused on something my eyes could not see. Trouble, sadness, sorrow, suffering. I could not know. Yet, in her eyes I could see the reflection of ghosts in Paris. On this day, I would not see the Mona Lisa smile.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
A calm before the storm settles over the bay on Upolu, Samoa.
The air was heavy, oppressive. Dark clouds rose above a steel horizon. The humid air made it hard to breathe. I took a shower that morning, but never dried off, still dripping. The clear ocean called to me, but a storm was coming. I could feel it in the quiet slowness. No one was in the water. Most of the locals were resting on mats in their fales. A Samoan home, or fale, is mostly built with bamboo and thatch, allowing maximum airflow. The air was not moving.
Storm clouds bloom over Upolu Island, Samoa.
I watched them come, the dark clouds. The weight of wet-hot weather pushing, pushing down on my chest, holding me in place as I watched them grow, the clouds. I wanted to lie down and not move, sleep until the dark dream dispersed.
When the rains came, it was sudden, as if the ocean moved onshore. The sky was water. The air was liquid. The drops were waves, crashing to earth. The sound rose and swelled, drowning all other sounds.
Then, quiet.
Talofa lava–a young boy waves in greeting.
The rains ceased. Clouds moved on, a pleasant breeze chasing them. The sun emerged from hiding. Children were the first to awaken, laughing and playing in streams winding back to sea. Steam rose above fluorescent flora. The world sparkled with brilliant color.
Rain and mountains make for spectacular waterfalls in Samoa.
I witnessed a transformation of the island, Samoa, sea, sky, land. What I didn’t see, couldn’t see then, was the change Samoa wrought in my heart, not until I left that place.
I have not been back, yet, I long to return, to reconcile the man I am with man I hope to be, in paradise.
Namu’a Island, Samoa, just a short swim away.
Gentle breezes blow through swaying palms in Samoan paradise.
Rain and mountains make for spectacular waterfalls in Samoa.
A woman walks home on a rural Samoan road.
Waterfalls and rain are never far away on Upolu, Samoa.
Samoan wildflower
Samoan wildflower
Samoan wildflower
Giant electric green ferns thrive in the Samoan forests.
Samoan wildflower
Lush vegetation of many colors grow in the Samoan jungle.
Lush vegetation of many colors grow in the Samoan jungle.
Tapa cloth designs create a homey warmth in the Samoan fale.
Rain drops bead on leafy green vegetation in Samoa.
Beautiful flowers grow wild in Samoa.
Coconuts grow wild on Upolu, Samoa.
A boy watches warily, before taking a swim in the ocean.
Samoan boy.
Samoan children pose for the camera.
Brothers, Samoa.
Fresh from a swim in the sea, a Samoan boy leans against his house.
Talofa lava–a young boy waves in greeting.
Coral reefs protect palm-lined sandy beaches on the island of Upolu, Samoa.
Lava flows bear witness to Samoa’s violent geological past.
Drift wood and lava adorn many Samoan beaches.
Put your feet in Samoan sand. You may not want to take them out.
Bench seats.
Perhaps in need of paint, the wooden canoe is still seaworthy.
Samoan canoe.
Hand carved canoes point the way for Samoan mariners.
Samoan Canoes.
Palm trees protect aging canoes from the sun and rain.
Known for centuries as great mariners, Samoan still navigate the seas in wooden canoes.
Peaceful bay in Upolu, Samoa.
Lava Lavas and sandals are formal attire in Samoa.
Storm clouds bloom over Upolu Island, Samoa.
Trade winds push fluffy clouds over coconut palms in Samoa.
A calm before the storm settles over the bay on Upolu, Samoa.
When I showed him this picture, he laughed and laughed. So did his buddies.
Just before sunset, we stopped on the banks of the Lubumbashi river in the DR Congo. Families were washing clothes and bathing in the river. It was hot, and humid. When I pulled out my camera, I was surrounded by children, laughing, dancing and posing. We did not speak the same language, in words. But, the joy of the children was contagious. In a land so different from my own, we shared a laugh, and a smile.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
A wooden cane and stone steps provide respite when carrying the weight of the world in Istanbul.
He sat on steps outside a mosque in Istanbul, worry lines carving canyons in his forehead. Perhaps the proximity to God, and a wooden cane will keep the weight of worldly cares from crushing him. Perhaps a silent prayer will reach to heaven or a moment in tower shadows will heal his heart. I can not say.
Crowds ascended sacred steps as the old man remained.
I watched with him as long as I could, hoping for relief, praying that, perhaps, he, too, could go home.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
Stylishly dressed in a green leopard print, this young girl has just one dress.
She was taller than the boys she played with. Her green leopard-print dress fluttered in a breeze of fluid motion. A dirt street in Kinshasa had become an earthy futbol stadium; I, the paparazzi, she, the star. When she kicked a well-worn ball through a makeshift goal, her teammates cheered. As the game resumed, she turned and looked at me, wary. Our eyes met. She seemed to hold a world of experience behind questioning eyes. I smiled. A small boy kicked the ball. I took her picture. She darted away, leopard dress clinging to her graceful form.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
Scones and Smiles, she’ll warm your heart with both.
We’d been filming on the streets of Lima, Peru all day. I was shooting b-roll of traffic and people. Something delicious was cooking close by. It smelled amazing. My stomach was growling. When I turned around, a woman dropped a hand made scone in boiling oil with a flourish. She knew we were hungry. She’d been watching us from her cart. Her smile drew us in. Hot peruvian scones with butter and honey kept us there. Friendship calls us back.
For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.
They're Calling To Me 