Harar, Ethiopia
Harar was about the color.
Inside the old city walls, houses were painted in vivid blues, greens, and reds—contrasted against the dust and poverty that surrounded them. Narrow alleys wandered through an old city its walls containing over 80 mosques and centuries of history.
Harar, one of the holiest Islamic cities in Africa, once thrived as a crossroads of Arab, Oromo, Somali, and Harari trade.
I came to photograph. But mostly, I watched.
Markets were busy—women selling khat, men moving goods of all kinds. I was weaving through crowds and hearing different languages spoken.
Amid hardship, there was beauty: bright fabrics, fruits and vegetables. Homes adorned with neat rows of colorful plates and festive decorations.
I was invited into one home—bare concrete, colorful fabrics, warm and happy. Coffee was poured slowly, a ritual more expressive than words. The poverty was real, but so was the dignity. Joy came easy to these friendly, happy people.
Harar is layered—faith and fatigue, poverty and pride, color and dust.
