I decide to take an early morning walk from the guest house I’m staying at in Drapers to Port Antonio. I pass many houses – some inhabited, some abandoned, some in ruins.
I notice a man and a little girl who are walking back and forth in front of one of the ruins, holding hands. I want to take their picture, so I get closer and say hello.
He greets me back, and tells me that he’s waiting for a taxi. He sits down on an abandoned TV with the girl on his knee.
I start to photograph them. A young Rastafarian man approaches us and I realise that the two men are friends.
Whilst I’m taking pictures, the Rastafarian casually takes his friend’s place on the TV. I’m struck by the fluidity of his movements. It’s like he’s moving to the beat of music, but there’s none playing. He’s nonchalant. The type of person who would seize the moment, I muse. He looks straight into my lens and points his finger at me.
That’s when I notice his bloodshot eyes. It looks like he’s been smoking marijuana, or as the Jamaicans call it – ganja.
The little girl doesn’t look happy to be in the Rastafarian’s arms. She doesn’t look at me; she clearly doesn’t want to be part of the picture, and has no interest in it.
Children are usually intrigued by my professional camera. She isn’t. She drinks her fruit juice. Her father watching her smilingly.
I take the shot and immortalise the moment: a girl who is there, but doesn’t want to be; a father that isn’t there, but would like to be; and a Rastafarian who is there. But is he really?
The subject that I want to photograph doesn’t always end up being in the shot. When I click that button, anything can happen!