On the Cover Photo

„Gorée is a small, tranquil island, its narrow streets lined with colorful buildings, but its serene appearance contrasts sharply with its tragic past. For centuries, it served as a major transit point in the transatlantic slave trade, a gateway through which countless men, women, and children were torn from their homeland and sent into the unknown. When I decided to visit this iconic site, I knew it would be a profoundly moving experience, both emotionally and creatively.

I walked across the island to absorb its atmosphere. The House of Slaves held a particular pull for me, not just for its historical significance but for its ability to preserve memory in such a visceral way. My first visit, at 12:30 p.m., was cut short when I discovered that the site closed at 1 p.m. This unexpected turn of events, however, led to an unplanned momxent of beauty. As the caretaker blew his whistle to signal closing time, a young woman in a flowing green dress hurried toward the exit. Her movement was strikingly graceful, her dress billowing in the air, creating a scene that felt almost poetic. I captured this fleeting moment, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t enough. The harsh midday light didn’t align with the emotion I wanted to convey. I resolved to return.
At 5 p.m., as the sun dipped lower in the sky, I had a chance to rediscover the House of Slaves under a softer, more dramatic light. The golden hour transformed everything: shadows stretched longer, the textures of the ochre walls became richer, and the atmosphere shifted into something more introspective. I spent time experimenting with angles, framing, and compositions, searching for the essence of this place. Yet nothing I captured felt quite right.

Then, in the final minutes of my visit, this scene unfolded: Two men, dressed in white shirts, entered my frame. One stood in the shadow, the other bathed in the warm, slanted light of the setting sun. The contrast struck me immediately. The interplay of shadow and light seemed to echo the narratives of this space: oppression and freedom, pain and beauty. These two figures, anonymous yet powerful, embodied a timeless story. They weren’t just individuals in my photograph — they became symbols of the countless lives that had passed through these walls.

What makes this photograph more significant than the earlier one I had taken is its layered meaning. While the earlier image was aesthetically pleasing, this one transcends visual appeal. It invites interpretation. The stark contrast of the white shirts against the men’s dark skin evokes powerful dualities.

I left the House of Slaves with a sense of fulfillment. This photograph encapsulates everything I sought to capture: the architecture, the light, and, most importantly, the weight of memory. It is, for me, a tribute to the resilience of those who came before and a reminder of how history continues to shape us, even in silence.“