A Rider Starts His Journey…
He goes forth onto a path. Trudging on, slowly, unsurely. From the Far East, the sun rises and with it the trees awaken, howling a low tune. Blood orange against sea violet, a song of ash and clay. The children of the wind know this plea, and blowing towards him, they carry the voices of those who came before them, those who once were and those who will never be again. A stern warning, a raging repercussion.
Visiting the Ancestral Home. This is Gidan Makama Museum, Kano Nigeria (before turning into a museum, it was once home to my great grandmother making this project even more personal and special to me).
Rider Travels to Mafarki, in the skies accompanied by the colourful children of the wind (clouds signifying voices of our ancestors, ‘those who came before us, those who were and those who will never be again’).
Arriving back home, having learnt the importance of keeping our history alive.