Ioana remembers - Maramures stories

“I don’t hear well but my eyesight is good and everything else works,” said Ioana. Not bad for someone born in 1923 and just turned 102. We were talking outside her hilltop house in Maramures, Romania, her home since childhood. She lives alone surrounded by woods and fields full of buttercups, daisies and other wild flowers. Once a month, with the aid of a walking stick, she goes down the hill to visit her grandson. “He's tried to persuade me to move down there, but I like it here,” she said. The grandson visits her at least once a day as does her son for whom she is full of praise. “I have the best son in the world. We drink schnapps together every morning,” she said.

Ioana has clear memories of her childhood including her very short time at school. "I went only once,” she said.  "I learned the Lord’s Prayer in one day so the teacher released me. In those days no-one checked that children went to school. Our families needed us to work.” That one day at school seems to have had a lifelong impact on her. Like many of the villagers, she is deeply religious. Images of various saints are displayed on the walls of her house and she frequently touches the wooden cross that hangs around her neck. Throughout our conversation she gave me blessings for a long and peaceful life, good health and freedom from war or hunger. 

“You pity us but who will pity you?"

She also has darker memories. A century of life in this part of Europe has exposed her to major social and political upheavals as well as personal trauma. I knew that Maramures was once home to many Jews including the Nobel laureate and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel. I asked her if she remembered them. “Yes, there were many Jews here,” she said. “They lived in nice houses beside the road. They bought lambs and sold the meat. They were taken away in carts, first to another village where they were put on trains. We watched them go. They never came back.” The deportation of the Jews of Maramures took place in 1944, when Ioana would have been 20 or 21. She stopped speaking for a moment, summoning another part of the story from her memory. “Someone told me that as they were taken away one of them said: ‘You pity us, but who will pity you?’” and then added, "One man escaped somehow and was later baptised in Sighet (the nearest major town).”

Ioana is not the only villager who remembers the Jews. Calina, aged 96 also spoke about them: “Some of them were shopkeepers. One had a shop selling exercise books, pencils, things for school. I remember there was a bell that rang when you opened the shop door. There were maybe four Jewish children in my class. I remember some of the family names - Appel and Wilder. We spoke, but we were not friends. We all kept to our own.” I asked her if she remembered the deportation and who it was that took the Jews away. “I was 14 when they took them away. There were terrible screams,” she said, “I didn’t see who took them. Maybe it was the police. It was in the Hungarian time. The police wore a feather in their hat then.” 

Maramures had become part of Hungary in 1940 and the deportation took place four years later during the spring and summer when most of the deportees were sent to Auschwitz. Very few returned. Both Calina and Stefan, a resident of a neighbouring village, recalled learning Hungarian in school and could still remember a few simple words of the language. Stefan also recalled that many Jews lived in his village. “They were clever people. Some of them made hats. Others bought rams and charged for mating them,” he said. No Jews live in the village now, the only physical evidence of their long history there being a cemetery. There was once a synagogue, but Calina said: “After they were taken away it was destroyed and the materials used to build a new school.” 

“Such cruel, terrible things happened"

Unprovoked Ioana began to talk about the period immediately after the war. “When the war was over the Russians came. Don’t ask about them. Such cruel, terrible things happened. They came into the house and took things too,” she said. In 1947, the Romanian monarchy was abolished and the People’s Republic declared, consolidating communist power in the country. Ioana spoke about how this affected her village. “The Communists took a census of all the animals. They claimed all the wool - except that from the legs and tails of the sheep - the poorest quality wool. We were allowed to keep that. They were not meant to include rams in the census, but one of the local communists was very spiteful and included them too. There was also a famine after the war. We were always hungry. We would sometimes take bark from the beech tree, boil it and use it as food. They were very bad times,” she said.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and I worried that perhaps talking about the past had upset her or made her tired. I  prepared to leave but she asked me to stay a little longer and began talking about how her family established their home in the village. “When we moved here we started from scratch. We had to bring soil from elsewhere as what was here was not good. We had to make a garden - if you didn’t have one people would judge you,” she said. “We planted many trees. There was no road, only a track. We had poor relations with the neighbours and they wouldn’t allow us to make a road so we had to carry everything on our backs.” 

“Now is the best time to be alive, it’s all good now"

I asked her if she had ever left the village. She laughed and said: “I’ve only been to Cluj (a city about two hours drive away), and like school, I only went for one day.” I pondered over the fact that despite having only spent one day outside her village and one day at school, this woman had lived through, been impacted by, and had memories of, the major events of the twentieth century. As I left, she said: “Now is the best time to be alive, it’s all good now,” before giving me one more blessing, “Good wishes always, peace, health, no pain."  

You might also like I was young but he was very persuasive - Maramures stories.

Suggested reading

Elie Wiesel - Night

Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev - Giants

“I was young but he was very persuasive” - Maramures stories

Patru ushered us onto the terrace of his traditional wooden house, quickly closing the gate behind us to keep his barking dog at bay. He wore a black hat and a blank, closed expression that he maintained for the duration of our visit. He lives in a small village in Maramures, Romania. I was there with the objective of capturing some of the stories of a culture slowly disappearing, and to photograph those who told them.  

Maramures is a region in northern Romania, close to the border with Ukraine. It has a complicated history and at different times has been under Hungarian and Romanian rule. Today, many of the villages lack young people, most having left for work in the cities or overseas. Almost everyone I met mentioned having a relative in the UK, Germany, Australia or elsewhere. Some had moved temporarily. Others had put down roots, bought property and invested in their education and career, making return unlikely. This rural exodus has a negative effect on communal life, traditions and cultural heritage. Many elderly people are left to fend for themselves and to manage difficult tasks including bringing in the harvest. After discovering the work of photographer Vlad Dumitrescu I was inspired to visit the region. Vlad acted as my guide, interpreter and fixer throughout my time there.

After a few moments on the terrace, Patru showed us into his house, where we met his wife Anuta. Although the morning was comfortably warm, the large, traditional stove was in use and the room was hot and clammy. “It’s for the cucumbers, they need to be kept warm,” said Anuta, pointing to a row of plastic pots on the windowsill. She told us that Patru had suffered a stroke two months earlier and had lost the use of his right arm. “We lost our cow because of this,” she said, “I tried to take over looking after her but she was aggressive, unmilkable, so I decided to sell her. We used to keep many animals, now we only have a dog.”

I admired their wooden house. “It’s one hundred years old,” said Anuta. She sat beside the window, sewing the cotton scarf that is seen hanging on the walls of many Maramures homes. The older village women are skilled at various types of needlework. Although tailoring was mainly a male pursuit in this region, women would embroider decorative elements on to finished garments. They would also spin and weave, skills learned from their mothers, grandmothers and other women. 

The room contained a small table, a few wooden chairs, the stove and a bed covered in thick, colourful blankets. A painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall together with other religious pictures and family photographs, including of the couple in their younger days. I would see similar pictures displayed in every house I visited. “We have been together for 52 years. I married him when I was 16. I was young but he was very persuasive and my father agreed to our marriage,” Anuta said. Patru is 78, his wife ten years younger.

She asked if we’d like to see their other room. It was considerably colder than the first one and the couple use it as a store for various household items including more blankets, a small oven, pickles and preserves for the long Maramures winter. The walls were covered in brightly coloured stencilled patterns. This room was also much darker and to continue her work, Anuta had to sit very close to the window. The white, hand-made net curtain admitted enough light to illuminate her face and hands. Patru stood behind her, watching her work. The scene reminded me of an old Flemish painting. They had already agreed to be photographed and I captured the moment with my camera.

When we left the couple accompanied us outside to say goodbye. Anuta leaned over the terrace. “Come again,” she said. Patru still did not speak, but remained in the shadows, eyes only for her. 

Follow me on instagram @adrianyekkes

Life with the monks - Stories from Cambodia

“I like being here, but I have to leave the monastery because of a family problem. I want to come back, but if I can’t, then I’ll start a mobile cremation business to earn a living.”

Ra has been a Buddhist monk for five years and lives at Wat Trach, a small temple and monastery near Siem Reap, better known for its proximity to the World Heritage Site, Angkor Wat. I met him in the temple grounds and asked about the tattoo that covers his chest and arms. “It's for protection,” he said, “Thoen Theara (a famous Cambodian kick-boxer and Ken Khmer fighter) has a similar tattoo.” I was at the Wat to distribute some photographs I'd taken two years previously and to observe the monks’ daily activities. 

A hornbill in the rafters

When I arrived, most of the twenty or so resident monks had gone to attend a funeral in a nearby village. Two senior monks remained with a young novice and two small boys from the local village who assistant tat the Wat and carry out various chores. Travellers will be familiar with the early morning, barefoot, street procession of Buddhist monks as they collect alms of food and other items in return for blessings. Less well-known are the daily routines inside the monastery. 

Shortly after I arrived, the novice began sweeping the floor of the main hall. He worked hard to remove the dust and other detritus blown in from the surrounding fields and forest. The two assistants cleared the dishes from the monks' breakfast and carried them to a small metal roofed shelter for washing. At one point a hornbill flew into the main hall and settled in the rafters, looking back at me as I admired its enormous curved beak. Hornbills establish strong pair bonds and often stay together for life. After this one’s partner died, it took up residence in the room of the head monk. It is not the only bird that lives at the Wat. Several wild fowl, formerly forest residents, have made their home here and together with numerous dogs, they are fed leftovers each day.

Once the sweeping was complete, the novice joined his two friends to help with the dishes before going on to do the laundry, washing his orange robe in soapy water before rinsing it and hanging it to dry. He then took a short rest, stretching out on the floor of the main hall for a short nap. 

When the other monks returned from their funereal duties, they were served lunch, resulting in yet more dishes. This time the novice oversaw a group of three other little monks who while washing up, discussed some matter at great length and in some degree of agitation. One of the temple dogs briefly watched them work their way through the pots and pans. He quickly lost interest when another monk appeared with food for the dogs. The pack pursued him to the feeding place, barking and jumping up in excitement. There was clearly a pecking order amongst them as some held back allowing the leaders to eat first. When one small dog tried to join them, he was chased away and hid amongst the bushes.

"Only do good things. Some monks have been fighting. This is not allowed."

Lunch is the second and final meal of the day and must be consumed by midday. Nothing else will then be eaten until breakfast early next morning, but it is permitted to take liquids. There are numerous explanations for this rule. Fasting in the afternoon and evening is thought to encourage self-discipline and mindfulness. It is also believed to promote good digestive health, allows for greater concentration and therefore benefits meditation. More practically, collecting alms in the afternoon is considered impractical, perhaps because of the extreme heat, and so is restricted to the early morning hours.

Lunch at Wat Trach is a quiet, almost informal affair due to the relatively small community. In Battambang, over one hundred novices and more senior monks lined up in strict order before being allowed to enter the dining hall. During lunch, one of the seniors gave a talk to the assembly: “Only do good things. Some monks have been seen fighting, this is not allowed...” The latter piece of advice was directed at some of the small boys who had come to blows, as small boys often do. 

All of the food must come from donations, either from the early morning procession or from devotees who visit the monastery for advice, or to receive a blessing. Most bring offerings of food or money with them. Blessings usually take the form of prayers said in the presence of the devotee but in some cases, water will be poured over a person’s head while the monk chants. This symbolises purification, removing negative karma, invoking health and well-being and bringing about spiritual peace. 

Once the monks have completed their daily chores, an hour or so is allocated to resting before religious studies resume. At Wat Trach the novice monks used this time to sit and chat, but in Battambang, dozens of little monks played with home-made kites while in Phnom Penh, one played games of the imagination with bricks left over from a building project.

“I enjoy the learning and education."

When I asked Ra what he liked about life in the monastery, he said: “I enjoy the learning and education.” Today many monks, especially the younger generation, receive formal secular education in addition to their religious studies. I met monks in Battambang, Siem Reap and Phnom Penh who were studying languages, business and social sciences at university, combining higher education with monastic life. Not all of them will live the life of a monk forever and it is important that they can support themselves should they leave.

Men and boys become monks for a variety of reasons. Some come because they are orphans or because their family is unable to care for them properly. Placing these children in the monastery assures that they will a least have a place to sleep, be fed twice a day and receive some form of education. Many are able to maintain contact with their families, to receive visitors and to occasionally go home. Some join the monastery in later life, perhaps after becoming widowed. Cai, the monk I met and interviewed at Wat Trach in 2023 joined the order after the death of his wife. Some are monks for only a very brief period - as little as one day - after the death of a particular relative. All are free to leave and return to civilian life if they wish. 

I managed to find three of the monks I’d photographed in 2023. One had already left the monastery to deal with some family matters, but by chance came back to visit while I was there. His hair had grown back and it took a few minutes for me to recognise him. Cai was temporarily at another monastery, so I left his picture with one of his friends. 

I hope to be able to give Ra his picture on a future visit - if he is still there. The idea of a mobile cremation service may seem strange to westerners, but it is a well established business in Cambodia, especially in the rural areas. Cremation is usually performed in or near temples, but sometimes, for logistical or cultural reasons, this is not possible.  A portable pyre is transported to a location where a cremation is required. Monks will be invited to say prayers for the deceased and a temporary dais is constructed for this purpose. Different sizes and designs are available according to how much the family are able to pay. I witnessed one such funeral a short drive from the centre of Battambang. Ra said: “I did many different jobs before I became a monk, but being a cremator is the best profession. People will always need cremations. It’s a good business."

You might also like “I felt a burning sensation on my forehead and realised I’d been hit."

Wanderlust

I often feel like traveling during February. The cold, dark days of winter’s final month make me long for sunlight, warmth and colour. You might call it wanderlust, which is the title of a new exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace, London. Five artists are participating in this show, including me. Deciding what to exhibit led me to review my travels and photography from last year and to share some of my favourite work in this post.

During 2024, I visited India twice, each time for a month. I also made shorter visits to Istanbul and Budapest, both cities that I have been to before, although not for some years. I spent a lot of time on photography on each my trips and in Budapest and Istanbul, I enjoyed linking up with some great local photographers who helped me get the shots I wanted and to interact with people. In India I saw Hyderabad for the first time and attended the Koovagam festival that I’d read about during lockdown and had wanted to see ever since. I also spent time in Chennai, Mumbai, Punjab, Rajasthan and Delhi catching up with old friends and making new ones.  

Some of the photographs I took on those trips formed part of my October exhibition at the Jeannie Avent Gallery in East Dulwich. It is a great place to exhibit and it was my fourth show there. My 2024 exhibition was entitled “Untold” a reference to the subjects of my work, who are often unseen or overlooked, and to my ongoing writing project on a similar theme. “Untold” included the three portraits and three candid shots featured in this post. All six tell or suggest a story. The subjects of the portrait photographs told me a little about their lives while the candid shots, taken in the moment, leave the viewer to think for themselves about what they are seeing.

I also received my first ever commission last year. I was invited to photograph the cast of Earworm - a play staged at The Divine, a fringe venue in North London. I was a little nervous about the project and there were some environmental challenges about doing the shoot in the basement theatre, not least a revolving disco ball that couldn’t be switched off! Despite this, I was pleased with the results and more importantly, so was the writer and director and the four cast members. It was good to see my work on the production's digital and hard copy publicity.  

Ravi as Karuppanasamy

People who follow my work will know I enjoy portrait photography. Faces can tell stories but if the photographer is willing to take time, the subject is also likely to tell some of those stories. By chance my three favourite portraits from last year all have a spiritual theme. I met Ravi in April during the Koovagam festival. It was an extremely hot day, well over 40 degrees and very crowded. About 200,000 people attend the festival each year, swelling the village population from it’s usual few hundred. Ravi is a farmer who also participates in community theatre. He was putting on theatrical make-up and preparing for a performance when I saw him and asked if I could take his picture. He agreed and explained that he was to play the part of Karuppanasamy, a village deity regarded as the Hindu god of righteousness and who has many devotees in southern India and amongst the Tamils of Sri Lanka. 

Gupta Nath

A few days after meeting Ravi, I met Gupta Nath in the narrow lane of Chennai’s flower market. He is a sadhu, a wandering Hindu ascetic, who has renounced the material world to go in search of enlightenment. He explained: “I walked here from Kashi (also known as Banaras or Varanasi). I have been going from temple to temple trying to find god, but now I know he isn’t in the temples, he is in our hearts.” He wore markings on his forehead that indicate he is a follower of the Hindu god, Shiva, and he carried a staff decorated with a garland, no doubt given to him in the market. Gupta Nath’s comments and photograph attracted much interest in my October show. It is my favourite portrait from last year. 

My third portrait selection is that of a Pandit, taken in Nawalghar, a small town in Rajasthan, India. The word “pandit” comes from the Sanskrit “pandita” meaning "learned man” “wise man” or “teacher”. The markings on his forehead show him to be a follower of the Hindu god Vishnu. He owns a small general store in the centre of the town and was patiently waiting for customers. I was drawn to him due to his contemplative expression.

Contemplative Pandit

My favourite candid shots of last year were also taken in India. In two of them the subject's face is unseen. This adds a further challenge to the viewer, preventing them from considering the expression or mood of those photographed. What is the story of the young woman standing beside the water at the Chennai fish market? Is she waiting for someone to return from the sea - perhaps her father, husband or brother? Or, is she longing to be somewhere else, to escape to a new life or to be reunited with someone who has already left? And why are there so many shoes, seemingly abandoned on the dockside? 

Similarly, in a Hyderabad street scene, what has the laughing girl just been told by the two other young women? Has she just made a joke or has she been told one? Is this a friendly exchange or a confrontation? Is this genuine laughter or bravado? I was drawn to this scene by the preponderance of the colours red and yellow and the interesting signage in the backdrop, but it is the expression of the young woman that is what Henri Cartier-Bresson called the “decisive moment,” freezing in time something that may never happen again.  

On the waterfront

Red and yellow

I captured another decisive moment in Barnala, a town of 120,000 in the Punjab, India. It is a relatively modern city with no tradition of tourism and the only reason I visited was to break my journey between two Bikaner and Amritsar. The plan had been to get up early and drive on, but I couldn’t resist spending an hour walking in the streets before leaving. 

Despite the early hour, the temperature was already in the high thirties with 85% humidity. I encountered a large group of elderly Sikh men, all former electricity workers. They were waiting to travel to Patiala to take part in a protest about their pensions not having been increased despite the rising cost of living. They invited me to drink tea with them before they boarded coaches to go to the demonstration. A little further on I passed several small, open fronted businesses, including car repairers and a tailor who sat in front of a huge electric fan but was still sweating profusely. 

A few steps further and I came to a tea shop where a worker was obscured in clouds of steam that rose from the pots of boiling chai he was preparing. I took several shots as the steam waxed and waned, until finally it cleared to reveal the chaiwalla (tea-seller), wiping his face with a red and white gamcha (worker’s scarf), a religious image on the wall behind him and another figure coming into view. I think it’s my picture of the year. It captures the decisive moment when the steam clears...although the real decisive moment may have been when I chose to delay my departure from Barnala, enabling me to take this shot. Oh, and I will be traveling later this month when I will be returning to south-east Asia to escape the winter and to hear mores tories.

Preparing the chai

All of the photographs featured in this post (and lots more) are included in the Wanderlust exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace.  Four other artists are participating and their work includes painting as well as photography. The exhibition runs until the end of February. The Centre is open Monday to Friday 9-5 and Saturday and Sunday 10-5. It also has a cafe, an impressive programme of events and activities, and some very reasonably priced hot desking space. Come along!