03/06/2020
I met Leila through the storybook world of Instagram. Connections happen easily but seldom do they turn into a tangible friendship. She discovered my work and messaged me, a few days later we were meeting at a coffee shop over Shakshuka and hot tea. She immigrated here from Morocco where she is now a wellness practitioner. She wanted photos of herself and her mother, something that captured their heritage and strength. We set up the shoot for the following week, a week later she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She told me the news and asked me to come along on her journey, wanting to capture the truth of what was to come. She is open, she is brave, she is powerful.
She invited me to gather with her closest women friends at her home to ceremoniously shave her head, some of whom have had similar experiences. She lives minutes from my house, I had driven by hundreds of times, life is funny like that. I was greeted at the door by an enthusiastic boxer named Mitra, and an older woman sitting in her chair by the entryway, a walker in her lap, she seemed confused but smiled nonetheless. I greeted her then quickly realized she couldn't hear so I bent down close to her face so she could see me mouthing my hello. I learned she owns the home and Lelia lives here with her, helping out and keeping her company. Farther into the room women gathered in a circle, everyone sitting in recliners and on folding chairs. I took a seat on the couch, sinking down deeper than I had expected. TV trays balanced precariously on the thick carpet with all sorts of treats just waiting to be eaten. Mitra rested by my side, watching closely as I scooped a big dollop of hummus onto a carrot. Homemade sangria was on the dresser, sweet, red and delicious. Next to it an old transistor radio buzzed lightly. Moroccan spices filled the air with garlic and cumin. Tajine was simmering on the stove. We talked and shared stories, each of us from various parts of Leila's life. Some having known her for years, others like myself had just met, all destined to be here together to share this sacred evening. In the kitchen was a table covered in dishes, most of which I couldn't name, I tried every single thing. We served ourselves then sat again in the living room, plates balancing on our knees, Mitra waiting for the spill. Her mother cooked the main dishes and kept refilling our plates until we were stuffed. The perfect host. She spoke very little English but we understood each other perfectly.
After we had eaten we all squeezed into the bathroom for the ceremony we had all come for. I hovered over the toilet with my camera, everyone illuminated under the flouresent lights. Her mother by her side, her dog by her feet and each of these women gathered around. Everyone took turns with the clippers, with each buzz her hair slid to the floor. She closed her eyes, she smiled, she laughed and cried. We all did. Emotions flooding into the room, so many different ones coming in waves, no way to control them, they pulled us in and out with force. Hands on her head and her shoulders, we radiated energy from each of us to her.
She danced in the mirror, she tried on all her wigs, spinning and twirling, laughter was heard on the streets. The occasion felt joyous, like a celebration. She is a warrior.
Here are some images from our first shoot (cancer unknown) and then to her head shaving ceremony.
www.virginiareesephotography.com
Instagram
