I love cemeteries. I always have.
A macabre attraction to some, granted, but to me, what is macabre about the unwavering silence, or the peace we project onto those souls planted beneath the soil?
It’s hard to resist the rough visual beauty of bent headstones, the variety of granite, marble, bronze, and other stones, with their assorted inscriptions, along with the stories that will remain forever untold, not to mention the allure of secrets taken to the grave.
In Africa, I expected to see more cemeteries than I did, but I was on the lookout for anything that resembled a graveyard along the railways.
I caught a few shots of distant headstones from the window of the moving train, nearly buried in overgrown fields.
These cemeteries were pretty sparse, not crowded, and largely covered over by shrubbery, at least from a distance.
My takeaway was more of a visual overview, since I never got close enough for detail, but the headstone finishes seem rough hewn, maybe hand carved even, with varied, non-standard shapes.
Based on nothing in particular, I gather these are the cemeteries of local villagers. Zooming in on some of the pictures doesn’t offer any great detail other than that they are simple markers of lives lived.
Next time I’d like to get closer (with a view from the right side of the grave, of course!).