Even though it is a beautiful morning, the waves are rolling high as we enter Porto Grande on the island of Sao Vicente. Soon we are surrounded by soft, brown hills on three sides as we glide closer towards Mindelo, the capital of this small island, which belongs to Cap Verde.
Leaving the port, we immediately observe the heavy influences Portuguese culture has left on this small island. We march along the shore, passing a long wall, which is ornate with colorful paintings – images that remind us to appreciate and protect Planet Earth. Further on, we pass a group of young men.
As in other African nations, only the men idle around on street corners. The few women we see are on their way to the market or carry heavy loads on top of their heads coming from the market.

The market is usually the first destination in each new city we enter. Today we’re early and I want to reach the fish market before other travelers arrive. I prefer to snap pictures of market life without too many tourists in the frames.

I’m in luck. We are the only foreigners in the market hall. Unlike in other cities, this fish market is very bare. The fish are not presented from individual stalls. Instead, long rows of chrome tables stand on a rubber floor, which reminds me of a sport hall back home. The tables and the floors are easy to wash, which must have happened recently as everything was still a little humid. Careful not to slip, we move between the tables and watch the fishmongers prepare their catch.

The sun is coming in through some vertical slits on top of the eastern wall, leaving me with some interesting light to play with. The native people observe us curiously and continue with their work seemingly undisturbed. I try not to be too obvious with my camera in my desperate attempt to catch my subjects in their natural ways. While I don’t want to disturb them, I am highly aware that my picture-taking can be easily construed as disrespectful.

I watch kittens playing under the tables where fish are cut open to remove their bowels. My companion’s sensitive stomach is starting to get upset at the intense smelling fish. I try to hurry up, but a young man catches my eye. He holds up what appears to be a fish head and splits it open, all the while a half-smoked cigarette is hanging from his mouth. As we leave the fish market, a youngster smiles and poses for my camera, while one of his friend’s aims his cell phone camera at me. I smile and wave. It’s only fair that I endure the picture-taking, having disturbed likely more than one person who might be uncomfortable by the presence of my camera.

I am always conscious of other people’s feelings towards my picture-taking. At the same time, I am also aware that as soon as I ask them to take a photo, they pose, which is not what I am after. Therefore, I often try to snap pictures without people being aware of it. Unfortunately my reluctance sometimes shows in the end result. An image is blurred because I moved my hand too quickly in an attempt to hide my intentions of taking a shot.

Once in a while, however, I am rewarded with a natural, great picture like the one of the woman with her baby tacked to her back by a blanket. The baby sleeps comfortably pressing its little face against the woman’s green-striped shirt. The baby’s black, patent-leather shoes attract our attention and make the sleeping beauty that much more adorable. The woman with child stands at the entrance to a small vegetable market. Again, no tourist is in sight and the rows of fresh greens and fruits are not presented in an orderly fashion. Instead vendors and buyers stand around in groups, obviously socializing and gossiping as they go about their daily shopping.

Opposite of the little vegetable market is a large square. A little boy is playing on the western edge of it. His lonely, small figure makes the square look vast and empty. We cross it and come to another square filled with stalls. Vendors are just starting to open shop. We look around and realize immediately that the customers in this place are tourists. Little knick-knacks, from postcards to ashtrays and wooden jewelry, are presented on overly filled tables. We look around but see nothing that attracts our attention and leave toward town.

There we pass a Catholic church where we have to wiggle our way through beggars to enter. The interior is rather poor compared to the richness of some European churches. Through the side door I see a person push the three-wheeled chair of a handicapped man. As we leave, I observe the two of them. They are watching where the tourists are heading, following them quickly in hopes of receiving some change.

In front of the church is another small square with a park. Shoe shiners set up their business there. Our footwear could use some cleaning, but the black, heavy paste offered is not made for tennis shoes. We continue through the dusty roads until we come to another produce market. This one is big and the fruits and vegetables are presented in careful rows. Tourists are strolling through the market, which I see has a second story. Quickly we climb up the wide steps, and I begin once more to snap the shutter on my Cannon.