One afternoon I was
returning to my home from a village in Sierra Leone with my little red backpack
flung over my shoulder. The children knew that I often had my camera in that
backpack.  As I was walking down the path I noticed that there were some little
kids up in a mango tree.  I couldn’t see them but I could hear them when they
hollered to me, "Anita, Anita, come snap we!"  I walked to the tree and saw
those smiling faces looking down at me. I thought to myself, "This might make a
really great photo."  And I snapped straight up into the tree.

    In due time I sent the
film home to my brother who had it developed and mailed back a copy of this
photo for each of the children pictured.  Word soon spread in the village, "the
photos are in, the photos are in!"  Little Mohammed eagerly led his mother to my
home asking, "Anita, Anita, you get the photos?"  I answered, "Yes, Mohammed, I
get the photos."  As he looked at the snapshot he identified each of his little
friends.  But he did not name himself.  Pointing, his mother said gently,
"Mohammed, this now you."

I was in awe.  For
the first time I realized that because they don’t have mirrors as we know them
in their homes, little Mohammed did not recognize his own face!  Mohammed only
knew himself through his mother, his little friends and other neighbors.  The
people of this village saw themselves through human mirrors.  When they greeted
each other, “How are you today?", when they said, "I’m sorry that you’re sick",
or "That’s not a good thing you’re doing," they learned about themselves and who
they were.   I went to bed that night asking God, "If our special modern mirrors
ever come to this village, please don’t let the human mirrors go away."