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We never shared the words or those images with anyone else; the sacred day was just for us.

A month later, we threw a massive party back home to celebrate with everyone, but that sunlit Okanagan ridge remained our secret for the rest of our lives.

Now that precious day, eloping with him, haunted my dreams, as my subconscious clung to a past my conscious mind had long put to rest.

When would my soul ever let go of him?

Why couldn’t I stop thinking of him, especially today, the same date we divorced years ago?

Our heartbreak anniversary.

Tamping down my yearning, I focused on eating my breakfast of hot porridge and sliced papaya.

‘Where to first?’ I asked Salim and Yael, setting my empty bowl down on a crate nearby.

‘The elders have approved a shoot by the river with the women collecting water,’ Yael confirmed.

‘I spoke with them last night,’ Salim said, topping up our coffee mugs. ‘But remember, the Surma females are shy. Do not rush the lens into their faces. Let them dictate the pace.’

‘Understood,’ I said.

Before we left, I hooked up to the satellite rig and checked my email and WhatsApp.

Still nothing from Max.

Where was he?

I shut down my laptop with a grimace and focused on the shoot ahead.

An hour later, Yael and I set up our gear near an expansive, slow-moving bend in the river.

The scent of silt and sweet reeds mingled with the bouquet of wildflowers growing in bushes along the riverbank.

A group of young Surma women gathered on the bank, their laughter light and musical as they chatted.

I studied their intricate floral headpieces and breathtaking face paint, my excitement rising as I anticipated the stunning portraits they’d make.

We introduced ourselves and got their approval to start photographing them, with Salim translating.

He stepped back, and Yael and I began picking our models.

‘Ana, the clay patterns on that girl’s neck,’ Yael whispered, adjusting a reflector screen. ‘They’re absolutely gorgeous.’

‘Amazing,’ I muttered, my eye pressed to the viewfinder.

Through the lens, the young girl appeared like a woodland faerie.

She wore an intricate crown of wild yellow lilies and flower leaves woven into her shaved hair, her shoulders decorated with delicate, swirling white chalk lines that resembled river ripples.

Beside her, an older woman held herself with immense dignity, a traditional earthenware plate set on her lower lip, her upper torso bearing raised scarification patterns.

She resembled an ancient sacred priestess, so regal and elegant in her carriage.

Enamored, I adjusted my aperture, capturing her in a series of the vivid shots.

Later, I went on to portraits of more Surma children weaving their flower garlands, the elders sharing oral histories under acacia trees, and the women mixing ochre paste for body paint.

The tribal children, mothers, and seniors were friendly, proud, and welcoming.