I took these photographs on a small, isolated island after flying for a day over volcanoes and jungle. This is not in an easily accessible region and the area is malaria-ridden... sometimes the ground trembles. As advised, permission was sought from a local chief before travelling in a small, motorised boat. Eerily, a large, rusting metal bowl with trecherous-looking spikes lay on it's side, balanced on a slope leading to white beach...just an old sea mine from World War II. The island is watched over by local traditional carvers who still travel by dug-out canoe. If anyone argues that head-hunting in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries is merely a myth... they are wrong. Dheborah
