I asked the missionary to tell them that I wanted to take a picture of them just as they were, standing with their water vessels poised on their shoulders; in their naked splendor and beauty.
He told them.
They squealed for all the world like American girls and ran for dear life, disappearing in the flash of an eye.
He tried to coax them to come out to get a picture taken. The Missionary could speak their language but they would only peek through the doors with grinning faces.
Finally they agreed that we could take their pictures if I would let them put dresses on.
I didn't want to do this; for I wanted them just as they were; but saw that they were adamant in their souls even if their brown bodies did look as soft as ripening mangos; and as beautiful and brown.
I pictured all sorts of ugly dresses; discarded by the white folks and given to them. But much to my surprise, when they appeared all dressed up for the picture, every last one of them had on a white woman's discarded night gown.
I wanted to laugh. It destroyed their picturesqueness but those gowns could not destroy their symmetrical beauty of limb and body.
"That's a quick way to dress up!" I said to my missionary friend.
We smiled but I got the picture.