There is strength in tradition. There is also sacrifice.
Kazupo’s daughter had just returned from her coming-of-age initiation when we met her. The ritual was marked by the intricate plaiting of her hair—a style that signals her passage into womanhood. She cried as it was woven, enduring the pain because it was part of something greater.
In her portrait, she carries the same quiet self-assurance as her mother. There is something unspoken in her eyes—perhaps the weight of expectation, perhaps the first whispers of understanding what it means to grow up.
She is still young, but already, she stands in her own presence.