Those are coffee farmer, with a basket of freshly picked coffee cherries. Still fresh, and looks red. An old coffee farmer who looks happy to show his harvest, with or without coercion to the photographer.
It crossed my mind a province in my country. We call it the land of coffee. Located in the highlands called Gayo, the place is coffee heaven. But I in my vision, men and women in one of the coffee fields, then the wind blows from the west.
A few moments later, the people will sing, chanting longing verses in Gayo language. The longing is addressed to those who have left their hometown or live in a foreign country, or who were lost in the tragedy of '65. Just like other tribes, the Gayo diaspora, they scattered and formed associations, maintaining customs and culture.
I've been there, to the Gayo highlands (Dataran Tinggi Gayo), drinking coffee in a cafe located inside a coffee plantation. The taste of the coffee mixed by the maestro barista plus the brewer at a cafe called Seuladang is certainly expensive, however, again in that place I listened to the Didong poems from the coffee planters, which were heart-wrenching.
Bintang bulan cengang menjerit
Memandang tubuh yang terpaku
Ibarat patung tak berkutik
Risau rindu tak berulang
(one of the quotes poem entitled 'Sebuku' belonging to Ibrahim Kadir)
Thank you for your entry. Loved the part about drinking coffee at the plantation and could hear the planters.
You're welcome. Yes, listening to the planters, of course, has its own meaning.