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Watch: OneShot - 10 Years Ago, Breastfeeding In Afghanistan

Watch: OneShot - 10 Years Ago, Breastfeeding In Afghanistan
Alixandra Fazzina

The pure beauty of Siamoy breastfeeding her month-old baby Hokim, in this image taken exactly 10 years ago, powerfully contrasts with a grim reality on the ground. NOOR photographer Alixandra Fazzina had traveled to the remote Afghan province of Badakshan because it had the highest rate of maternal mortality in the world. Capturing this angelic scene shone a light on the dire need to care for mothers and children around the world.

Fazzina told The Guardian: "I took about 10 frames of Siamoy. People say this image looks religious, kind of iconic, like a Madonna and child, but I've never seen that. I think it's something more simple: there is a beauty to Siamoy, a power and serenity showing something dignified about motherhood."


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Society

Parenthood And The Pressure Of Always Having To Be Doing Better

As a father myself, I'm now better able to understand the pressures my own dad faced. It's helped me face my own internal demands to constantly be more productive and do better.

Photo of a father with a son on his shoulders

Father and son in the streets of Madrid, Spain

Ignacio Pereyra*

-Essay-

When I was a child — I must have been around eight or so — whenever we headed with my mom and grandma to my aunt's country house in Don Torcuato, outside of Buenos Aires, there was the joy of summer plans. Spending the day outdoors, playing soccer in the field, being in the swimming pool and eating delicious food.

But when I focus on the moment, something like a painful thorn appears in the background: from the back window of the car I see my dad standing on the sidewalk waving us goodbye. Sometimes he would stay at home. “I have to work” was the line he used.

Maybe one of my older siblings would also stay behind with him, but I'm sure there were no children left around because we were all enthusiastic about going to my aunt’s. For a long time in his life, for my old man, those summer days must have been the closest he came to being alone, in silence (which he liked so much) and in calm, considering that he was the father of seven. But I can only see this and say it out loud today.

Over the years, the scene repeated itself: the destination changed — it could be a birthday or a family reunion. The thorn was no longer invisible but began to be uncomfortable as, being older, my interpretation of the events changed. When words were absent, I started to guess what might be happening — and we know how random guessing can be.

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