It must be Ash Wednesday!

Part 2 of a project started last year
This year I spent a lot more time chatting to the people who agreed to be photographed (and a memorable one who didn't...) than taking photos. And I'm not sorry about it, it was very educational and I had some great chats.
On average, people are very forthcoming when it comes to having their portrait taken.
I mean, it's not like your average day. It is the day when you chose to show your religion to the rest of the world, a day of true undeterred and proud belief in who you are and what you are about.
And I very much like that about Ash Wednesday.
The willingness and friendliness with which most of the participants lose all shyness in front of the camera, because today is a special day, because today they bear the Mark.

Except one.

It is not easy to approach people on the street and ask them if you can take their photograph.
People are suspicious at first, thinking that maybe you are trying to flog them something.
Except for numbers 1 (his mates were slagging him and having a laugh), 5 (hi Simon, I hope you get to see this, I very much enjoyed the chat), 7 and 8 who agreed right away. They were the friendliest, easiest to talk to, most willing participants. True Christians!
Participants 2 and 3 took a bit more coaxing (2 actually asked 3's permission to have their photo taken).
Mrs 4 said no at first but then I explained to her why I was doing this, and she wanted to be assured that I was not from "the papers", and she asked if she could take off her glasses and then she was delighted to be in front of the camera.
Mr 6 asked what type of facial expression I wanted, he obviously was a pro with years spent in photographic studios.
Mrs 9 and her friends were great craic. Mrs 9's friend (not featured because she did not bear the Mark, she was at a funeral mass this morning but "they won't do it at a funeral mass") explained to me that 20 years ago, every single man, woman and child over the age 8 in the country would have had the Mark, but that the Catholic religion was on the decline, that people should call themselves Christians first, that the clergy was paying a dear price for the cover-up of the sex abuse scandals, that people are more educated now and that it has brought them freedom, that 25 years ago most people who have had to turn to the priest or the teacher for help deciphering documents, that she was threatened with excommunication in the 60s for daring to attend her best friend's daughter's wedding mass in a Protestant Church and that I was dead right to send my kids to a multi-denominational school, that this was the way forward.
She had a lot to talk about on the topic and I happened to open the floodgates of her... not resentment... disappointment more so... with my candid request to take her friend's photograph. I very much enjoyed the chat though.
Same thing with Simon, whom I met twice in the space of 15 minutes. His Granddad was a keen photographer.

And then there was the one.

Who would categorically refuse to have her photograph taken. But who would not let me go either until she had me converted, or back on the right path.
When I asked her if I could take her photograph, she asked me if I was a Catholic.
I explained that technically yes, as I was baptised.
She told me to go the church and "get one done on your own forehead then" with no little amount of aggression in her voice.
I had to explain to her that I was baptised but never did my holy communion.
She was flabbergasted. And angry. But did not want to let me go at the same time.
She told me that baptism was the first step but that I had to "go all the way", that there would be no afterlife for me (I wonder why she wanted me so badly to enjoy the delights of the afterlife when she obviously had no love lost for a miscreant like me).
I talked a little bit with her but rapidly realised that absolutely no dialogue was possible. I tried to make a polite escape (after all I was the one who had approached her) but she kept coming back at me with the most frightening beliefs. About the impossibility of choice. About converting people because they do not know, and the priests know better. About the necessity to convert Africa to Catholicism. Scary stuff really.
There was a lot of anger bottled up in her. I would have loved to take her photograph. I asked again at regular intervals but each time she asked me if I was a Catholic, "not unless you are Catholic!". I was tempted to convert (or rejoin the flock) here and there, just to capture the exalted anger in her eyes.
But it was not be.

Next year maybe?

Please God.

Insha'Allah.