Homo Mobilis is not just a photography book about cool cars.
The phrase is Latin for "mobile human." This project by Dutch photographer Martin Roemers depicts all kinds of vehicles: cars the likes of which you've probably never seen before, including one with a garden sprouting from its roof, along with animal-drawn transport and bicycles.
And Roemers is not just looking for visual details. He uses vehicles as a vehicle for philosophical questions: How do our methods of transportation represent our identities, reflect global inequalities and illustrate the changing nature of mobility as we drive forward in the 21st century.
Roemers spent nearly five years on this project, visiting eight countries in four continents and photographing around 200 cars and other vehicles. 160 of these found their way into the book. He identifies the owners by first name only.
In an interview over a zoom call from his home in the Netherlands, he shares his thoughts on the project with NPR — his ninth book of photography. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Tell us about the car you chose for the cover of the book.
In 2019, on a trip to Mumbai, India, my wife and I passed by a carpet shop as we made our way from our hotel to a café for breakfast. In front of this shop was an old black car. We often forget how cars aren't just to get us from point A to point B. In many countries like India and China, they're precious real-estate space. This particular car was riveting, because it was more than a car. It was a statement, like a billboard. It had "Afghan Carpets" emblazoned on it, advertising the store. It made me think about the many ingenious ways in which people used their vehicles.
I strongly believe that the spirit of the car reflects that of its owner or its driver. It says something about the culture they come from, their world view, identity and even about society itself.
Can you give us an example of what you mean?
In Bangalore [now called Bengaluru], I saw a car parked on the street. It had a little garden on its roof. It was filled with sprouting grass and wild plants. When we located the owner, we learnt that he was a lawyer, but he was also a climate activist, who believed that people should reduce their carbon footprint. So he wanted to convey that message through his car. He told me you can grow plants on any kind of vehicle and that he waters his "garden" everyday!
What inspired the idea?
This particular project explores the relationship between vehicles and their owners.
The idea for the book came to me in 2015, when I was working on a project called Metropolis — documenting life in the world's largest cities. My aim was to capture the energy and life in bustling urban environments.
I saw cars everywhere, including some truly unusual vehicles I'd never seen before. They were an integral part of an urban environment, but I wondered, if I isolated them, plucked them off of the roads so that you could focus solely on the vehicle as an object, what stories would that tell?
That must have required extensive preparation.
There was a lot to organize. I needed permission from the car owners to be able to photograph their vehicles in a studio-like setting. We asked the owners to bring their cars to the spot we picked, and [we] rented [a] van to lug around the 12-meter-long steel poles over which we could hang the white backdrop. And we needed people to help set this all up.
Why was this style of photography important to you?
In its natural setting — on a road with traffic — the background can be chaotic. When you place the car against a white backdrop, there are no distractions. You can focus solely on the vehicle and the people who own it.
Which countries did the project cover?
I included Germany, because it's the biggest car producer in Europe. The Netherlands, because that's home for me. I chose Senegal, because like other West African countries, they import a lot of old cars from Europe — cars that wouldn't pass inspection there anymore but are now on the streets. Senegal has a growing middle-class as well, and that is represented in the sheer diversity of cars you see on the roads.
I loved the shot of the newspaper vendor [and the bicycle he uses to sell papers] in Senegal. What's his story?
He's really amazing! He's an artist and you can tell, because he's really making a fashion statement. He also has to make a living — and so that's where the newspaper cart hitched to a bicycle comes in. In Senegal, especially in urban areas like Dakar, newspapers are often sold by street vendors who may use small, mobile kiosks, stands, or simply carry them by hand to offer to drivers and pedestrians.
You also photographed in North America.
I spent a lot of time in the U.S., especially in Los Angeles. There are people from the unhoused [homeless] community for whom the car doubles up as a home. These are people from all walks of life. I met an artist who lives in a camper van, an immigrant from Mexico, a retired construction worker who was living in his car for three years.
There are a couple of unusual images that you took in China of men on motorized cargo bikes — they look like tricycles that are hitched to carriers and piled high with stuff. Can you tell me about those vehicles and their owners?
Those are electrical vehicles by the way. China is much more advanced in terms of EVs and much further along in electrification than any other part of the world. And these were vehicles I'd never seen before. They're both the same type of vehicle, but I was struck by how they were used for very different purposes. In one, we see a guy selling children's toys on a street in a park. It looked lovely — so full of color and life. And in a stark contrast, in the second image, another man uses the same kind of vehicle, but this time, it's piled high with all kinds of recycling junk.
It reminds me of how vehicles can often be ingenuously repurposed — like Sunny, a chicken vendor in the city of Nashik, Maharashtra [a western Indian state], who transformed his auto into a cage-holding mobile market stand. If someone wants a chicken, he will slaughter it afresh right there.
In China, you've taken images of electric autos and their drivers.
Yes, I found them interesting. These taxi drivers cannot afford big cars. They use these inexpensive vehicles that were originally designed for people with disabilities and for wheelchair users, but today, anyone can hop on. It's interesting how vehicles adapt to social and economic needs.
You mention how cars are often associated with new beginnings and spirituality in some parts of the world.
It struck me how cars are tied to sentiment and spirituality, especially in India.
I spent some time at a BMW dealership in Bengaluru. The car salesman told me that some clients hire a priest to do pujas [Hindu prayers that involve chanting] right in the showroom, when the client comes to pick up a new car. It's not something I've seen anywhere else in the world. In China, when you pick up a new car, it can be decked out in flowers. To celebrate a new car is like a rite of passage.
You have pictures of big families lining up in front of their cars in India.
Yes, I like to portray the human element in car portraits. I've photographed a family of four, and another with six members along with their cars. In one picture, there are 12 people. To me, I definitely felt that cars in this context represented a sense of community, of family bonding. Sometimes, it's about friendship too. When I was taking a picture of a truck and its driver in Malegoan in the western Indian state of Maharashtra, I spotted some kids laughing and returning home from school on bicycles. They agreed to be photographed alongside the truck — I invited them to join because they add another layer of mobility to the portrait.
You have photographed the hand-pulled carts, many of which are banned in some Indian cities.
I noticed it the last time I was in Kolkata in 2008. There were many more of these hand-pulled rickshaws and now there are less. The city wanted to get rid of it, it was controversial, a relic from colonial times. It also represented India's caste system — the people who pulled these carts to make a living were from a lower caste, but the people they ferried around were from a higher caste. It made me think about how these systems resist change. And that says something about society. That's why I focused on these vehicles. To me, it represented a unique part of the city's heritage and a livelihood for many, though they are gradually being phased out for modern alternatives like auto-rickshaws and e-rickshaws.
And there are plenty of modern cars, too.
I photographed students at a university in the Netherlands who had developed a hydrogen car. We may have invented the wheel, but I wanted my book to show how transport is constantly evolving — it's rich, layered with culture and meaning — an entire spectrum.
The book concludes with images of scrapped vehicles — why was it important to depict the end of life of a car?
A car can be a big deal for some people. It can play a huge role in their lives, it can mean a lot to them personally and culturally, but at the end of the day, in spite of its significance, I wanted to show how it's just a hunk of metal.
Kamala Thiagarajan is a freelance journalist based in Madurai, Southern India. She reports on global health, science and development and has been published in The New York Times, The British Medical Journal, the BBC, The Guardian and other outlets. You can find her on X @kamal_t
Your turn: Readers! Is there a vehicle in your life, present or past, with a meaningful connection to your place in the world, to your identity? Send a photo and your story to globalhealth@npr.org and we may use it in a follow-up post.
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