Torbi - "Gabra Wood Hauler 2"

"If they could only see...what I see..."

I've created images for development and relief throughout East Africa for nearly 11 seasons now, applying my advertising skills and cultural insight for good, in producing images that will help support programs, to help them keep going and to help keep the money coming in which enables extremely important work to continue. It's a simple reality that without funding it all grinds to a halt which is particularly frustrating to me, it's personal...given that I meet a myriad of human conditions face to face, in tough places and at times I wish that..."if only they could see what I see"...they would be a foot soldier for life in trying to be part of the solution.

However, this project...The Paradigm Project...is very different from any that I've worked on.

Before I left the states on this latest journey, a series of discussions took place on just how to make this new body of work more effective, more strategic and yet equally intimate and to effectively give it a "signature" look and feel to the photography. Different in so many ways, it still came to life like so much of my work...through hard work and by being sensitive to the images playing out in front of me. A very well known photojournalist friend of mine instructed me long ago to "shoot from my gut"...that this will yield my best work...and he was right. It all took shape that hot afternoon in the back lot of a tumble down local hotel whose owner was serving “fresh goat meat and rice” to desert travelers while a usually unseen and typically humble group of Gabbra women...became part of…became partners with me...in raising awareness to the struggles of women in East Africa’s Kenya.

Straight, pure, devoid of manipulation, Richard Avedon’s timeless work in the "American West" project provided a degree of inspiration to me for which I'm grateful. It provided a role model if you will and helped me think through the best way to bring images of these women to life. On reflection this wasn’t the end of our journey…it was simply the beginning...

"Old school ways..."

In what seemed like ages we were finished. In working through all of the women I noticed that the two youngest were missing and had gone home to eat. Due to their ages, I weighed bothering them for a brief moment yet in the end I sent part of our team to see if they’d return…if we carried their wood loads for them. A few minutes had passed before the Land Cruiser came around the corner with the two girls sitting in the front seat, wood stacked high on the roof rack with neighbors and strangers helping them with their wooden burdens, placing them once again on their backs. I was thankful for their helping us but the best way for me to show my appreciation was to get the images over as quickly as I could. They each stood in front of me…hot, tired and anxious…looking expectant and seeking direction on what to do. However, I deliberately gave them very little direction and although there was a language barrier they quickly seemed to settle into their own distinct look. I played my part and recorded the moments given to me.

As quickly as we started it was over, with everyone coming over to see the instant images of the young girls, passing "old school" Polaroids from hand to hand with all of them suspended and for that one brief moment they forgot about being thirsty or hungry. They laughed out loud together as if they were watching some kind of comedy show that they all understood and well…maybe that’s exactly what they witnessed that day. Regardless, all of the “actors” on both sides of the camera seemed to have enjoyed their moment on stage that day…

Ramat 3 - "White Sand"

"Fragile spirits held safe..."

Pressure was on and I felt it…literally…sweating enough to cause salt crystals to form at my eyelids. I worked instinctually with the film driven camera system which is so odd these days with everything being digital yet it felt so familiar in my hands after so many years of depending on it and it wasn’t any different today. It came to life even though it was covered with a fine layer of red Kenyan dust with it’s motors emitting a squeal and a whine in trying to keep up with my demands with Polaroid flying everywhere, with directions and names being shouted out - assuming someone was writing it all down while I quietly watched one fragile yet enduring spirit after another take their place in front of me.

Humble with no words spoken and their mouths tightly clenched not really knowing what I expected of them or really what I was doing. They shifted their weight to and fro until I offered up a Polaroid for them to see themselves and like Alice in Wonderland they came alive, realizing that they may have never seen themselves before and never had any attention paid to them like this and for this they stood without complaint…wanting to be part of something bigger than themselves.

Not very different from downtown USA anywhere really.

Ramat 2 - "White Sand"

Ramat 1 - "White Sand"

"Sing a song of promise..."

The long dirt track back to Torbi was perfect for a few stoic images of women walking alone in such a vast landscape and so I gathered this ad hoc group together and started to walk with them back to town. Again, working the scenes in front of me, trying very hard not to slow their pace as they were now under a heavy load. However, I found it refreshing that they still had the energy to have a laugh with one another about God only knows what although I assumed that much of it was at my expense, on second thought...I know it was at my expense.

Staying close together they slowly began to sing what could only be a work song with their newly added extra weight swinging back and forth across their backs like pack animals. Their rough hands bleeding at the knuckles from hard contact with unyielding wood…their dark brown skin freshly scratched and etched from wrist to shoulder all the while holding onto rope and the odd yellow plastic container which holds a small measure of cocoa brown colored water to drink on their way back to town. Yet through all of this they sing loud and pure of heart with little indication that they’re hurt or even feel pain anymore. All such emotion is lost in the abyss of communal toil where phrases such as “All for One and One for All” prove to be just lost western words in some movie somewhere.

In this desert wasteland, admittedly home to many of Kenya's proudest nomadic tribes...you'd find little comfort in the pain they feel each and every day from not having enough food to eat or water wells that have run dry. And if the relentless suffering from the elements isn't enough for you then the threat of getting caught in the crossfire of tribal blood feuds - the unending quest for revenge, surely must be. So the sorrows of life come fast, thrown at these desert dwellers by an unfair world and yet maybe the songs sung by the women this day contain wisps of hope that maybe together…together…if only for just one moment we can get through anything...if we just stick together.

"A decisive moment..."

The women soon scattered around the high desert and so I divided our photographic coverage up with me going one way and Scott going the other. Without a doubt the women were working hard although it became apparent that they had much smaller loads to carry, much smaller pieces of wood in size and weight to gather and a much shorter distance to walk back home by virtue of their desolated outpost. No city or freeway to navigate nor free roaming elephants to worry about.

Soon they started to bundle the wood, providing me with graphic details of the materials they use such as the heavy ropes and crude axes…Their scarred hands with bejeweled fingers tying and twisting lengths of hemp to secure the load before lifting it to their shoulders. With the muffled groans of people enduring physical labor filling the air, I’m aware to not overspend my welcome. Instead I try to work at the edges quickly without engaging them to try and balance the needs of the project with the need to stay out of the way....not to push them too hard. I’m skilled at making the best images possible at a particular moment yet to be culturally sensitive and constantly aware. I need to know when to lift my camera, when to watch and when to walk away…all while constantly assessing the composition to capture images that mean something…images which aren’t disposable…

I shoot at the edges without my subject paying too much attention to me…knowing I’m there but accepting me in their midst. And when it feels right…feels right…is right…I place myself in their personal space which is where you begin to find the heart of a strong composition. This type of photography is quick yet needs to be accurate. You need to know when to cut and leave so you don’t over work the scene or the subject. I’m not a photojournalist like some of my esteemed colleagues nor am I covering hard news. So I have the luxury of being sensitive to my subject’s needs or they simply, as they do without any hesitation, utter a few unknown words, turn and walk away. You literally have zero control. So to get any image, let alone a good one, can be extremely trying. The celebrated “decisive moment” type of image when elements come together like old friends on a country road are rare and at times just appear out of the blue…almost like gifts from on high…which means you have to remain “dialed in” to your subject

"...for just one moment"

CAPTION:

A young girl from the Gabbra tribe in Northern Kenya...who like all young children in the world, should be able to enjoy just a few of the

basic rights in life enjoyed by so many in our Western culture such as clean water to drink, food to eat, a bit of hot water to bath in, to have

clean clothes, an opportunity to go to school and the ability to go to bed at night feeling safe, feeling loved and being able...to dream

big dreams

"12 years old...and miles to go before I sleep"

Eventually we got ourselves together and met the women a mile up the road where we watched them step from the desert track into the bush for points unknown - already in the process of hunting, gathering and cutting scrub wood from small trees and brush. Unlike the women in Meru who had to cut large limbed trees which resulted in heavier loads to haul, the Gabbra women appeared to have a somewhat easier time as most of their wood is in open desert or high scrub land. As they usually do, my first image of the day came out of nowhere. Standing in front of me was a young girl that was no more than 12 years old who along with another young girl nearing the same age, was picking up small pieces of scattered wood, twigs and branches to bundle up and tie together just like her mother has done for most of her life. Eventually she will take her place in Torbi's Gabbra tribe, performing this endless task of gathering firewood each and every day...providing that there's any wood left to find.

At the very moment this young girl looked up at me…I looked down at her. Through the viewfinder I waited for that moment in time when everything slows down in front of you and trying not to blink you hold your breath and your brain, intuition, experience and a bit of luck takes charge over your reactions as you seek to capture the “decisive moment” when all of the elements around you come together for just that one point in time.That all sounds great however my young subject froze in front of me like a statue and…she looked away and…I looked away and with each swing of her primitive axe the young girl’s mother laughed and her friend giggled and I just stood there…waiting for the “moment” to return. With large coal black eyes, her hair wrapped in torn remnants of black fabric for her headdress, her tiny arms at her side…I waited…for one glance in my direction just long enough for me to create one image that I might be able to pay respect to the spirit of this young girl…who in a tattered little green floral dress is simply trying to help her family survive…

I pretended not to notice as her eyes darted back to mine to see if I was still standing there with her teeth firmly clenched yet finally giving way to a quiet little smile. Cautiously she watched me out of the corner of her eye as she continued to work, all the while I gently walked in her shadow just a few feet away, still trying to compose an image. Again she noticed me and again she froze. Smiling now, we both shared equally in this little game. I’d push the camera away from my eye and she’d automatically take another small step away from me and as soon as the camera came back up...she’d freeze.

Over the next 5 minutes this continued until her mother said something to her with a smile. But, she wouldn’t budge, exchanging glances with me enough to say “just go away” and so I got the message, turned to give her room and I left. Regardless of the image lost or gained, it’s important that I understand my subjects and it’s equally important for this photographer to create images that mean something. Context to me is everything. As this project is in it’s infancy I needed to ensure I wasn’t viewed as being disrespectful because most likely I’d be back in Torbi again much sooner than I’d ever have imagined and would be remembered for the way I treated people…just seems to work out that way and it should.

It didn’t take long to forget about working the image and instead I became aware of just how small this young girl was and that she represented part of the bigger problem. Young girls aren’t able to attend school if they’re picking up wood. This isn’t to say she didn’t enjoy gathering wood with her family, friends and elders because I believe she did. But we value education for all in this world and in this society a lack of education, especially for a young girl, will keep her “down on the farm” forever…

Having said this I believe it’s important for us to realize that while they may live in a culturally different world than the majority of the western world…we can’t say that we’re any better or that their way of life is wrong…”If only you’d follow what we’re selling you you’d live a better life”. I personally and professionally don’t agree with this. While there are definite benefits in understanding the virtues of pre and post natal care or the benefits of proper nutrition, the importance of a good education or even something as simple as crop rotation…it has to be a peoples choice and to avoid at all times a situation where we “impose” our ideals on the lives of others…the phrase to be “culturally sensitive” actually means something…

While it’s our responsibility as fellow citizens of this world to ensure that ample food and clean water, safety, security and medical care are enjoyed by all of us, we have to keep it in the very front of our minds that it’s their prerogative to either accept our principles for living or simply to live their lives the way their ancestral elders have with all of the joys, trials and tribulations the rest of us have...

The point of this part of the story is that without a doubt this young girl was the youngest of the wood carriers I’d encountered on this journey and it made me pause…yet know that while she didn’t have a nice new dress to wear, maybe hadn’t eaten any food in the past few days, wasn’t in school with lots of rich books to learn nor had enough clean water to freely drink…I take comfort that she was with her family, was at peace in her tribe and always within the watchful eyes of her mother…

Torbi - "Good Intentions"

Dawn came early today with the sounds of roosters, donkeys and scruffy little children peaking through the bushes to see who came to their desert oasis in the middle of the night. Before I could get dressed, the leader of Torbi’s main women’s group came for a quick visit, albeit somewhat skeptically, to try and understand what we were doing in town.

Few words were spoken although examining glances said just as much. But before long, handshakes ensued and even a few smiles were exchanged after a long conversation was made possible by DeBaso, my Gabbra driver…the result being that we had some 10 women willing to have their images made. Breakfast was on the fly as the whole group wanted more information with all of them standing in front of me with all eyes focused on what I had to say. And so a mini presentation was on with my walking them through The Paradigm Project - what it meant, what it’s goals are and that without them I didn’t have a project.

You can plan all you like, and we did plenty, but once you’re face to face with another culture it’s their call to either believe what you’re saying or back away. What it meant for our project is that without their support there were no images. It’s just that simple. However, everything was on our side today. They wanted to help on this project in an effort to highlight the difficulties women face far from the big cities – they wanted to play their part in something bigger than themselves.

DeBaso told me that they “appreciated my coming to their town to help them” and that “they’d like to help me as well”. With this I asked the women to join me in the rough edged cottage with DeBaso in tow, opened my laptop and showed them a few images I’d just created in Meru a few days earlier. The images were of other wood cutters that they share a kinship with and I guess a picture at times does speak a thousand words as small sounds of approval were uttered in the dim lit space.

I ventured then to share with the women a printed image of a young child I’d photographed a month earlier in support of the global food crisis which is shown above. Each of the women delicately handed the image to the next - transfixed it seemed on the condition of the child... even more so after we interpreted the words from the printed piece. I assumed they were able to relate to the suffering, which is all too common in East Africa. I saw from their eyes that I appeared to be part of the solution and with this they gave me access to their world for just a short while. A relationship of trust was developed based on this exchange and all without uttering a single intelligible word. And because of this trust I felt compelled to explain what often may seem a small point...that not all photographers use the images they produce for good intentions. I do…

Between inquisitive tourists who push the boundaries of common sense and unscrupulous professional shooters which tear the boundary fence down, there’s been enough misrepresentation of a people and unfortunately this seems to occur everywhere I go. So, I work hard to maintain a high level of integrity when interacting with people especially when I find myself in far away places. Places where I'm the one who's the stranger or the interloper. I'm the one that doesn’t speak the local dialect and I am the one…who doesn’t belong there...

Torbi - "Gabbra Wood Hauler"

CAPTION:

One in a series of portraits for The Paradigm Project which focuses on the plight of mature women who carry wood or seek fuel

everyday - to sell in order to feed their family.

Torbi - "Gabbra Tears" Part 2

We pulled in at dark - a well known taboo - but our driver is from the same Gabbra clan that live here and so he knows literally everyone along the way which increased our odds in providing us a modicum of security in what would be a region thrust into the international news arena with violence on the Somali border. For now though we drove quietly to the womens lodge where we would live for the next few days...

This would be Scott's first night in the field where he would come face to face with the humble conditions that people live in. We gave Scott the choice of 4 rooms, each with it's own kerosene lantern, brightly colored mattress and pealing painted walls and matching flojos at your bedside to wear out to the open trenched squatty pottty...with his delight being too great for words - oddly enough he was just kinda silent as he wandered from room to room seeking "the best room" in the house. Well, I've been "here" before so I knew I couldn't sleep in there so we hauled a vintage bed frame and it's equally vintage mattress out into the open dirt field - just like a Marriott - and up came the mosquito net for a nights sleep under the stars that were just without words - so bright and so full with stars and planets and shooting stars that I couldn't focus on the nights sky for all of the baubles twinkling away...

We pulled the cases out, circled a few chairs, put our headlamps on, Scott fired up the fuel tank on the hood of the truck for our evening tea ceremony and for a moment with the engine noise finally dying down, we became silent - humble and thought of days gone by...

My nights sleep was wonderful except for one small detail. As it were, hyenas, (yes hyenas) were moving closer to our camp with their characteristic call to one another and I have to say having seen one about 10 feet in front of me in Ethiopia, it's right out of "Sherlock Holmes Adventures" to see these creatures and a very creepy thing to know that these animals were just a stones throw away - not behind bars - out there in the dark eating things well beyond the odd big mac meal deal...and so as the lamps were put out I laid down and zipped in my net...I couldn't have felt more relaxed nor more vulnerable at the same time but sleep came quickly in the cool night air with the sound from the mosque calling the faithful to prayer...such are the textures of this land...such is Africa

Gabbra Women - "Salo"

CAPTION:

Salo is a quiet woman who leads a very humble life and spends most of her time in the service of her family - making ends meet

as best she can with little food and even less water.

Torbi - "Gabbra Tears" Part 1

From Meru we left for Torbi, a windswept village located some 30kms from the Ethiopian border, mostly noted for an infamous massacre which took place in the early morning hours of July 12th 2005. The pain from the enormous loss of innocent school children and their parents that day by Boran raiders, a tribe that's been fighting with the Gabbra people over water rights, continues to this day with peace efforts being made by the elders of both the Boran and the Gabbra clans to stop the blood feud. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turbi_massacre)

I want to move past this tragedy because there are so many moments of true pain and hardship out here without looking too hard yet know that the memory of that day cut deep into each of those who escaped death. The survivors however live to work hard each and ever day to stay alive in what could only be described as a blisteringly hot landscape that's devoid of trees or shrubs - covered only by rocks for as far as you could see with barely enough water to use for cooking, none available for washing their clothes or bedding and definitely none for bathing - just a tough existence for anyone really. However in the middle of this drought affected region are an amazing group of women from the Gabbra tribe, who defy all odds by surviving at all, that helped me by taking the time to understand the project about empowering women and couldn't do enough in playing their part...