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…
With little time to spare we had to get the gear sorted, figure out the how and what aspects of the shoot and make a few personal choices about getting a hot shower…ok so there’s no water let alone hot water so forget that part for another...week...or maybe tuck into yet another package of granola…(can’t stare at another blueberry floating in powdered milk) or simply don a set of clean clothes which is absolutely pointless out here. No one cares and soon neither will you. All of us are in a “winner take all” competition of who can wear their shirt the longest, which for the record...today is the seventh day without washing - not just our clothes but just about everything with all of us looking fairly worse for wear. But given there isn’t enough water in the community for them to prepare their food properly or for the children to enjoy a glass of cool, clean water there was no way we were we going to waste it on washing our clothes. So you brush the dust off a little bit and decide to leave the clothes you slept in last night - woke up in this morning - on for a few more days...no one seems to notice.
It’s just that the fine grained red desert sands are blowing against you constantly and that between all of the kneeling or sitting on the ground to make images or getting in or out of the vehicle you just end up covered in the talcum powder fine – red dirt. If that’s not enough it sticks to the sweat running down your face, your sunburned neck and arms soaked in sun block and Jungle Juice with every entry and exit to the land cruiser resulting in clouds of dust...enveloping you…it’s never ending – finding it’s way into every crease and crevice on your body with exposed cameras covered in red silt…
Along with the dirt and the dust - a constant companion out here is fatigue. Your work is nowhere and everywhere at the same time – it’s in the people, in the landscape of an enormously vast, open and empty desert or a volcanic rock field, it’s in their children’s smiles and it’s in their tears…all endless fragments or wisps of photographic chance that summon you to pay attention in hopes that you will see an image that will make a difference, one which will speak to others about the need of others and while you’re operating on little sleep you know that the maximum physical and maximum creative effort is still expected. Others equally hardened by up-close years in the field...expect results – need results and you expect this from yourself as well...
Through all of this you have to force yourself to pay attention, to stay awake in searching the landscape for it’s hidden gems – blurred visuals punctuated by the endless rhythm of tires winding their way through the desert sand with all of the responsibility and the purpose of the journey constantly running through your mind. The oppressive heat, high humidity and the endless kilometers of rough roads turn your guts upside down...yet you ignore it as much as you can and find that you adapt quite well - becoming accustomed to the constant state of feeling lousy with a mutual disregard of the physical toll it all has on tearing your body down. Before long you drift in and out and away…to someplace other than the conditions you find yourself in and your brain feeds you mirage like images of a hot shower and a clean bed and sounds of the people you’ve left behind – all of these thoughts become your constant companion...
And when you stare out the open window of the land cruiser, watching the heat waves dance up from the desert floor and mile high dust devils tearing across the scorched earth…the vehicle motion blends with the blurs whipping past your eyes - you quietly surrender to the assault. In some off beat way, you have to ignore all of the inconvenience so that you can pay attention to the very reason you’re out here - for me anyway and that's to create images of consequence that will maybe bring those that want to help just a little bit closer to those which are in the greatest of need. It's that simple. It's not about me or this photographer or about a particular aid organization or NGO - it's about the people. Just like you and me, at times...they need a bit of help to make their way through the tough aspects of life and in this I have found over my decades worth of service that all of us...have a role to play for good.
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...
