Photographer, writer, reporter. Going through life with an eye towards creating records and histories.
On the roof a a friend’s house in Nakasero, Kampala back in 2006, I went through a crate of discarded items he and a few other artists had gathered. On that day, I was looking for something, and I found the lion. Something about the hollowed out, paint chipped toy appealed to my understanding of this amazing continent: I’d never seen a real lion, after all.
Previously based in Uganda, currently in Liberia. Always roaming. This blog provides curiosities, commentary, and photos.
Enter Rwandan President Paul KAGAME, Ugandan President Yoweri MUSEVENI, and Libyan President Muammar QADDAFI. A corpulent Kenyan President Mwai KIBAKI sits on the sofa, stuffing his face with sausage rolls and scanning hot celebrity pics in The Star. Angolan President Jose Eduardo DOS SANTOS sits under a pile of cobwebs in the corner, an oil drip connected to his arm. Nigerian President Umaru Musa YAR’ADUA is nowhere to be seen.
MUSEVENI: You fat Kikuyu, always hungry!
KIBAKI: It is my turn to eat, bwana.
MUSEVENI: If you only eat a little – slowly, slowly – no one will notice. I fleeced the West for years before they realized I was no better than all the other tyrants. Some still think I am an example of the New African Leader. Haha.
KAGAME: Haha.
MUSEVENI: Haha.
YAR’ADUA: …
KIBAKI: Ndiyo, you are right. If I am not careful, Ban Ki-Moon will tell me that I should be tried at a special tribunal in the Hague. Hahaha.
MUSEVENI: Hahaha.
KAGAME: Hahaha.
ALL: Hahaha.
[Cut to Ban KI-MOON, wearing a pink tutu and blushing in the corner.]
KIBAKI: We Kikuyu have a saying: grmphluggerblursplatughrump [words drowned out by digestive noises].
KAGAME: In the bush we survived on canniness and wiles. For three years I ate nothing but Human Rights Watch reports. [lifting shirt to reveal washboard abs] Yoweri, feel my stomach.
MUSEVENI: You fat Kenyans cannot even agree on how to misrule a country.
KIBAKI: Yes, now you are handing out leadership advice. Mr. I Can’t Even Control an Unruly Kingdom Within My Own Borders.
MUSEVENI: [makes a flummoxed face]
KIBAKI: Mr. Let Me Bend Over So the Western Oil Companies Can Stick It In.
MUSEVENI: [cartoon teapot steam spouting from ears] Oh, so says the great leader of the Grand Coalition Government. So says him who can’t even manage to steal an election without maybe half the Western world noticing.
In the 1970s and 1980s, so many promises were made to Liberia and by Liberians. All of them would be broken over the next two decades. As part of a long term project I’m beginning, I plan to document the spaces of these broken promises.
The photos below are of an unfinished building funded by the American government in the 1980s and promised to then President Samuel Doe as part of Cold War favor swapping. The building is still referred to as the Ministry of Defense, though it was never used as one. The war interrupted construction, and the building was never finished. It looms large over Congo Town in Monrovia, a skeletal reminder of all that was promised at that point in history.
A good way to understand the roots of Africa’s land dilemma is to drive through rural Sierra Leone or Liberia. Cratered dirt roads cut through what feels like limitless, untouched land: Stately palm trees and skinny rubber trees sway over miles of tall, tangled grasses. Along the road, people walk with the day’s laundry or firewood on their heads – moving, one assumes, from the cluster of mud huts that make up the village just behind to the cluster just ahead. But to the left and right of the road is what the colonists called “virgin forest.”
It isn’t, of course. And even a stranger should know better: A husky, sharp scent wafts over the road, like burning buttery popcorn: someone deep in the forest is making palm-kernel oil. Or, just a 100-foot trudge off the road, through shoulder-high elephant grass, the sounds of what’s hidden can be heard: Rice farmers splash through swampland as they harvest; cassava growers sing to themselves as they slash through last year’s tangled weeds readying the ground for this year’s crop. Deep in the woods that seem wild and untouched to outsiders, people live and work as they have for hundreds if not thousands of years.
“In Africa, most of the population has no documents. They believe they own the land as a group because they have been there for millennia,” says John Unruh, a land tenure expert at McGill University in Montreal. “Their mythology about how they came into the world involves that specific location, so identity is often very much tied up in where groups want access.”
But often outsiders didn’t know – or just ignored – this. When European powers sliced up the continent in the late 19th century, they thought of Africa as an empty mass free for the taking. Colonial rulers brought along the notion of private property. Suddenly, the land system changed. In the old system, an entire community owned land, managed by the elders. With the advent of private property, history meant nothing next to paperwork: Title to land trumped tradition. But as is often the case with indigenous groups around the world – including in the United States – those who walked away with legal deeds for the land and those who lived and worked on those lands for generations were usually not the same people.
Vice has a new documentary out about Liberia. It’s getting lots of buzz around the web, and a few people have emailed me to ask what I think of it. The truth is that I haven’t seen it. Thanks to a very, very, very sloooooow interent connection I can only read what people are saying about it rather than form my own opinion.
So, is this a straightforward case of overprivleged westerners making fun of the poor, a contemptible piece of exoticism? I think the filmmakers see themselves doing something different: showcasing the strange culture collisions that occur in a world as interconnected as ours… Something about the VBS documentaries – the high quality of production, the unfamiliarity of the subject matter, the narrative of “adventure” rather than history – is generating a lot of buzz. As much as I want to object to the VBS video, which sensationalizes, uses historical footage with little context, and is a classic example of parachute psuedo-journalism, I have to admit that it’s a compelling piece of storytelling and that it caught my attention. Rather than critiquing it, I’m interested in picking it apart and starting to understand what makes it work. What could documentary filmmakers learn from VBS to generate a wider audience for their work? Is it possible to broaden your audience without playing to their desire to see something shocking and outrageous? Is it acceptable to use shock and outrage to get people to pay attention to parts of the world they know and care little about?
The field coordinator for the project was friend and colleague Myles Estey. He writes a bit about it on his blog Esteyonage, a frequent link-ee and definitely worth reading, here. Frankly, the Vice guys were lucky to have Myles working on this project. With the caveat again that I haven’t yet seen the film, I’m guessing that the input Myles provided makes Ethan’s questions harder to answer and keep the film from being outright sensationalism.
Myles tells me he’s getting a copy mailed to him in Monrovia and I’m hoping we’ll sit down and watch it in the coming weeks – as the generator flickers and heroine addicts and rebel warlords roam the streets terrorizing Liberia’s tentative peace! Okay, not really. My house is in a nice neighborhood and there’s a tea shop outside where I buy eggs every morning, there are always kids playing, and people bring chairs and benches and gather round in the evenings to watch movies and football games.
The Masonic Temple in Monrovia is getting a new coat of paint. Part of the cause of Liberia’s fourteen year civil war was the divide between the freed American slaves who founded the modern state and the indigenous people of Liberia. Many important government decisions were made at the Masonic Temple, where indigenous people were not allowed to enter. The Stone Mason Order is still active in Liberia today.
I work for UNICEF more frequently than someone might think from just reading my blog. I love the work – I spend time taking pictures of kids. I love taking pictures, and I love kids. But, I’m very clear about its limitations and the difference between working for an institution and working as a journalist. (And I’m writing all this knowing my UNICEF supervisor might be reading - here’s looking at you, L!) I know that UNICEF often sends me to the best schools, to take photos of the occasional success story, to show progress even when things are moving slowly.
I’m okay with this. As I’ve said before, I don’t think only crowded classrooms deserve documentation, nor do I believe that the fact that because a success story is an anomaly means that I shouldn’t take a photo of it. I’m committed to these photos as much as I am to others.
In December, right before I went home to the USA for the holidays, I got a call from UNESCO requesting photos that document a school system in need. I asked around – which schools in Monrovia are the worst schools? And so I went to Paynseville Community School.
And it was much, much worse than anything I’ve seen with UNICEF. There are over 2,000 students per each school shift (two shifts a day, morning and afternoon), and only about 50 teachers. There was very little going on that might be considered “learning.” Some kids were throwing papers, others were practically fist fighting over a desk, some were sleeping, many were sitting on the floor, and few were, you know, learning.
But the thing about either of these examples – the UNICEF work that showcases success or the UNESCO work done for advocacy purposes – is that neither are really journalism. In both, what I’m looking for in a photo isn’t the same as what I might find in front of me. The end of the story is written before the reporting begins.
Here are the UNESCO photos. You can see more of them here or here. And read more about their Education for All initiative. Because these kids certainly deserve more.
Mo’dernity, Mo’Problems: When I say this is an awesome blog, I’m not at all biased in that judgement by the fact that the blogger is my brother. In fact, I think that gives me all the more license to proclaim his blog crappy, but thankfully I don’t have to because it’s actually incredibly entertaining and insightful. I’m mainly writing this here so that he is shamed into continuing to blog. If you have any doubts about my proclamations, check out some African political science porn, and if that doesn’t get you going, this absolutely will. Even if you’re on ridiculously low bandwidth, I promise that the six hours this video takes to buffer will be worth it.
Rachel in Goma: Formerly in Kitgum, Rachel is now in Goma, transcribing daily life with a quiet sensitivity and refreshing lack of cynicism, at least for my cynical self. Her epic journey back to the USA for Christmas reminds me of all too many flights that are much too long, and her bit on lake gas and her small boat will make anyone want to buy a Ndege-Samaki.
This is Africa: Once you’ve left Rachel’s uncynical land and are looking for a good dose of mockery and perhaps even some lampooning, head over to Chris’s blog. While things called This is Africa usually make me cringe, I’ll forgive him and pretend it’s called Postcard Junky, since that’s what the URL says anyway. Worth your time because it’s always worth your time read people making fun of bad foreign correspondence or see mercenary travel guides, complete with cupcake car pictures.
Check out two cool new photo projects that help break down stereotypes and display more than your standard poverty porn. I also really like that both projects eschew the whole bad news/good news debate.**
The first is Africa Knows (HT: White African) that is a huge databank of the kind of images you can’t find anywhere else – everyday people, living every day lives.
The second is as much a sociology project as a photography project: Middle Class in Africa looks at who the middle class are and what their (usually unseen) lives look like. HT Afrique in Visu.
**More thoughts on this one of these days, but a quick question for all those who complain about all the “bad news” about Africa in the media – when was the last time you read good news in the media about Guatemala? And yes, I do know that Africa is a continent and Guatemala is not, but my point is that most of the media is made up of telling sad stories and bad news.
A few months ago, Steve Bloomfield came to Liberia and he wrote an article for the Observer on the amputee football team and I took photos for the story. Also, stay tuned here for more about Steve’s new book, Africa United.
Before they play, they pray. A dozen men, all missing a limb, lean on crutches and bow their heads. Shouts from a nearby football match and the sound of cars passing on the road beside us fill the air. The coach mutters an “amen” and the men lift their heads and begin warming-up. They move on their crutches with grace, dribbling around cones at pace, using the inside and outside of the foot.
Graham Green wrote a book called Journey Without Maps about trekking through “unexplored” Liberia. My friend Sean also writes a hilarious blog by the same name, but this post is about neither of those things. It’s about the maps we do have.
And now there’s a Google map of Monrovia that anyone can edit.
Also, this means there is now online evidence of the Monrovia pub called Red Lion. That’s right. A red lion bar!! I’m thinking 2010 will be a good year for me since it started with Red Lion imbibing on both weekend nights of my first weekend back in Africa.
Here’s one final that’s just for fun: the map on my iPhone during travels and travails upcountry with the lovely Jina Moore. In this case, there is no fork in the road leading to the road less traveled. There is only one road. And it is less traveled.
In a vacant lot, a boy, probably about ten years old, sat authoritatively on a the wall that ran the length of one side of the compound. In front of him were about five rows of younger boys, sitting cross legged, attentive, watching and listening to this other boy only slightly older than them.
In the comments, someone wrote that they had probably been child soldiers. I replied that I thought they were too young to have been soldiers in a war that ended five years ago and that I wasn’t ready to jump to any conclusions.
Turns out, they’re the Good Boys Soccer Team. A young adult coaches younger kids.
One of the things I love about my job is a license to answer my own questions.
And so, I find myself starting another year in Liberia. I won’t stay for the whole year, but there’s still so many things I haven’t photographed, and so many questions I haven’t answered. And then, onwards.
Year round, the sign on the top of the wall surrounding Charles Taylor’s house says SEASON GREETINGS. I’m not sure if this is supposed to be ironic or not, but it always struck me as strange. Some of his family members still live in the residence, commonly referred to as White Flower (though I’m not sure anyone knows why it’s called that) , but no one bothers to take down the sign. It’s been there for years, wishing Monrovia residents perpetual Christmas cheer.
During college, I remember learning in an anthropology class about a great thinker who said that culture is the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. Something about this has stuck with me and resonated with my idea to take photos of the drawings on the wall in Monrovia. Some are advertisements, and others are public welfare messages, and all tell me something about how Liberians see the world. There are more images in a gallery on my homepage, www.glennagordon.com, and I plan to continue adding to this series next year.
