This is Africa blogger spends more than a blog post amount of time thinking about and exploring Joburg pre-world cup, and then he writes about it. Worth more than a blog post amount of reading. The story is here, and here’s a quick quote:

In Soweto, the arrival of Tumi is equally anticipated. By the time the rapper takes the stage, he’s two hours late — just on time, if you set your clock to Joburg’s rhythms. The crowd, having long since given itself over to the bar, is in a forgiving mood. The air is kinetic.

Sometimes I think there are two kinds of people in the world: those who like Nick Kristof and those who don’t. While I’ve always been clearly in the second camp, hopefully his most recent column will bring more people over to the other side. Africa is a Country does a nice takedown:

Kristof… finds a Congolese child–it plays well with American readers to focus on children, he has argued somewhere else–whose parents cannot afford to pay his school fees but have cheap cellphones and occasionally have a drink.

And then he brings up Bill Easterly’s favorite economist Esther Duflo to endorse his 19th century views in which Westerners, and particularly white Westerners, decide whats good for poor, third world, mostly black, particularly black people, and then he babbles on about microlending.  I am tired

Back in college, I didn’t believe in two kinds of anything. I studied art history and valued the ability of an image or piece of art to say two things at once, whether they are contradictory or complimentary. There’s an amazing sounding art exhibit that almost makes me want to say something like, “Get thee to Detroit!” but for now I settle with reading reviews of “Through African Eyes,” which looks at how Africans have pictures westerners for the past couple of centuries. G. P. Zachary blogs at Africa Works with the kind of anecdote that perfectly summarizes how there’s more nuance to the world that Nick Kristof acknowledges:

In my living room, I keep an old colonial, a Congolese carving of what is meant to be a cartoon-like Belgian soldier. The statue is recent, one of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of retro-colonial representations that Congolese carvers and artists are producing these days. When faced with the conundrum of why we exoticize the other, and are seemingly condemned to do so, I will visit with my Belgian soldier who is dressed in pith helmet, big black boots and sports a pencil moustache. The old soldier says no words but speaks nonetheless.

Steve Bloomfield’s new book Africa United: How Football Explains Africa is listed by the New York Times as a must read World Cup book. I took the photo they used for the cover of the UK edition when Steve and I worked together a bit in Liberia. I’m looking forward to reading it.

Ernest Bazanye lists things he’s learned from TV all of which are of coure hilarious, but here are a couple of my favorites:

3. The news is more factual, accurate and timely if it is delivered in broken English with a fake accent.

4. I now know what to drink if I want confidence.

6. Most animals do not speak. But those which do are hilarious.

11. Meredith Grey would beat John Dorian in a fair fistfight.

12. White People Can’t Dance

13. White People who can dance are black.

100514Harper 0776 Goofy gets philosophical

I’m back from Harper in southeast Liberia, where I saw perhaps the best drawing on the wall yet.

IMG 0263B Back to Harper

I’ll be offline for the next couple of days in Harper, southeast Liberia. It’s one of my favorite places, though I’ve only spent a week there, so I’m excited to head back. It has such a strange mix of re-historicized grandeur alongside a troubled history that it’s hard not to be fascinated by this remote outpost. You can see more photos from my last trip there on www.glennagordon.com, and expect new ones soon too.

03 IMG 0319 Back to Harper

100430Amputee 0128A1 Amputees, Fear, and Grocery Shopping

Amputee ex- combatants don’t scare me. Maybe they did at one point, but now they don’t. I’ve spent a lot of time with the amputee football team while working on a couple of different projects. I know most of them by name, all of them by face, and they certainly all know me. Regardless of what they did or didn’t do during the war, now, most of them just want to get on with it.

I’m now working on a photoessay about the team that I hope will run somewhere around the time of the World Cup. (Photo editors, if you’re reading this, hint hint, send me an email!)

The story of the team can’t be told without mentioning that almost all of them are unemployed and beg outside of the nicer grocery stores on Randall Street in Monrovia.

This morning I went to take photos. That made me nervous. I shop in those stores too. I’m not sure how I would feel about not only being asked for money by a group of pretty aggressive amputees begging for their small-small, but also being photographed. Either giving or not giving money, when all you want to do is buy a carton of juice.

Some expats ignored me. Some Liberian NGO workers scoffed at me. Most of the Lebanese handed over cash. The Lebanese, the amputees told me, give them the most money, the most regularly. And many people made jokes about not accidentally hitting the amputees with their car.

No one was comfortable. But after all, maybe that’s the point.

Here are a couple more photos of the team.

IMG 6472A Amputees, Fear, and Grocery Shopping

IMG 9096 Amputees, Fear, and Grocery Shopping

IMG 9371A Amputees, Fear, and Grocery Shopping

20200515Ducor 389B Photo of the day: more from the Ducor

Here’s another shot from the Ducor Hotel, part of my Broken Promises series. I’ve also put up a lot of images from this series on glennagordon.com.

From the always great meowtree posted on Wait… What?

About 3 years after I moved to El Salvador I started my first NGO job. One of my responsibilities was accompanying delegations to see different community projects. In many cases, as soon as we’d arrive to the communities, people would approach me and unleash the litany of their troubles and poverty, sometimes wringing their hands or their hat, asking for help, painting themselves as victims because I was white, had arrived in a 4×4 with an NGO logo on the side and a group of foreigners, and could translate their pleas for help.

I must have seemed pretty heartless, but it was hard to see people prostrating themselves when they lived in similar conditions to the ones my neighbors and I did in the Barrio, and no one in the Barrio saw me as someone who would fix things for them.

It probably seemed to the foreign visitors that a terrible thing had happened to me.  I had become “immune to the suffering”.  But what I think was really the case is that I didn’t feel sorry for people. I had no illusions that I could solve anyone’s problems.

Sapo National Park, in southeast Liberia, is a beautiful rainforest. One of the few left in the region.

GG 100420 003 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 715 Sapo National Park

Many people live in and around the forest.

GG 100420 905 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 697 Sapo National Park

The forest is remote, a ten hour drive fron the capital on rough roads that are impassible during rainy season, and across a river into the dense thicket.

GG 100420 432 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 458 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 519 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 570 Sapo National Park

To the people who lived near the forest, it seems endless. After all, they’d never seen the other side.

GG 100420 141A Sapo National Park

They cut parts of it down to start farms.

GG 100420 385 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 217 Sapo National Park

NGOs have come in to teach about conservation. They bring generators and have slideshows.

GG 100420 632 Sapo National Park

But it’s the kind of place where things are as they’ve always been.

GG 100420 688 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 088 Sapo National Park

And this is how people farm, and this is what they eat.

GG 100420 717 Sapo National Park

GG 100420 266 Sapo National Park

The park is in danger.

GG 100420 874 Sapo National Park

But so are many things in Liberia.

GG 100420 827 Sapo National Park