Category Archives: Travel

The Truth Of A Still Image

Does a photo ever tell the truth?

For many years, I have brought this question up during the classes I teach, delighting in the hearing the discussion that would follow. A still photograph is, after all, a replication of a slice of time, right? But yet, a still image also takes on meaning from the perspective by which it is viewed. Connotations derived from our own experiences “color” the image, and attaches attributes to the photo.  And in this digital age, where post processing can greatly alter an image from its original state without notification to the viewer, how can we ever trust that a photograph truly reflects reality?

The moment I enter a scene and select a subject, the decision making begins. How I angle the camera, which background I choose, how I like to see the light fall on the person’s face are all elements that can greatly affect the mood of the image. I know when a photograph might evoke emotion and when it might have less appeal to a viewer, and I deliberately discern how I want to construct that image.

People frequently tell me that my photographic style celebrates the integrity of the subject and preserves authenticity. While I certainly strive for more of a connection between me and the subject rather than the camera and the subject, I still believe that a photograph never tells the full story and by the time an image is made into a print, so many decisions were made that the viewer is only seeing one fraction of reality, and this is from the photographer’s and viewer’s standpoints, not from the subject’s.

I have a trick I use that works like a charm every time I want to shift the power from camera operator to the subject.  I wait patiently for this to occur before I press the shutter release, resulting in what many refer to as “capturing the soul of the person”.  This look in their eyes has nothing to do with photography, and everything to do with humanity and our interplay as human beings relating to each other, regardless and usually despite of the overlay of language.  However, even with this practiced altruism, I still walk away feeling like there is so much more I could portray about the person I am photographing. I never feel satisfied that I have “captured” someone. Never.

I leave every single encounter with a longing. A heart wrenching longing that is insatiable and tormenting. I leave something behind, many things, when I photograph someone. Like a lover left on the shores of a far away country, these people I have photographed play out their stories in my head, one by one, over and over, begging to not be misunderstood.

 

Ethiopia: The Human Touch

I have often wondered what happens in the flicker of one split second, when eyes register something other than simply being viewed by another, and understanding between two people takes place. I study this as I work with my still camera….I see the “dead” images, where I don’t have much communication with the subject, and I compare these to the “alive” images, where the subject and I have come to an understanding of one another, exchanging a form of love without spoken words.

In Western developed culture, we rarely spend time feeling each other. Fleeting eye contact, minimal touching, hasty interactions, we don’t often permit enough time with each other. We seek what we need and want, and move quickly into our next desire, rarely lingering long enough to foster communication that goes deeper than what is easily defined by words.  Lovers might feel this type of encounter, but how often do we allow ourselves to feel this with someone who is not our most intimate partner?

Here in Ethiopia, there is a purity of spirit that reaches out and envelopes even the most calloused person, should they dare to shed the shackles of puritan posturing and let themselves truly feel the deep presence of another human being.

Mankind started here in Ethiopia; we all come from this place. In new age terms: we are one on this Earth. When Western lifestyle is shed and an openness to Ethiopian spirit is permitted, you can fall in love with those you meet here.

If I bring my camera into operation too soon, before I feel silent heart exchange, I cannot record the love that is expressed through the beautiful and powerful retina of our eyes. But if I engage with someone and I am open to this manner of human encounter, at times the camera looses its intrusive power and love can be viewed via the image.  I treasure these precious images, each and every one, and count on them to remind me how capable we are as human beings to express love to one another.

Back home in my daily routine and distractions, I look into the eyes of these people and know that an area of the world exists where love and tender care comes first, all else is secondary…or even deemed useless to many. Often, I have seen many Ethiopians tilt their heads in endearment toward me, their eyes expressing that they know how lonely I must feel at times in my culture based upon independence.

Inevitably during these exchanges, tears well up and flow out of me, from inner recesses I rarely pull from in my comfortable life. I turn away, as it is extremely upsetting if Ethiopians feel that they have disturbed another human being. But I feel each tear, letting it absorb back into my skin as a medicinal antidote for carrying me forward.

And I believe, with all of me, that this is how we were born to love each another.

 

 

Ethiopia: Luxury Abounds

Ethiopia has been in the news lately, with coverage depicting the suffering that is happening due to extreme drought and its effect on human lives. But these problems are isolated to a small area in comparison to the whole of Ethiopia. Many Ethiopians are extremely upset by the notion that their country is associated only with problems that exist here.

Tourists come here to see the rock hewn churches in Lalibela, the wildlife in the national parks, the beautiful spiritual ceremonies held throughout the year, and Lucy, our human predecessor.

But would you consider taking a luxury vacation to Ethiopia?

Luxury abounds in this country, and when coupled with the tender and caring Ethiopian spirit of love, I cannot think of a better place to come to relax and shed the restraints of our highly structured and demanding lives.

From lodges perched on the edge of mountain cliffs, to sumptuous dinners for less then $10, to high energy night life, Ethiopia has it all.  Addis Ababa is the cosmopolitan heartbeat of the country where any need can be met, but luxury extends well beyond its borders, out into various towns and villages in every direction.  Tour guides are readily available to take you into jungles, trekking in mountains, birdwatching, or to run with the zebras in high plains, all with heartfelt Ethiopian smiles.

Ethiopia is one of the very few African countries that was never colonized, which enables a highly gracious welcome to foreign visitors and an acceptance even in the most remote villages.  If you have always wanted to visit Africa, the birthplace of all humans, consider Ethiopia.

You will be amazed, delighted, and well pampered.

 

(Paradise Lodge, Arba Minch, Ethiopia)

 

(Paradise Lodge, Arba Minch, Ethiopia)

 

(Lake Tana, BahirDar, Ethiopia)

 

(Kiriftu Lodge, BahirDar, Ethiopia)

 

(Kiriftu Lodge, BahirDar, Ethiopia)

 

(Kiriftu Lodge, BahirDar, Ethiopia)

 

(Kiriftu Lodge, BahirDar, Ethiopia)

 

Music Permissions for Video

I was interviewed for this ASMP Bulletin about the difficulties in securing permissions to use music for multi-media presentations. Thank you, David Schommer, for granting permission to use one of your groovy songs from Bole 2 Harlem for my Ethiopia: Feel The Love video. Bole 2 Harlem was playing everywhere I went in Addis last month!

 

Read interview here.

Betam Konjo!

Ethiopia: A Streetboy With Integrity

Day ends, and I am bone tired.  Dani took me to meet his aunt Welansa and I instantly fall into her and her very enaging friend who recently moved back to Ethiopia. They are a duo of fun, and I once again find myself wanting to stay here forever.

I feel like I fit here….my humor is understood, I dance every day, my visual senses are fed. I miss my family and friends at home, and I wish I could somehow bridge the two. Perhaps there is a way….

I find myself wanting to be silent – watch everything go down in front of me.  Mix mash of people, classes, tribes and various forms of transportation and languages. A sashay of Amharic and Oromic interplay, here, there, everywhere.  Music, click click of high heels on sidewalks, people running everywhere, fast. Rhythm. Everything has rhythm here.

Out of the chaos, a small boy tugs my sleeve.  I look down, and see Miki, hair church-ready slicked back and torn shirt haphazardly tucked into his frayed pants. I see a lot of street kids here, box of gum in hand, showing a persistency that any CEO would envy. But Miki seems different. There is something about him that makes me want to engage with him. Yet, experience warns my heart, and I pass by, finding a seat at the nearby coffee shop.

I see that Dani offers Miki one birr ($.05) for gum.  Miki’s face lights up and he asks Dani to choose what flavor he would like. Dani waves at him and says it is ok, he doesn’t need gum today, sell it to someone else. Miki instantly begins to cry, deflated that Dani was not taking his gum. He pleads with Dani, saying that it is not right to take money without giving Dani what he bought. With integrity front and center, he stands firm until Dani relents and takes a piece of gum.

Miki works the same corner, in front of Friendship Mall in Addis Ababa, every day. He was born on this busy street, and remains at the same spot, living with his mother and trying to make a few cents each day in the most fair manner.

Ethiopia, I am so honored to be here and learn from your people.

Ethiopia: Meet My Bro, Dani

Dani appears from the darkness surrounding the Mimosa Hotel, and my heart takes an extra jump. DANI! I am incredibly happy to see him, this young man who keeps me safe, and more importantly sane, in Addis Ababa.

I am here! He says. Do you think otherwise?

We share the same love for hip hop and rap music, as well as more traditional Ethiopian fare, and when our eyes first meet each time we see each other, we break into shoulder dancing. It is always so great to see him!

He helps me get settled the first day here, and the love I feel for him grows each day I am with this funny and spirited guy. Dani!

Each morning, he comes to pick me up in his van, and helps me navigate language barriers, cultural protocols and equipment issues. Such a creative soul he is. Give him any problem, and he will think of a solution. He only likes spending time with “people of positive” and I watch him as he intently looks at people….he has an uncanny ability to assess situations and make the most of them….or get the hell away.

Do you want to take lunch with me, he asks? YES! I say, and off we go on another happy van ride…..he in modern style, me trying to respect and emulate Ethiopian traditional culture. We make a great pair, and by the end of each day, my cheeks are literally aching from laughing so much. He personifies the Ethiopian wicked sense of humor.

Dani works with me at the Hamlin Fistula Hospital, helping to set up interview equipment for our time with Dr. Hamlin and other work. He also is a compatible travel partner; our time in BahirDar following a midwife by foot into the bush to see her outreach health post was productive…..and wildly fun.

And can he DANCE! The professional dancers can not even keep up with him, whispering in his ear on stage that they are tired and need to rest.

I learn so much from this special soul. We sanction our friendship into “family”. He is now my bro in the most heart bonding sense.

I love you, Dani.

 

Ethiopia: Magic Village

My friend and driver, Danny, invites me to join him on a visit to his home village and I jump at the chance to go.  On Sunday, he arrives clad in bermuda shorts, t-shirt and his shades and off we go, driving through possibly the most beautiful landscape on Earth. Rolling hills give way to massive cliffs and rocky pointed mountain tops with wind blown trees dotting the fields like staccatos in a pulsating Led Zeppelin song. Yes, Led Zeppelin. Deep. Dark. Mysterious. Commanding.

We arrive in his village, Gulett, a few hours away, and my mind is so far elsewhere. How can I leave this enchanting land? Maybe I should strop right now and turn back. What if at some point I won’t be able to?

We enter his compound and are greeted by his 87 year old “Mama”, his great grandmother, followed by “Imiyea”, his grandmother who raised him after his mother died when he was ten years old. It is love at first sight. Words are not needed to hold someone’s face, look deeply into their eyes, your own eyes filled to the brim with tears, and communicate feelings of joy for this chance meeting.

We visit for awhile, eat some gonfo, they teach me how to catch a goat, and I try to say something each time Mama tells me to “just say something”.  I wish I knew more Amharic, but she settles for the few words I know. We decide to take a walk before dinner and Danny leads the way over unpaved roads filled with large rocks, gently watching my stance so he can quickly right my fall should that begin to occur.

We come to an area that looks like paradise decided to drop some magic. I find out that Danny’s friends decided to pool their resources about three years ago, taking a stretch of incredibly unattractive land and making it into a lovely garden with pathways lined with beautiful plants and flowers. Small tables are set up so people can enjoy coffee (best I have had in Ethiopia so far!) and conversation.

They show me one structure that is not yet complete and tell me they are building a “Couple’s House”.  Apparently, if two people spend time together and after much dialog decide to culminate their relationship, they can enter the Couple House. If they do enter this house, marriage plans will follow.

As I sit there marveling at the storybook feel to the day so far, a small boy around the age of seven comes up to our table and begins to dance the moon walk and many other dance moves that Michael Jackson so flawlessly perfected.  I clap my hands, excitement building as his moves get more complicated. Dear Mother Sky…am I in heaven?

One of Danny’s friends starts to move his hands wildly in front of Fetena’s face and I realize this little boy is deaf. How can he feel the rhythm to be able to dance like this? I ask where the men learned sign language and my question is met with a shy smile. It is “just natural sign language”, they relay to me. And they go on to talk with Fetena about trips to Addis, how his mother might feel, what they need him to do, how they feel.  I try to catch a glimpse of a gesture I can understand and it is impossible. I fall in love with both of them. Like real love, the kind that makes you feel a bit twisted inside, and safe, like there is no end of it in sight. Ever.

I capture Fetena’s dance on video, and he commands the camera with intensity. My heart stretches to the moon, and I look up to see everyone watching my joy. I cry. I cry for Danny’s life without a mother.  I cry for this little boy who has not let his deafness keep him from feeling and expressing rhythm. I cry because this marvelous little boy is very poor and has to beg others for food. I cry for anyone who has never felt love like this. I cry because I feel so deeply.

Danny tells me it is time to walk a bit more, and a short way down the road I see a woman looking out of her window, head perched comfortably as though she spends much time watching the activities surrounding her house on a daily basis. Danny relays to me that indeed she is there all day, and she is blind.  Yet she looks like she is watching every move passing by.

I call this village “Magic Village” and I truly feel like I have dropped into my childhood’s most desirable dream village. And oh how I love it. When Mama says she will adopt me into her family, I feel a sense of peace rush over me, knowing I will never leave this village.

 

Ethiopia: A Visual Carnival

Hoo boy. I have traveled to Africa so many times now, and I forget about that “third day” of acclimation.  How could I forget?

The two days of flights don’t bother me. Gives me time to think. And once I circle the Bole airport from above, I get a surge of energy no matter how little I have slept on the planes. It’s ETHIOPIA!

Plane touches down, and I don’t mind that my friend Daniy is not there to fetch me. How could he possibly know that I finagled a seat near the front so I could flee downstairs to the Visa room and not have to wait in the hours long line? Hey. I am getting this stuff DOWN!

I negotiate a taxi, pay way too much because my Amharic is a dead giveaway that I am trying too hard and I am still as firenji as a firenji comes. I search for familiar words I learned last year, wanting to say yikirta (excuse me) but I say kiriftu instead, which is the name of a hotel in BahirDar. So I watch with fascination, and in silence, the scurrying of life as it is in Addis Abba.

It’s one of my favorite visual carnivals.

Busy-ness at its most fevered pitched, everyone has a place to go. Fast and furious. Chances are they are only going a few streets away but the way chaos meets mayhem here, one has to fight their way through roadways, avoiding buses, motorcycles, goats and an occasional posse of boys having fun. Crossing the road is like swimming in the deep blue sea, through multiple schools of fish going the opposite direction.  I literally put my hands together and try to imagine what it is like for a fish to get from A to B in the sea at rush hour. And where is that fish going anyway?

So upon touchdown, my senses are peaked and I sniff the familiar smells in the air while drinking in as much as I can within the shortest amount of time. Look at THAT! Did you see what he was carrying? Wow…they are playing a game over there…looks fun. WAIT! That’s a cow ahead!

Bump, bump…roads are conducive to new dance moves. Music is everywhere. I try to feel the beats of the deeply pitted roads match the Ethiopian sultry sounds coming from the scratchy CD player.

One word: fun.

So, I don’t sleep. I want to hear the priests chanting and the birds calling out in the wee hours of the morning. Hell, I am not tired at all! Let the adrenaline work its magic on me. Holy moly, I am invincible!

And then…WHAM. Around the third day it all catches up on me. I lose things. I forget where I wrote down important information. I mistakenly eat a mouse turd in my eggs. I can’t figure out how to turn on the video of my camera even though I have done it a million times. And, I see vast suffering and it starts to really sink in how difficult life can be here.

Communication is at bay, slow at its very best if at all, and I start to fall down. Tears and worse: I just sit and stare, nothing coming to mind. Nothing. I am not invincible, I am close to being crazy.

I realize I am in the culture impact zone, and I try to just let it pass. I pop onto the sedated internet and alas, a friend is available to chat. Geesch how she gets the brunt of it all. Where is the $%^# button I need to push? HELP ME! Look at what I saw today. I need help with capturing sound, and where the *$#%^# did I put that manual? I can’t fathom it all.

And then, sleep comes with a heavy thump and I wake up as though it is the best day of my life.

My first thought: I want to go ride the merry-go-round.

Ethiopia: Grace + Empowerment

We have all suffered to varying degrees. A lost relationship, death of a loved one, a missed chance. This summer has been especially difficult for several of my friends and also within our family due to various losses, to the point where I adopted a much practiced mantra: our happiness is in direct relation to how well we can grieve.

Grief comes in many forms, and I marvel at how often we try to push it aside and “get over it”, whatever the loss is. Lately, there has been so much of it in my life, I decided to try a different twist and embrace it. Learn from it. And I found that I am not very good at keeping that philosophy front and center.

I arrived at the Hamlin Fistula Hospital yesterday and within seconds was surrounded by women who suffer perhaps the most heinous condition a human being can endure. Fistula is not only physically debilitating, the effects are psychologically and socially devastating as well. And even if a woman finds her way to this miraculous hospital by the river, she still faces her return to her village where she often finds additional difficulties, and even a recurrence of fistula if she does not follow what she has learned while being cared for.

Yet all I see here on these grounds are beautiful women, with easy smiles, loving temperaments and deeply moving eye contact. They have felt the depths of pain that is unfathomable, only to reflect outward a generosity of spirit that is rarely encountered. It is as if their ability to suffer silently has instilled within them an ethereal aptitude to connect to humanity, instantly, at our most vulnerable level.

I am honored to be in their presence.

And as each women engages with profoundly perceptive eyes, I feel like a child, inexperienced, fumbling, uninitiated. They seem to know this, accepting this ferenji who lives such an easy life, and they take me into their graces with a tender hand, as if they know how easily I can break. These women are strong beyond imagination.

The Hamlin Fistula Hospital’s focus is not only to repair fistula, but they have built a comprehensive program that helps these women become empowered through prevention education and outreach, psychological counseling and community building. I spent the day with the patients, and followed one young woman as she showed me her daily activities.  I will share Asnaku’s experiences in the upcoming blog posts.

For now, here are some of the women who helped me deepen my understanding of grace.

Ethiopia: Extension of Ourselves

I have often tried to explain why the Ethiopian culture has such an effect on me. And words never seem to quite fit how I feel.

Something happens in this country that the structure of dialog cannot tame. A human connection at its most intimate and deepest form breaks down, bit by bit, my poised self and I find my heart beating a bit more excitedly at various turns. Grace, even under extreme pressure of the difficulties of life here, continues to be the base of existence. And I am seen. Not by what I have or how I look or how old I am or what kind of body I have, but I am viewed within a richer lens: my character is sought by those I meet.

As I struggled with laptop internet connection issues this afternoon, I experienced an example of what I am trying to articulate here. A soft spoken man at one of the many technical shanty shops was able to fix my problems after spending time with my laptop and CDMA communication device. When I asked what I needed to pay him for his services, he refused payment, citing that the problem was not difficult for him, he had the knowledge to be able to fix it, so therefore the right thing to do is share his knowledge with someone in need. He did not say this with a hint of manipulation. He eyes expressed truth and sincerity.

Life is hard in Addis Ababa. Shop keepers need every cent they can obtain, and there is extreme competition from other shops, all vying for the infrequent paying customer. I was astonished at this man’s generosity, and insisted that I pay him something for all of the time he spent on resolving my problem. I gave him 50 birr (approximately $3.00) and he seemed just as baffled toward me. He then relayed in Amharic to my friend Danny that he wished he could show me that the Ethiopian culture is not about repayment: it is more about extending to one another. His question: “Why does she think money has to be involved?”

I left with an uplifted spirit, once again being taught how to engage on a deeper human level.

Our lives in the US have been reduced to such transactional exchanges. I will do this for you, because you do this for me. I will pay you to help. I will trade something for what you have. And all too often, I will take what you have.

I pondered this all the way back to my hotel room and I had to think: What if we all started to live less via transactions and more by extending our hand, with no expectation from the receiver? What if our driving force was less about need and greed, and more about seeking ways to extend to others we engage with? I am not saying we should forgo getting a fair wage in exchange for our skills. But what if that was not what drove us in our interactions?

This extension of ourselves, a sincere and clear extension, appears to be the doorway to the ever elusive unrequited love for one another. And how might that feel, if we loved and never expected anything in return?

Many people in Ethiopia have very little in terms of possessions and housing and food choices. But they are stunningly rich in character.

 

Galebo Gambro helps women learn to read and write as part of Mercy Corps’ PROSPER program.

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