7:45 am, 28 degrees, Thanksgiving morning, 5K run. I was the designated photographer as three of my children dragged me out of bed to take pictures of them running. Annual tradition. Most all of my family converged on our home for Thanksgiving. With so many people staying in our home, there hasn’t been much sleeping going on. I stayed up way too late. I was tired. I was cold. Then, the sun came up. The light hit the mountain tops and I thought about all the places I have been in the world this year, how many frequent flyer miles I have accrued, how many Marriott points I have, and, I was glad. Glad to be home. Home where the cold November mornings chill my breath. Home where the sun shines more often than not and the summer sun shines late and long. Home where my pillow fits my head and my bed has an indentation just my size. Home where my children come for Sunday dinners. Home where the sun rises over the Wasatch mountains to the east and Lone Peak Mountain lies north. Home, where I’m never lost and always loved. For these things and more I give thanks.
Early morning sun shines on Lone Peak, Wasatch Mountains, Utah.
They say Africa changes you. If you’ve been to Africa, spent time there, visited the people, you will understand. I’ve been to Africa four times. This was my first time in Lubumbashi. I was surprised. My own stereotypes were both reinforced and shattered. In Lubumbashi, a fragile peace hung over the city as oppressive as the heat and humidity, infusing a cultural angst almost as heavy . I was the outsider. I was different. The children called me “Muzungu”, white face, not a compliment. They smiled and laughed, not with me. My camera lens brought them running, surrounding me, dancing, playing and posing. In their eyes I saw joy, and innocence. The adults looked on, skeptical, questioning, challenging. Their eyes were reserved, hooded, holding back, keeping their stories from me. Many turned away. Some shouted insults. Those that did not were watching to see what I would do with their likeness. I took their pictures. I took them with me. I took them in, a part of me. I will not forget. In their African eyes I will never be the same.
These boys could not resist posing for the camera as we left their homes on the Lubumbashi River.
Shouldering many of the parenting responsibilities, a young girl carries her baby brother on her back.
Stylishly dressed in a green leopard print, this young girl has just one dress.
Her dress didn’t fit. The buttons were missing, but, she was still beautiful.
He’d just come out of the river, the mud still on his face. My camera drew him to me, with all his friends. The children called me Muzungu–white face.
When I showed him this picture, he laughed and laughed. So did his buddies.
When I tried to take her picture, she would hide her face and then laugh. When I showed her pictures of her friends, she opened up enough to let take this photo.
They were inseparable. She was delightful. He was protective.
Joyful–I couldn’t help but smile in her presence.
Who was I? Why was I there? I could feel the quiet challenge in his stare.
He wanted me to see his basketball jersey–the LA Lakers. I don’t think he knew anything about basketball, or the Lakers. The Jersey was purple, and it came from America. We had something in common. He was proud of that.
Some NGO dropped used clothing on the banks of the river. The children chose the brightest. Washing in the Lubumbashi river keeps those colors clean and vibrant.
Hurrying to see what the commotion surrounding us was all about, he came out of the river, still dripping.
The secret to such smooth, smooth skin could be found in the mud of Lubumbashi River.
After interviewing his nephew, I held up my camera and pointed toward him. He nodded and I took his picture. His eyes tell stories I’ll never hear.
A popular gathering place for Congolese, the town square has both political and artistic significance for residents of Lubumbashi.
Inconspicuously holding up the wall of his home, a shy young boy waits with his cat.
In one of the nicer homes in Lubumbashi, this kitchen features a few pots and a charcoal barbecue for cooking.
A tangible symbol of the province’s mining industry, Lubumbashi Mountain rises above the farms and villages surrounding the city.
Lubumbashi Mountain is made from the left over materials from the mines surrounding Lubumbashi.
With much practice and good posture, you too can learn to carry your worldly possessions on the top of your head.
It was hot in Lubumbashi, and humid. When the storm finally broke and the rain poured down, it turned the roads to mud.
Thatched roofs and termite mound bricks make up the main ingredients of huts in Bande Village.
The Village Elder gave us permission to take a picture, but, the women of the village, the mothers wouldn’t come out of their huts to be in the shot.
Women and children gather on the banks of the Lubumbashi river to do their laundry.
The Lubumbashi River is the local bathing, swimming and washing place, as well as the source of drinking water and sanitation removal.
Older sister and two brothers walk through their neighborhood.
Boys watch and wonder what we are doing with our really big cameras.
This boy was full of life and laughter, posing for our cameras.
This boy watched us carefully and curiously, not approaching, yet, not withdrawing.
Unemployment is high in Lubumbashi. Many young men simply can not find work.
A few nights ago, we were just wrapping a shoot on the campus of Brigham Young University. It had been raining in the valley most of the afternoon and snow had been falling in the higher elevations. Just before the sun set, it dropped below the storm and lit up the mountain. I had just come out of one of the buildings to this scene. I wished I had a better vantage point, a better view. I find, often, that the challenge is not to find a better view, but to see the world where I am in interesting ways. The light changed, the sun dropped below the horizon, it’s brilliance faded. Yet, in that moment I marveled at the beauty. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to take a picture, for the light didn’t last.
The storm was coming. It had been raining. Just before the sun set, it dropped below the clouds and lit up the mountain.
From a distance, Alex looks interesting. The closer you get, the harder it is to see. It can be beautiful, in a flowering African Thorn Bush kind of way. The flowers are pretty–sort of. The thorns can do some real damage. Among the thorns in Alex, there is an energy, growing, changing. In spite of the harshness of conditions, there was a softness in the faces of people. Not all were willing to let me take their picture. Some approached with angry words. Others turned away or hid. But, for those who stood their ground or gave permission, I could see a light, hard light perhaps, in their eyes. The noon-day sun did not make for the best photographs. However, in the hard light of the noon-day sun, when I put on my sunglasses, I could see hope.
You can meet elderly fashionistas in the most unlikely places.
I wish I knew what they were thinking.
In Alex, as in many parts of the world, the children are resilient–joyful and resilient.
She let me take her picture. She said I could. But I felt a sadness in her cloudy eyes.
She stood her ground. Our worlds were alien, mine to hers and hers to mine. I could feel her questioning, challenging–who are you? What do you want? I had no tools to bridge the gulf between us. When I took her photo and she ran away.
His curiosity got the better of him as he peeked around the corner of a wall. I smiled and he smiled back.
This little baby modestly hides from the camera as his Mother gives him an outdoor bath.
In Alex, unemployment, drugs, gangs and violence are part of the landscape of daily life. Barbed wire is one small means of protecting the children.
When you live in the dirt and the dust fills the air, everyday is wash day in Alex.
When you have to haul your own water and boil your laundry, it takes creativity to stir your laundry.
Children and Mothers hold hands for guidance, protection and hope throughout the world.
Amidst the rubble of decay, a fresh coat of paint and a little tar for the roof go along way.
A woman selects delicious fresh fruit at the Alexendra Market.
He knew I wasn’t buying. He made no move to draw me in. The wooden frame kept me from approaching. Yet, his gaze was penetrating.
They seemed like bars, the wooden frames. To keep me out or hold him in, I did not know which was more damning.
Two boys were playing in the remains of old construction. When they saw my camera, they stopped and stared, uncertain. Go away, we’re playing. They didn’t say it, but I got the message.
A child can find pure joy amidst the most challenging of circumstances.
I showed him the picture I took. Harmless. On to the adventure.
As this woman crossed the bridge, I asked if I could take her picture. When I showed her the picture, she laughed and laughed. She couldn’t understand why I wanted her picture.
It takes skill, practice and great strength to balance the challenges of life in Alex.
A young man listens to his MP3 player from an elevated place in Alex.
Rarely enough, a snack may be be the only food for that day in Alex.
Dirt and rubble are the playground for this young princess.
Amidst the dirt on the ground and the dust in the air, laundry may dry in the sunshine but it won’t be clean.
As long as a child can smile, there is hope.
Mothers in Alex carry their babies, sometimes on their backs, sometimes in front, the weight of better times for future generations.
This little boy seems to know sorrow beyond his young age.
Red and green, blue and yellow, opposites and contrasts, the story of life in Alex for two sisters.
Official unemployment figures hover around 37%. In Alex, the real figures are much higher as many men have simply given up looking for a job.
A young mother carries her baby to and from the market in Alex.
With a cloth wrap, most women carry their babies on their backs. When the get too big, or it gets too hot, the loose the wrap.
This little boy plays in the dirt while his Mom sells fruit at a stand in the market.
To make a living, many women conduct entrepreneurial street trading enterprises, selling produce and other goods.
Two employed mechanics enjoy their idle time waiting for work.
The barren landscape of Alex Market is both playground and refuge for children of resourceful mothers.
In Alex market, children watch and wait as parents, mostly mothers buy and sell.
It was noon and the sun was directly overhead. Hot. And Humid. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The hard light cast hard shadows. Appropriate–in Alex, life is hard. One of the poorest urban areas in South Africa, Alexandra Township is part of Johannesburg and is home to nearly 200,000 souls. Many do not have running water, or proper sanitation. Many live in informal shacks made of corrugated metal or cinderblock brick. Unemployment is high. Drugs are rampant and gangs compete with law for control. When I entered Alex to take pictures, I stood out dramatically–white on black, with hard shadows. The harsh light was not what I would have chosen for good pictures. Nevertheless, the time of day was a metaphor for life in Alex–harsh and hard. In this post I wanted to show some of the conditions inside. Partial understanding comes through knowing. Tomorrow I’ll show their faces.
Alexandra Township, or Alex, is part of Johannesburg, South Africa, and is one of the poorest urban areas in the country.
Water is a scarce commodity in many parts of the world. Clean water is even more precious. In Alex, dirty water is plentiful.
Livestock co-exist with people among the trash of a struggling human population.
Goats will eat just about anything, including trash. In Alex, they have plenty to choose from.
Alexandra township is located on the banks of the Jukskei River.
Among the discards of a declining industrial population, art will still find expression.
Harsh light heightens the contrast of color as clothing dries in a heavy breeze.
In Alex, dirt, dust and heat are oppressive. Clean laundry is never really clean. But, it is always drying.
This building was abandoned. Now squatters take up residence as the building slowly decays.
Drying laundry reflects the inner life of this former tenement building, now the home to countless squatters.
In Alex, even newer buildings are breaking down.
A dominant feature of home construction in Alex, corrugated metal is used for roofs and walls.
Broken, or baking, bricks are plentiful in the neighborhoods of Alex.
In Alex, if your truck won’t run, it may still work for yard decoration.
Red dust coats everything in Alex, including the cars. However, in spite of the arrow, I could never find the actual location of the car wash.
No matter how much or how little one might possess, entertainment is no longer a want, but a need, as illustrated in this upscale home in Alex.
The heat was oppressive. The air was heavy, barely breathable for one not used to the nearly 100% humidity. I was given 5 minutes to take pictures on the banks of the Congo River, in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. The Policeman who accompanied me, told me where I could point my camera. If he listened closely, he could hear the shutter click. After three clicks I had to move on.
Young men work the land on the banks of the Congo River, Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo.
About a half-hour drive outside of Lubumbashi, Democratic Republic of the Congo, is a little village called Bande. They grow avocados and fruit and sell them by the roadside to survive. We stopped for a visit. The children immediately surrounded us. They spoke Swahili and French. I spoke neither. With help, we asked the village Elder for permission to take this photo. He smiled and nodded agreement. I thought, for a moment, that the one woman in the shot was the mother. Not so. She is the older sister. The women of the village would not come out of their termite-clay-brick huts. The three men in the shot were the older brother, the uncle and the neighbor. The Elder also would not be in the shot. He was standing beside me looking at my view finder. With a small purchase, you can make friends for life in Bande Village.
Built in 1951 as part of the Orland Power Station serving Johannesburg, South Africa from the South West Township of Soweto, the Soweto Towers have become one of the most recognizable landmarks in the world. The power plant was decommissioned in 1998 after 56 years of service. Now, the towers are used for art, and advertising. One tower serves as a giant billboard. The other tower contains the largest mural painting in South Africa. But, even cooler than the art, is the action. You can bungee jump or base jump from a platform bridge between the Two Towers.
Soweto Towers could be one of the coolest places in the world to bungee and base jump.
It was late afternoon and the sun was setting in the Democratic Republic of Congo. We stopped briefly at Lubumbashi River and were immediately surrounded by children. They posed for our pictures and asked us for money. They played and sang and danced. It was joyful and fun. This young boy was in the middle of a rather thorough mud bath when we arrived. I’m not sure what the optimum amount of time for a proper exfoliating mud bath is, but this boy seems to have it figured out. If you want smooth skin, come to the DRC and stop by Lubumbashi River just about any afternoon. Someone will surely teach you the secrets of smooth, smooth skin.
The secret to such smooth, smooth skin could be found in the mud of Lubumbashi River.
In the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), the province of Lubumbashi is known for mining. Copper is king in the Congo and Lubumbashi leads the way. The locals are proud of their mines. They are also proud of their mountain (wait, I didn’t know there were mountains in the DRC).There aren’t–well, maybe just one. Perhaps because the Congo is flat, the Congolese people built their own mountain out of tailings, residue, slag, and not so environmentally friendly stuff that copper mines produce. Lubumbashi mountain (I’m not sure that if an Englishman went up, it would still be a mountain) has become a symbol of the province. It certainly dominates the landscape. In a strange sort of African way, the people are proud of their mountain and all it represents, including the economic impact and the environmental damage the mines appear to be doing. So, if you want to build a mountain, invest in mines. Or, come to the DRC, they have plenty of mountain making stuff to go around.
Lubumbashi Mountain is made from the left over materials from the mines surrounding Lubumbashi.
They're Calling To Me 