South Africa
I have a roof, food, health and family. I have many things to be thankful for. I woke up one morning in the room I was staying in and walked onto the balcony. At the time I used to smoke so made some coffee, lit a cigarette and looked down. I saw this man lying there on the pavement. I'd seen him around a few times before on this street. Usually he was fairly incoherent but was up and about with his day. There was a group of people that lived on the street at the bottom of it who would dealt drugs. He was a client of theirs. I hadn't seen him like this before so I focused on his chest for a few seconds looking for any sign of movement. I found myself holding my breathe as he held his. I thought, maybe he was dead. He looked relaxed and peaceful. A world away. Then I saw the rise and fall and in a normal rhythm return. I reached for my camera through the paint flaked metal bars on my window. I didn't think at the moment about whether it was right or not to take the photo but I took it. I was given advice from a wonderful artists once before saying my job as an artist and photographer is to sometimes step back from a situation and look at it from beyond a bystanders perspective and to document that which I see happening. A fly on the wall as it were. I didn't look and frame up. I pointed down and pressed the shutter once. I sat down and finished my cigarette thinking about my uncle who died of a drug overdose. I have vivid memories of him when I was a young boy and he was alive. He was full of life and always playing and up for a game with me. I also have vivid memories of feeling his cold face and kissing the cold skin on his cheek at the funeral and seeing the stitch come up under his chin where they cut him open to perform the autopsy. I remember the sorrow in the hall. I wish I didn't remember those details sometimes but they're etched into me forever. My father used to tell me how my uncle had nothing of real tangible value but gave his only jacket to someone on the street with him because the person was cold. I struggle sometimes, to understand, from my warm memories and the stories of him how people like that draw these cards in life when they have so much to give, have great hearts and loving families but get caught in this terrible trap. I thought this man down there lying on the concrete has to have family and someone who loves him like I loved my uncle. And if he doesn't have a family he probably did at some point and someone who thinks of him. I still think of him and hope he found some sort of peace and is able to make it. I hope he doesn't land up like my uncle. This is a curse and I wish this slow decay and rot on nobody. I never saw him again after this.
The Republic of The Congo
When I travel for work to document stories like this one where I went to document a female gorilla researcher in The Republic of The Congo, I try to live as simply as possible with minimal fuss and needs. I try to assimilate as best I can into my surroundings and be part of the place and people and be open and enjoy my time with them and in these new places. These children waved us down as we were driving out of the rainforests to try sell us some cane rats that they had hunted so they could make some money to support themselves and their families. We bought them as meat starts to get expensive the closer to the cities you get and we were as far from a city as you could get here. I haven't been home in a long time and I miss my home of Africa. I miss the warmth of her people.
