location
Omo River Valley
story
The Chief
community
Hamer Tribe
It's been a year since the trip was first proposed.
It's been two weeks since I've returned. The story, and its impact on me, is only now starting to reveal itself.
7,355 images...
People keep asking me how the trip impacted me. I respond the same way each time; The impact came long before I accepted the invitation or took flight or took my camera out. The impact came when I understood why I was taking the trip.
2,505 images...
To be present was of the utmost importance. I went without a computer. I wouldn't let myself review the images in camera. I wanted to be completely aware and in the moment.
Connect. Create. Repeat.
1,664 images...
Every day, every night, I go through the images, chasing the final number: 40. An arbitrary number, but a goal. A goal of selecting 40 images that tell the story that I set out to tell, but I am without a timeline or deadline.
Quality is the driving force.
480 images...
I didn't know when, but I knew, the entire story would be presented, and I could not wait.
...40.
Since I've returned, this story, and its impact on me, continues to reveal itself.
I am left with the questions the trip exposed, and a small circle of artists and friends to share these questions. Questions I ask myself, daily.
I've made my culls, I know the story I want to tell, and yet I hesitate. Every day, every night, in my mind I go through the images, and question my place in the experience. I am without a deadline or timeline to tell this story, and that freedom which was once liberating, is now paralyzing.
I didn't know when the entire story would be presented in a gallery, online, and likely, or in print.
I once said I cannot wait, but now I realize,
that's all I've been doing.
I crouched as I entered her home, a hut prominently positioned in the center of the village. I brought with me Anticipation, Excitement, and Energy. She brought Kindness, Wisdom, and Understanding.
I sat and spoke with our guide, who in turn spoke to the translator, who spoke to her. This game of telephone would deteriorate any connection I was striving to achieve. I needed another way.
Speaking once again to our guide, I told him, to tell the translator, to tell her, that my hope was that she would just tell stories. Memories of her time with the tribe. Memories of her life.
The message was relayed, and I waited and watched, intensely.
I watched as the entire energy of the room shifted and a warmth grew. Soon, laughter was filling the hut, and others from the tribe were crowding by the doorway, peering in. I had yet to raise my camera with intention, and I simply participated.
Without understanding what was being said, I could recognize the moments. Moments of levity. Moments that carried honor. Moments that carried sadness and pain.
I watched as she commanded the room, not with menace, but with Kindness, Wisdom, and Understanding.
I raised my camera, and made a series of images. I saw through the lens the power of this woman as it moved from her body and through her words away from her and throughout the hut. I witnessed something I had never seen before.
Tears came to my eyes and I was overwhelmed by all of it.
I put my camera down, understanding that to search for more would be selfish, and that the gift I was being given was experience and connection.
The gifts I was being given were
Kindness
Wisdom
Understanding.
He stood, his back to the setting sun, surveying the land.
His land.
He was the Chief of the tribe and I would only have a few moments to make these portraits. I needed to understand and connect, quickly,and above all, respectfully.
Without speaking the language, I could sense the pride he carried with that title, and all that came with it.
I asked that he think about that pride as he looked at me and suddenly I was alone in this experience. In this land.
His land.
There was a shift, and I quickly depressed the shutter.
I unshouldered my camera and crouched to the ground. Immediately I was surrounded by the children, laughing and pushing to get closer. It was all I could do not to slip. I took the camera and held it up, lens to my face, depressing the shutter button several times. I knew the minimum focusing distance wouldn't allow for anything sharp, but it was a moment I was searching for. A connection. I made two or three images and showed the children. They loved it. I brought the camera back out an arms distance, gave up trying to focus, and started making images again, now surrounded by children, eager to have their image made.
It was at this point I felt all my tension disappear. Every image made after this moment was superior to whatever had been made previously. I had finally made a step towards connection and away from my own insecurities, two elements which would be paramount for the trip.
This moment would be a turning point.
It was when the experience truly began.
M. Thurk
