Parker Creek

I Am Africa

2011-09-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

I Am Africa

3/18/2011 - 7:30 p.m., Minneapolis, MN airport

I received this letter from Jane Goodall in February of 1979 while I was working my first job out of college, 32 years ago. It put Africa on my list in a very personal way. Since then, life has taken its course, until the call from Julie came on December 28th, 2010, "Would you be interested in making a trip to Africa?" Seems I and Africa share a destiny.

This is the story of my adventure. I hope to be able to post daily and share the experience as it is happening. We'll see what happens.

Before I leave, you might be interested to know who I am, right now and how that influences my vision going forward. I live on a small lake buried in the woods of northwestern Wisconsin. We moved here four and half years ago. It's the absolute right place for me, the landscape is a reminiscent blend of my childhood growing up in rural Waukesha county and summers spent on clear, deep lakes around Spooner in north western Wisconsin. I would describe my new friends here as independent, inventive, creative, opinionated, compassionate and loyal.

It been a tumultuous, invigorating winter politically as our governor tries to wrestle the right to collectively bargain away from hundreds of thousands of hard working folks amongst them some of my neighbors and my best friend. Recalls and uncertainty loom on the horizon. History is being rewritten, fundamental principles we've taken for granted for generations are being challenged and all of this comes on the heels of a brutally painful economic decline. Nearly everyone's been impacted by the economic events of the past three years in a meaningfully way, loosing houses, jobs and confidence, me included. Up and down the ladder of security, people of all ages are trying to reconcile the past with the new economics of the future. You believe what you need to believe to survive and to figure out a future for yourself and your family.

Bad news continues to pile on top on bad news. Instant access makes all of us an audience to catastrophes and unrest all over the world, with little relief in sight. Recent events in Japan only add to our overall malaise. It sucks the life out of you, the hope. Optimism is hard to find right now.

A very good friend of mine is just starting a determined battle to beat the cancer that has invaded his body. I believe in him with all my heart. Another wages a daily siege against early onset of Alzheimer's. These are my friends, people I know well, have shared deep belly laughs with and stared into the night sky wondering about the big questions of life. My life smacks of mortality right now. I've had big ideas my whole life, more than I know I'll accomplish in my lifetime. The guilt that these ideas are not yet finished can be overwhelming on some days. I feel like I owe it to my heroes to get these ideas accomplished now, not tomorrow.

What I do know is I am alive and serious ideas still burn in my head and my heart. My resolve is strong. Today is the day, and Africa is just around the corner. As I prepare to embark on this great adventure, I choose to embrace my friend Molly's favorite phrase:

"On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open, and the world is full of beauty. Today is such a day." Jalaludin Rumi.

I set sail for Africa tonight!

3/29/2011 - 1:00 p.m. Johannesburg, Africa, airport

After traveling for nearly 48 hours to reach Rwanda, being tired and a little disoriented, I sat down late Sunday evening (3/20) alone in my room at the Laico Hotel and I tried to call Val. We’d spoken briefly during a short layover in Kampala but a poor connection made for a disjointed conversation. Unable to connect via my cell, I tried email. I just wanted to tell her I had landed safely, met my travel companions for the week ahead and things felt fine.

"Tom, there’s no easy way to start this, so I’ll give you the most important information first: Your dad had a stroke this morning. . ."

Memories and emotions condensed in a millisecond, colliding with the reality that I was thousands of miles away while my dad was fighting for his life or worse, gone. I'd imagined this moment over the past few years. I was always able to be there, at his side, promising him that I loved him more than he could know and that we’d fish together again some day. This was nothing like that. . .I wouldn't be there. I have never felt so truly alone.

I could not read past those words for several minutes, but when I finally did, the rest of Val's words, changed everything. He had not died; instead, my brother had found him sitting on the floor next to his desk, conscious but disoriented. He and Carla immediately recognized his slurred speech and confused state and that set in motion a series of events that ended my dad up in the Stroke Unit at Theda Clark Hospital several hours later. They conducted a thorough examination including an MRI and additional cognitive test to determine what type of stroke he had suffered and assess the extent of the damage it had caused. He had suffered a Ischemic Stroke, "An Ischemic Stroke occurs when blood flow to the brain is restricted by a blood clot or other blockage."

I was unable to talk directly with Valerie as the cell did not work from my hotel location, but the care she took to tell me all she knew in her email and the hours she devoted to finding out what was going on from Jim and the doctors were an immeasurable help in getting me through this. She assured me that he was in good hands and that he had already shown signs of recovery and that there was reason for optimism. She also assured me that everyone understood my predicament and all agreed it was not necessary for me to get on the next available flight home. They would keep me informed of any changes via email until we could find another way to talk directly. The following evening, we discovered that although I could not call Valerie, she could call me on the cell and so we spoke and reviewed the frightening course of events that had taken place over the past few days.

I informed Jamie, Dominic, Kara and Karen, my companions, of what had happened, and they were wonderfully supportive, not just that morning but through the whole journey. Val and I continued to communicate via email and phone over the course of the trip regarding my dad’s condition. Her updates provided me with the peace of mind I needed to begin and complete this project. “Thank you,” to all of you and to Val and Jim and Carla for enabling me to carry on.

This turn of events and the ensuing difficulty of communicating combined with days full of travel to distant locations made for a situation unfavorable to steady blogging, hence the lack of entries. As I write this entry, I'm sitting in the Johannesburg airport bidding my time on a ten-hour layover awaiting my sixteen-hour flight to Atlanta that departs this evening at 8:20 pm. From there, I have another four-hour flight back to Minneapolis and at last I will be home, nearly twenty-four hours from now (3/30).

Introduction

I finished editing my personal imagery from Africa several weeks ago and began posting some of it to my web site. I’ve kept my thoughts about Africa out there on the fringe of my mind, simmering, occasionally visiting but not staying long enough to make sense of it all, postponing any in-depth dealing until I had finished up more pressing issues.

As a kid, Africa conjured up fantastical images of an almost prehistoric landscape inhabited by mysterious people and cultures so different as to appear otherworldly. It was a continent cloaked in mystery, stalked by lions and elephants, majestic mammals I could only see imprisoned at my local zoo or hung on the walls of some storied hunter. This vast landscape encompasses unparalleled extremes stretching from the scorching sands of the Sahara to lush rain forests of the Congo Basin. It’s home to the world’s longest, most storied river, the Nile, stretching over 4100 miles through nine African countries. Equally as intriguing, are the people inhabiting this dynamic environment, from Arab to African, the spectrum of beliefs is as diverse as the lands they inhabit. Add to that, the prehistoric record, the oldest claim to humanity and it is an irresistible story.

Our group was four, beside myself it included, Karen Downs, twenty-something manager of monthly giving for CARE and Kara Ansotegui, another twenty-something director of donor relations and stewardship from CARE’s headquarters in Atlanta, and from Boston, Domenic Spinosa, forty-something creative director for SCA Direct, CARE’s direct mail agency. CARE Atlanta was going to Rwanda to conduct interviews and gather background information first hand from individuals benefiting from various CARE programs. The plan was to take that information in combination with newly acquired personal perspectives and translate those stories into meaningful content in support of raising funds back in the U.S. SCA came along as their agency looking for fresh images to incorporate into CARE’s direct mail programs, particularly those dealing with hunger. I was invited to create portraits of the individuals interviewed by Kara and Karen to accompany their stories and to capture images depicting hunger for Dom’ s specific needs and of course, keep an eye open for any other imagery that might make an interesting visual story along the way.

While in Rwanda, we were the responsibility of CARE Rwanda’s staff. Jaime Stewart, Health & OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) Sector Coordinator was the point person for our visit. She and her staff did an outstanding job taking care of us from the moment of our arrival in Kigali to our departure a week later. Drivers picked us up daily at the hotel and dropped us off around curfew at 6:30 pm each evening. This was a CARE imposed curfew, because security is an issue for visitors in most African countries, Rwanda being no exception, just being smart.

Our first morning in Rwanda, we shared tea with CARE personnel and got to meet a number of program and support people. We spent the day listening to specific program presentations made by senior staff focusing on programs we were scheduled to visit during the upcoming week. Each presentation included an overview of the program including location, approaches, outcomes, lessons and key partners. Monday ended with a visit to the Kigali Genocide Memorial erected on a site where over 250.000 people are buried. The blood spilled seventeen years ago still stains this land.

Many of the programs we were about to visit were necessitated by the genocide itself or circumstances directly impacted by it. There was a long history of animosity and hatred being instigated between two ethnic groups, the Hutu and Tutsi, culminating in the massacre. During the genocide, men were the immediate targets, but as the slaughter continued, women and children also became victims. Before women were killed outright, thousands were brutally raped as part of the systematic plan to annihilate the Tutsi population. Many of the rapists knowingly transmitted AIDS to their victims, violating not only these women but their unborn children as well, insidiously prolonging this slaughter for several generations. The genocide left thousands of orphaned children and created large populations of refugees. It also devastated populations of animals in the jungles where renegade bands of militia hid out to avoid detection and retribution. Following the genocide, women made up roughly seventy percent of the total Rwanda population. These are a few of the historical circumstances that have created the need for various CARE programs. In an ironic twist of fate, the genocide ended up positioning women as the new decision makers and entrepreneurs in Rwandan society. It is also a contributing factor in CARE’s designation of poor women and single parent families as the chief population in need and the best catalyst for creating meaningful, sustainable change.

CARE – The Client

I grew up listening to public service ads for the Cooperative for Assistance and Relief Everywhere, Inc. (CARE) interspersed with coverage of the Vietnam War during the evening news. Back then, along with the Red Cross, CARE was the highest profile non-profit organization I was aware of. They were known for their hands on approach, delivering food, tools, blankets, medicine and school supplies (CARE Packages) directly to needy populations in African countries. Their appeals typically consisted of black and white images of young, malnourished children, hollow eyes trained directly at the camera.

CARE – Rwanda resides in a large, Mediterranean style, two-story residence that has been renovated to accommodate their offices. It is located in the Urugwiro Village, Kacyiru Sector, Gasabo District, around the corner from the American Ambassador's Residence. It sits atop one of many rolling hills in a community partial to other non-governmental agencies (NGO) including Save the Children, World Vision and World Relief. To enter the compound you must pass through a manned gate and sign in and out. The parking area around the building is crowded with numerous vehicles, mostly 4 wheel drive Land Cruisers along with assorted sedans for employees and several large rusted steel shipping containers stacked on top of each other off to one side.

CARE is a much different agency now than it was sixty-six years ago when it was founded in 1945. Their extensive history and credible hands-on experience, has garnered them a unique position. Today their expertise is frequently employed working behind the scenes mentoring and providing training to the personnel of other NGO’s and government agencies that work directly with the specific populations in need, insuring more successful outcomes.

The world has also changed particularly in Africa where a history of colonization has exploded into an ever-changing, often violent landscape of ethnically divided countries all trying to achieve sovereignty and, economic and political stability at the same time. For CARE to succeed in this challenging environment, it must be as politically and culturally savvy as it is technically, educationally, and socially capable.

The government decides whom you can and cannot work with as an NGO operating in Rwanda. They assess who the neediest populations are and how the broadest access to services can be achieved. Wisely they don’t make these determinations in a vacuum. They solicit information not only from the people themselves but also from groups like CARE with the experience and expertise to better evaluate the needs of the specific populations. The educational and leadership pedigree of CARE’s staff enables them to negotiate relationships between the government and other independent NGO’s creating successful collaborations to meet the needs of marginalized populations. CARE provides ideas and strategies for long-term solutions to those needs and effective means of measuring of the outcomes of the programs attempting to resolve those needs. Whether a program’s focus is orphaned and vulnerable children, victims of gender based violence, early childhood development, sustainable access to financial services, AIDS, or environmental preservation, CARE brings a skilled blend of experience, intelligence, determination and patience to bear on the issue.

I was impressed with all the folks I met working for CARE from the office support in Kigali to volunteers in the field. Today many of CARE’s programs focus specifically on poor women. They believe “equipped with the proper resources, women have the power to help whole families and entire communities escape poverty.” The goal of every program is to facilitate individuals and families being able to help themselves achieve a better life situation and then to maintain that situation indefinitely. Creating trusting relationships one mother, one child, one family, one village at a time has proven to be the most successful approach.

Blood Stained Land

In 1994 over the course of 103 days between April 6 and July 18, between 800,000 and 1,000,000 Tutsis and Hutu sympathizers were brutally murdered by government forces under the control of Theoneste Bagosora.

When we walked through the front door of the Kigali Memorial Centre, at the end of our first day in Rwanda, we could not be prepared for the story we were about to see and hear. It was profoundly sad, heart breaking beyond description. The centre is built on the site of more than 250,000 graves, innocent people of all ages killed in an infamous fever of hatred. People who have studied this event state that the killers, armed mostly with machetes and clubs, nonetheless did their work five times faster than the mechanized gas chambers used by the Nazis.

You are not allowed to photograph inside the museum. The structure consists of a winding hallway leading to several small rooms that open into a central chamber. As you follow the hallway around toward the center chamber, you pass four side bays, one facing in each of the four directions. They are designed like small open chapels, with a short set of stairs leading up to a large window of brilliant red and yellow stained glass, depicting different aspects of the genocide. Throughout, the walls are a continuous collage filled with photographic imagery captured during the actual genocide, of men, women and children in various stages of loosing their lives. It is a brutally honest rendition accompanied by numerous placards that provide a narrative of the history leading up to the fateful events and numerous individual accounts of those terrifying days.

Initially Dom and I shared his headphones taking turns listening to a narrative of historical perspectives leading up to the event. Following the historical background you begin to hear the first of many personal narratives from survivors. At some point, I stopped listening but continued to read the heart breaking stories of survivors framed against appalling denial as the world stood by and did nothing. In the US, with an election always on the horizon, we couldn’t decide whether or not it was genocide, and so we stayed home. On March 25, 1998, long after the infamous slaughter of these people, President Clinton while addressing genocide survivors at the Airport in Kigali, said, “All over the world there were people like me sitting in offices who did not fully appreciate the depth and the speed with which you were being engulfed by this unimaginable terror.”

When I could not read any more, I found myself holding back tears until I realized my companions were experiencing the same, unfathomable sadness. The scariest aspect of the story for me was how pervasive the hatred had grown and how simply the fuse was lit. By all accounts it was a spontaneous combustion of murder in every corner of the country from Kigali to the tiniest village, in some cases ignited by a single transistor radio in a remote village. Here was rage so raw and hatred so consuming, I could not help but feel deeply for the pain and loss of all these people we were about to visit. For me, it became the background static against which every voice, every story we were about to hear in the coming week would be told.

Within the main room, bench style seating faces a large video screen on which a series of videotaped interviews with survivors runs on a continuous loop. The main room is surrounded by a number of small kiosks carved out of the wall. These small display areas contain an assortment of human skulls divided by size into the different kiosks to illustrate how many adults and children were killed. The walls behind the skulls are papered with thousands of photos from family albums, and other personal remembrances depicting endearing moments from thousands of lives, young and old alike, all cut short.

I don’t know how you could ever recover from such an experience, every sleep again. Certainly it would make you question bringing children into such a world, let alone how a surviving child might see the world for the rest of their life given such a depraved introduction. How you go forward and make something positive from the ashes of such madness requires immense heart and courage. How long will it take to heal? I don’t think anyone can say. It is a daily process and is likely to take lifetimes.

When I saw her face, so defiant like a lion, I could not ask the question, I could only listen.

“You cannot know me, my life, what I have seen, what I have survived, what I have lost. Still, I am here now, in this moment, strong, alive, awaiting tomorrow."

WednesdayMorning - Gashaki

We’reon the road by 8:00 headed north two and a half hours to Gashaki, a mountainvillage in the Musanze district on the southwest shore of Lake Ruhondo. It’s a beautiful cool clear morning inthe 70’s as we weave our way through traffic out of Kigali following theRuhengeri-Kigali Road. Most of theroads in Rawanda are not named officially, but it works because there are sofew. We begin climbing almostimmediately into the mountains beginning a long series of alternating climbsand descents. Once we leave thepaved road the climbs and descents tighten as we pass through smaller andsmaller communities. We stop topick up a local CARE field officer, Josette, just before beginning the finalascent into Gashaki. It’s predominantlyuphill from here, as the road becomes a tight switchback falling away steeplyinto the valley below. It’s abeautiful though very “rocky” ride. In route we pass three cyclists decked out in full mountain bike gear,obviously not locals. You might see this as a testament to the effectiveness ofthe international advertising campaign by the Rwanda Development Board, or therest of the world’s insatiable appetite for extreme adventure. Either way it’s another interestingcontrast finding the expensive high tech bikes and riders in their colorfullightweight gear juxtaposed against the lush green mountain terrain home to avillage of people lucky to be able to feed their children.

Wepass people mostly on foot, adults with firewood or other staples balanced ontheir heads as well as children of various ages some carrying containers ofwater, some of the very young play right along side the road.  Our driver cautions out the window,“Hoshi (get away)!”  We park,secure our gear and meet with the sector official.  He signs off on our visit and we begin the short hike downinto the village.  Just outside weare greeted by a crowd of villagers lead by a number of women brightly dressed,dancing and singing, welcoming us to their village.  I scramble up a nearby hill to get a better perspective andwhile I’m shooting find myself swaying to the beat.  My participation doesn’t go unnoticed and is rewarded withcheers and encouragement from the crowd below.  It’s a good start to the day.

Ourvisit starts with an introduction to a schoolroom filled with excited,uniformed children and curious parents. Over the next hour and half, using mostly hand signs and laughter, Imeet an engaging group of mothers and children while Kara and Karen interviewselect members of the village in a building below. The hot sun directly overhead makes for a steamy kaleidoscopeof color with the women’s bright wraps and hats, kids in their blue-checkereduniforms and a collection of freshly painted playground equipment donated by aCARE supporter. I’m instructed tomake sure I capture images of the equipment, preferably in use.

There’sa pattern to shoots like this. Upon arrival everyone’s excited and available. Since I’m not the principal reason for us being there, thelocal CARE staff and sometimes our drivers/translators go with Kara and Karento help with interviews, leaving Dom and I to fend for ourselves, hence thehand signs and laughing. If it’s alarge group of children were working with, I’m usually mugged by waves ofbeautiful young faces all trying to be the center of attention while parentsstand off to the side watching curiously. I usually count on taking numerous shots of the smiling faces en masseand sharing them immediately with my groupies via the small LCD screen on theback of the camera, not a great way to share with so many eager faces but itusually works well enough. Seeingall these faces allows me to see specific faces I might want to concentrate on,but getting them alone or at least separated is difficult under thesecircumstances. I usually have towait for the initial thrill to wear off and then if I’m lucky I can track downthe faces I want and get a minute here or there before the crowd tracks us downand we are once again engulfed.

Thismorning I work my way through the crowd singling out young faces as well asinteresting mothers with their children. I assume consent with the children unless I’m told or directed otherwiseor if a particular individual indicates discomfort. I do not force the issue. I also like to avoid directing too much in theseenvironments preferring instead to work back and forth looking for a new angleand waiting for some brief sense of familiarity to sink in allowing for morecandid opportunities. This can bea tall order to accomplish as a complete stranger in an hour. Nonetheless, Dom and I scour theaudience looking for useful images. There is a clear sense on the part of many of the mothers that this issomehow an opportunity to shine and they are very obliging and are happy toshare their children as well. Others are more skeptical and reluctant to participate. Most all of this communication is eyeto eye. What I cannot escape isthe bright colors in evidence everywhere and the extreme contrast from the brightoverhead sun. I concentrate on theopen shade for opportunities.

Kidsare great. The formula is the samethe world over. Wherever there isa camera, there is a stage and all you really need to do is be prepared. It’s no different here. What I’ve been fighting all week arethe circumstances controlling my opportunities. Dom needs very specific kinds of images, young children,preferably girls of a certain age or mothers with their children of a certainage, boys can work but would be a second choice, looking hungry without lookingtoo desperate. It is the cultureof advertising thousands of miles away guiding what we are looking for here andnow. Plus none of our stops werescheduled with any of this in mind. Another consideration complicating my job, is that most of the childrenwe do see and get introduced to are kids in school thus wearing neat blue orgold uniforms, not the kids we need for our purposes. The last issue revolves around model releases, something Iattempted to address long before leaving the US. The issue was not directly addressed and so came down to afield decision that between Kara, Karen and Dom, they would manage any releasesor permissions that would be required. After all of us attended a few of the initial interviews it was decidedthat I would make portraits either before or after the actual interviews as thecamera was too distracting and I agreed. It was a lot to ask of a single mother or rape victim to face a barrageof questions from a group of complete strangers let alone be photographedrepeatedly during the inquest. Agood decision.

Relievedof the responsibility for model releases, I decided to fire away at everyopportunity and let them sort out what can or cannot be used afterward. This is an unfortunate circumstance. I trust the people I work for to makefair decisions when it comes to using my images under circumstances likethis. In a letter of the lawworld, some of my images would not be usable even though they might be perfectfor various stories because we do not have permission. Africa is not a letter of the lawworld, yet.

Itis challenging to connect in a meaningful way with mothers and daughters andsons and grandmothers and fathers and cousins who don’t know you from Adam, ina few brief minutes stolen out of the rest of their lives half way around theworld. So those moments when ithappens are unique, sometimes unforgettable. It’s what I’m always looking for, me and you, right here,right now, no other agenda. Sometimes that connection happens eye to eye sometimes it is felt in awhole different way eyes turned away leaving it to your heart to reach out andunderstand what’s being said. It’srarely a perfect moment and that’s a lot of what I like about photographingpeople, so often what makes us most human are our imperfections.

Towardthe end of our visit, we corral a large group of young children and presentthem with a banner painted with the words “We Love CARE” and convince them tohold the banner while I photograph them. It may seem like one of those cliche ideas, but it’s really not becausethe joy and laughter and smiles are all very real and sincere in thatmoment. While everyone works withthe very excited kids attempting to get them to focus on my lens, off in thedistance over the lake, clouds begin to gather promising the afternoon rainwould soon begin falling. On aridge overlooking the sea of smiles, women begin gathering, some with smallchildren in their arms or holding their hands as they look on at the theaterbelow. I grab a few frames of themas I’m leaving. It’s almost asthough they are brightly armored centuries resolutely guarding their children,their future. The dancing andsinging is long gone. I was nevermeant to stay. How is what I dohere today going to help them tomorrow?

Becauseour days require extensive travel between locations, boxed lunches are includedto enable us to keep moving and stay on schedule. Ironically we are encouraged to eat our lunches out of sightof the children and families we are visiting, in the case that we aren’tactually on the road. Dom and Ifind this somewhat awkward and embarrassing. We frequently end up giving our boxed lunches to localprogram people and they are ever so grateful. I understand the intention isjust to make our trip comfortable. However, it really feels like we should be less comfortable out ofrespect for the struggle the people we are visiting endure daily.

The Gorillas of Sabyinyo 

The humanity in his eyes was undeniable.

Overnight we’d traveled from Gashaki to Musanze and thismorning find ourselves assembled with two fellow trekkers, missionaries, on thegrounds of the visitor center at Volcanoes National Park. The ranger is describing the Sabyinyofamily of mountain gorillas we are about to track. Volcanoes National Park is located in northern Rwanda in theprovince of Ruhengeri. It shares aborder with the Democratic Republic of Congo and Uganda and was the firstnational park created in Africa. The park served as the base for famousprimatologist Diane Fossey’s eighteen-year study of mountain gorillas. It is part of the Virunga ConservationArea that includes five volcanoes, Karisimbi, Muhabura, Sabyinyo, Bisoke,Gahinga. The slopes of the dormantvolcanoes are home to a wide variety of ecosystems ranging from heath andgrassland, to rainforest and bamboo forest and, in the higher elevations,evergreen forest. March is thebeginning of the first rainy season so we expect to find the gorillas feedingin the bamboo forests on the lower slopes of the volcano somewhere between 7200ft and 8600 ft above sea level.

In addition to the six of us, our group includes our headranger, several porters, a student intern, and two trackers. The trackers are armed with automaticrifles and machetes. The riflesare to scare off buffalo and elephants or any other surprised party includingpoachers. The machetes arerequired to cut trails through the incredibly dense bamboo forest.

The morning breaks with clear blue skies and an expectedchill in the air.  In the distance,framed by several large cypress trees, you can see the peaks of Sabyinyoblanketed in cotton white clouds. Sabyinyo means “old man’s teeth,” a fitting description of the peaks weare about to climb.  The Sabyinyofamily of mountain gorillas is famous for “Guhonda,” the largest knownsilverback gorilla in the park weighing in at an estimated 485 lbs.  His name means “Chest Beater.”  I’m filled with both excitement andanxiety, knowing that we have an excellent chance of encountering the rarestgorillas on earth but also preparing myself for what promises to be achallenging hike over slippery, uneven terrain.  

Before our trek begins, our guide offers us a selection ofwalking sticks each with a hand carved likeness of a gorilla at the top. Gorilla tracking etiquette is addressedincluding taking precautions to protect the gorilla’s health like turning awayor covering up when sneezing or coughing. Flash photography is prohibited and we are advised tokeep our voices low and avoid sudden movements in their presence. Lastly, don’t panic should the gorillasapproach you. Got it.

Our trek begins on a footpath, several bodies wide windingits way through a small village. Clay brick shacks with few windows and even fewer rooms, many withrusted metal roofs, spread out amongst raised rows of potatoes and cassavaplants. Scattered about thevillage mothers work tending to their gardens while small children, shabbilydressed, come running out of hiding to wave us on our way. Older kids try their hand atpanhandling crayon drawings of gorillas. The village appears pristine in theearly morning air set against the backdrop of the forested foothills and thecobalt blue sky. Our pathprogressively narrows as we leave the village and move into the foothills. Thepace is efficient with periodic breaks to allow us to catch our breath. The porters jockey back and forthamongst the group offering a hand if needed for balance or more support ifrequired. Warning, you should befit to attempt this hike, if not, you will quickly become a liability to yourhiking mates.

As we leave the village behind, the landscape grows hillydissected by a patchwork of hand piled stone fences. Even though the air iscrisp, the hike warms you up prompting some in our party to tie their coats about their waist. The path continues to narrow as wesplit cultivated fields passing through primitive wooden gates adjoining privateproperties. A half-mile outside ofthe village we begin a gradual ascent up into the dense forest looming ahead.You can feel the incline in your legs as the landscape begins to close in. Just before the park proper, we crossover a small stream on a few questionable branches where we stop, regroup, andhave a chance to ask questions.

At this point the landscape changes dramatically. Within ten yards it changes from gentlyrolling crops and blue sky into no sky and shoulder-to-shoulder bamboo. Youenter the bamboo forest as though through a doorway, it’s that dense. This is my first bamboo forest and itis amazing.

Now the rule is single file, allow you predecessor room totumble just in case and keep moving. The path is an uneven mix of slippery mud covered rocks and erodedstream bed. Some of the mud poolsare deeper than your boots and thick enough to suck them right off yourfeet. I quickly learn how to walkwith my legs straddling the banks on either side and frequently employ nimblefootwork to avoid falling. Much ofthis path existed but some of it has been cut for our benefit because this isthe direction where the gorillas are located this morning.

The further up we hike, the more often I find myself hunchedover at the waist bending under dense tree limbs or sagging bamboo. Keeping your balance becomes ever morechallenging. Early on our hike wasfilled with pleasant conversation as we got to know each other, but now everybreath is reserved for the task at hand. Wherever the canopy breaks, the forest floor is covered with a lushcarpet of giant ferns. As the sunclimbs higher into the sky, the temperature climbs with it while the formidablehumidity makes me wish for shorts and a tee shirt. Prickly nettles and fire ants convince me to keep myclothes on. The sporadic crackleof walkie-talkies interrupts my labored breathing as the guides work to pinpointthe location of the gorillas. My focusbecomes very narrow concentrating on the few yards of trail in front of me,staying upright, and keeping up with the pack. Hours have passed but the hike is so strenuous I hardlynotice, and then suddenly in mid step, everyone stops. The gorillas are here, close, andsilence is advised. I begin toclimb again, slowly, deliberately when there, just off to my left, sittingalone in the deep shadows of the bamboo is my first mountain gorilla.

There’s so much sweat in my eyes, I have to wipe them beforeI can fully appreciate the magical creature sitting calmly in the shadows. I quickly adjust my camera speed whilesimultaneously steadying my breathing to expose my first shots. The challenge is to maintain my balanceon a steep slope covered in freshly cut branches of slick bamboo, while overheadthe bright sunlight creates conditions of extreme contrast. Our guides know exactly what they’redoing as they slowly position us one by one along a trail freshly cut out ofthe bamboo leading into a small clearing just above the family of gorillas. In the heat of the moment, with thework it took to get here and the precarious nature of our location, I can’tfully anticipate what I’m about to share.

Over the next hour, I’m privy to the private lives of someof the most exclusive primates on the planet. It is once-in-a-lifetime cool! From my perch I can see various members of the group back inthe bamboo including two young gorillas maybe fifteen yards away. Unfortunately that would be as close asI would get to the two youngsters. As we settle in and became accustomed toeach other, the gorillas go on about the business of life, eating and playing,relaxing and moving about, sometimes within a few yards of me. Our guides keep an eye on us and ourhosts grunting and otherwise communicating that our intent is peaceful. I’m able to move about repositioning tosee different members of the family as they interact with each other. Betweenall of us, the gorillas, and the dense foliage, it makes for a very congestedspace. Initially I’m so intent on takingphotos I loose track of the bigger picture, I’m not “listening” to the wholelandscape. I learn to be patientand wait for the gorillas to reveal themselves. Once I accept the nature of the relationship, I relax andwait for whatever opportunities are in store.

The narrow trail’s very slippery so moving around othermembers of our party is difficult. I spend my time surveying three or four groups waiting for the bigmoment. There’s plenty of yawningand scratching to go along with shredding lengths of bamboo. What you soon realize is that eventhough you can only see six or seven individuals at a time, there are more allaround you camouflaged by the dense foliage. I have just shifted my gaze to the left when there’s awhat-the-hell-was-that crash! Upon the rise to my left, one of the young male silverbacks wraps his arms arounda cluster of bamboo trees and falls backwards bringing the whole bunch crashingdown into the green beneath. Nowmuch more accessible he climbs on top of the wreckage and begins his search fortasty young bamboo shoots. Momentslater, out of nowhere, another young male steps out of the shadows and onto thetrail splitting our group in two. No one panics. The internis closest to him and she lowers her head and looks at the ground. He pauses for a moment surveys ourconga line and then ambles back into the shadows. I start breathing again.

Whereas the hike up was laborious and time consuming, thehour spent here amongst these gracious creatures goes by in a blink. As our time amongst the gorillas drawsto a close, I stare through my lens into the eyes of a young silverback. Theconnection takes my breath away. The humanity in his eyes is undeniable. We are not alone; this is notour planet to do with as we please. We share every square inch with something or someone who depends on itfor their very existence as well. I have been looking into the eyes of Africaall week, mothers with their children, students and teachers, leaders,survivors and now these eyes.

This planet doesn’t belong to us, we belong to it. That we are even here is a miracle.Don’t waste our moment. Instead, prove we are worthy of the gift. There’s still time to put our planet first.

Afterimages

Ifit is scientific fact, that Africa is the cradle of civilization, thebirthplace of us all, that prestigious birthright should carry with it aninherent degree of credibility. Being the cornerstone of all our stories, Africa occupies anundeniably prominent place in all of history. Horrific change has become thelifeblood of Africa. How it proceeds and whether or not it succeeds restssquarely on the shoulders of all Africans. I sense that this amazing circumstance is just beginning tobe embraced by the people of Africa. Can Africa appreciate the value of its unique historicalperspective? Will she embrace thatperspective applying lessons from her painful past and making wiser, forward-thinking decisions about her future? What will be written about Africa in the next century?

Thebrief exposure I had to efforts to build grass root businesses focused on womenas entrepreneurs and leaders was as inspiring as it was impressive. Building confidence and self-esteem oneindividual at a time by employing education as the currency of change isfundamental to enduring success. What made this even more impressive was that this progress has beenachieved despite entrenched traditions that discriminate against women. From a wider perspective, this changeis happening amidst widespread, ongoing unrest at a state level. This change is contributing to acontinent wide awakening from generations of exploitation exacted throughcolonialism and slavery. The prizeis Africa’s future.

Tobegin as the cradle of civilization and then to have your identitysystematically assimilated by centuries of foreign self interests; to have yourcitizens enslaved at home and abroad; to be denied tools, technology andeducation to improve the lives of your citizens; to be condemned as a"third world" and infected with a relentless disease; is it anywonder such oppression has lead to the terrifying civil wars and genocides now alltoo readily headlined as the identity of Africa. That vicious warlords replace self-serving dictators, in theprocess, condemning hundreds of thousands of citizens to become refugees livingat the mercy of neighboring states is a story too often repeated inAfrica. As a result, relocatedpopulations exert pressure on limited resources including the rain forests,pressure that can lead to changing boarders and in turn continued conflict overthose borders. All of this injustice and blood shed testify to just how hardthe road has been for countries like Rwanda and Uganda to claim their birthright as sovereign nations free and independent from the greed of the west.

Youcannot simply dismiss the third most populated region in the world, especiallyin light of the once and future global economy. It appears the key to Africa’sfuture hinges on whether she can forge a lasting peace amongst her children intime to employ all the potential alive within them. Can there be an “African” identity? Can Africa construct an economy thatbalances the needs of her people with protection of her great naturalresources? Can she electenlightened leadership cognizant of those needs capable of engendering enoughtrust to shepherd in meaningful change? Can Africans resist the temptation to chase the greed and arroganceconditioned into their consciousness by the capitalism of their enslavers? Will Africa instead embrace anintelligent, selfless model motivated by respect for the environment and allthe creatures dependent upon it, installing themselves as stewards rather thanowners of that environment? Dothey realize they have a choice?

First Impressions Photography Exhibition

2010-01-08T09:52:00.000-08:00

Artist Statement – Tom Lindfors

“First Impressions” is a collection of portraits I’m making of people I’ve met since moving back to Wisconsin. I asked each person nine personal questions and, from their answers, I developed ideas for their portrait. Their images are presented along side their answers to these questions.

The majority of the images are made with a large format 4 x 5 view camera on black and white film. We have been seeing the world in color for several generations now. I believe black and white plays an important role in helping us recognize our world differently than we see it day in and day out. It focuses our attention, helps us listen.

Working with a 4 x 5 camera demands a certain discipline on the part of both the photographer and his subject. To be successful you must engage your subject and convince them to embrace the process. These sessions, on average, last 3-5 hours, a lot of time to spend with a stranger. Working in the studio dictates the focus be on the person not the environment. Lighting is crafted instinctively to distinguish the unique character of each individual.

I wasn’t really thinking of these images and stories in terms of an exhibit until I read these words in Dr. Marcy’s answers, “I believe in the good of ordinary people.” None of these answers were originally intended for public consumption. However, I saw so much wisdom in their words, I thought it would be worth sharing with the larger community. No one here is crying out for attention. They speak honestly and, I believe, from the heart. They are the shoulders on which communities are built. We have all chosen to live together in this place at this specific moment in time attracted by both those who think like us as well as those who challenge us to think differently. Strong communities embrace differences recognizing them as opportunities. While these portraits standout as uniquely individual, common threads of compassion, responsibility, spirituality and inspiration unite their stories together into a quilt of our community.

Special thanks to:

Artist, Michael Cook for permitting me to incorporate portions of his paintings into the portraits of Allen Luke. To see more of Michael's work or to contact him, visit his web site at: http://www.michaelcookart.com

Mr. Charles Moore and the folks at the Stool Store for providing the stools used in the portraits of Sarah, Allen and Nicolas: http://www.stoolstore.com

Luke Erickson and the folks at White House Custom Colour for their personal attention and assistance with printing the canvases for the exhibit: http://www.whcc.com

Pink Rue Anemone

2009-05-13T14:21:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 8, 2009

Brown Dragon

2009-05-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Fly Fishing on "No Name Lake"

2009-04-10T07:41:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning, April 8, 7:30 a.m.

Hawk Moon

2009-04-10T07:36:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, April 7, 7:45 p.m.

Jesse

2009-04-08T13:30:00.000-07:00

Jesse

Spring 1994 - March 23, 2009

In all the world there is no

greater friend than the one

who shares his heart

from beginning to end.

Red-Tail in Winter

2009-01-23T09:19:00.000-08:00

Red-Tail in Winter

Like the wolf's howl,

you know in your soul her call.

Heard but not seen,

stopped in my tracks,

I stare high into the snow-filled sky.

Alone, against snowflakes beating,

held still by the west wind,

I found her.

A flurry of beats

then silent glide.

Indifferent to the cold,

I feel her keen surveil.

In her wings reflected

a perfect blend,

equal parts earth and sky.

Finger-tip feathers

play invisible notes

only the winter listens.

In that moment,

ages pass,

a time before we,

a sky in perfect balance.

We share this place

our lives run parallel

until one is over

another life cycles.

Silence surrounds.

What must it be like to soar in snow?

Her image haunts me still.

- c. tom lindfors

Fundamental Change (November 4, 2008)

2009-01-23T08:12:00.000-08:00

It starts with a moment like last night, a moment that can change history. A spark of hope that snaps us out of our over-extended, multitasking, constantly consuming lives allowing us to glimpse what the future can be, a chance to be better than we are, not just a little better, much better, parents, teachers, neighbors and leaders. The veil is lifted, our eyes are opened, our imaginations are engaged and we begin to believe in a purpose larger than ourselves. We remember how it works; we stop taking and start giving, stop talking and start listening, stop searching and start believing.

The election's over, we have a new president, maybe a great president. Will it be the beginning of a new day so many people have hoped for including me? Some things are certain; there is a lot to do, it will take time, mistakes will be made along the way and it will require all of us to work together. Is that possible? Will we allow the president to lead? That famous dream prophesied August 28, 1963 from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial has finally come true. I couldn't help but feel the preacher in President Obama's inaugural speech. I want so badly to hope again, I really want this to work. He seems to grasp the enormity and urgency of what needs to be done. And I think deep down each of us knows it's about so much more than us right now in this moment.

In the weeks leading up to the election I was troubled by the thought that the office of the president had become just another CEO's position and not one that highly motivated individuals seek. Any number of private sector jobs would be preferred well ahead of the President of the United States. America had written off this office as part of the game, just another player, a consequence of money and influence. We don't look our children in the eye any longer and say, "you can become anything you want" openly hoping that it might be the presidency he or she aspires to. We have surrendered our hand in our own governance. The president is our direct hand, our voice and our conscience in the everyday execution of the constitution. The road to restoring the respect this office deserves must be earned by the right individual at the right moment in history. I feel this is that moment.

To lead today is not just a matter of might, it must also be an act of conscience and conviction. The president must know when it takes more courage to retire than to keep killing in the name of peace. He must also posses the strength to bear the burden of fallen sons and daughters when we must defend those sho cannot defend themselves, when no one else will step forward. Make no mistake, this presidency will require great courage maybe more than any before it. The great hope of what can be will not be realized until each of us stands up right now, every day until the deal is done.

I want to believe in America again. We must find a way to recognize the differences in each of us but also to yield to the greater good, realize there is a point when individual freedom can only come from collective sacrifice. We need to raise the bar, embrace goals we aspire to that may not be achieved in our own lifetime. We need to set an example before we loose touch with our history of sacrifice.

We must find a way to adopt philanthropy at the core of our actions, make it our motivation as a nation, share not only our technology and experience but also conviction and compassion. The world will follow, but first we must lead.

On the Passing of a Friend

2009-01-21T14:18:00.001-08:00

John was 53, a year older than I am. He died Wednesday, December 17th, 2008 in his studio on Grand Avenue.

He was a good man, a good person. I didn't really know his family other than to say the move to Bainbridge Island must have been like a trip to Disney World for the boys. I remember a particular photo John showed me of the pier running off their property into the ocean. I remember the starfish scattered randomly about the sea floor, like another universe just there off the end of the pier.

I liked John. He was honest, generous and most of all sincere. He epitomized photographers of his generation, always dreaming about what could be. John was a bit of an inventor as well. I think that goes without saying for tabletop shooters, the ability to invent whatever contraption might be needed to perform some specific once-in-a-lifetime task. You could get a good sense of John from his studio. Usually there were ideas all over the place, all being explored simultaneously on little sets spread across the studio floor. I imagine he could have been a lot of things but he ended up a photographer and it suited him. Everyday began with the chance to explore, to build and to communicate using his imagination.

I was most familiar with the upstairs of John's studio, more specifically the darkroom. Over the years John let me come and go freely printing projects as I needed. It was a typical darkroom full of bits and pieces left there over time by visiting photographers. Underneath the stacks of paper and bottles of chemicals, behind the forgotten enlargers, you could still see the promise of the original intention, a well plumbed, smartly shelved, generously sized (by darkroom standards) room off the beaten path of a well traveled studio. At the time it housed an antique enlarger that looked like an old beauty salon hair dryer featuring a big red beehive lamp housing. It was exactly the tool I needed for my specific project and John said "Help yourself."

However we got started, he was a friend from the beginning. He trusted people and he listened. He rarely refused a request unless he was away on one of those crazy quests with Jim and his fellow die-hard adventurers. His space was my space. In between the long hours I spent perfecting my prints, we'd talk. He was curious about so many things, always working on something . . . I can still see him at his desk nestled there between the hall and the kitchen talking on the phone. One day, as a way to say thanks for his generosity, i asked if he'd like a print? He chose a print entitled "People Always Asking for Him," appropriate I think.

I will miss him. Then again I'm pretty sure I saw him smiling last night in the sunset . . .

Life Cycles

2008-12-04T12:01:00.000-08:00

Until I moved to Star Prairie, I measured my life in a variety of different ways; years, grades, jobs, seasons, marriages, births even deaths. At the end of your life, no one can really say what comes next. Maybe you're fortunate and have some sort of belief system that gives you confidence in the unknown or maybe you accept that, at the very least, life continues in some form even if it's as simple as turning back into that dirt that nourishes your tomatoes.

The other day, that all changed. Do you ever think about how many other lives are being lived at the same time as your own, specifically the lives of other creatures? How many sparrows come and go, frogs, hawks, deer? I used to see a sparrow as "the sparrow," the same sparrow each spring, each winter. I took his life for granted. I didn't give him credit for how long he really lives, maybe a year, maybe a couple. So many lifetimes are being lived at any given moment, simultaneously with my own, depending on the same air, water, food. The life cycle of a sparrow, a dragonfly, all happening while I'm happening. Suddenly all my decisions are more important, more urgent. What's really important, the sparrow can't speak for himself, he doesn't have a voice in the decision making process. It becomes very much about my decisions and how they impact his lifetime. . .and the next twenty generations of sparrows. This is not our planet, not alone.

I'm beginning to sense the interrelatedness of everything in a way I never did before. Everyday I vote with my actions for those who cannot, I am responsible. I'm a steward of this great experiment.