I've just completed my most arduous and daunting task of recent weeks. Between the hours of 18:30 and 21:30, my primary mission involved the perfect balance of entertainment and discipline. I wasn't able to let my guard down for even a second. The smallest of errors on my part and my charge could easily vanish, inflict serious bodily injury or much, much worse.
I was babysitting.
Yes, it is difficult to believe that someone out there would trust me with a child, but it's true.
I have always said parenthood is the most underrated of professions and my theory is always supported with extended contact with little ones. However, I do have to admit that as an 'aunt' things are pretty easy in that you can give them back when things get to be too much! (But they really never do, and the best thing about diplomatic negotiations with a two-year old is it's usually pretty easy to get them to accept what you know they don't want, it's all in the presentation and delivery - with that said, you’d notice I didn't say always!)
For those of you that don't know, I have returned to the UK, where I have been living for just over a year now, and I have to confess that I was dreading the return. London is an extremely isolating city and I have found only a few locals that exhibit anything resembling warmth, compassion or sensitivity.
However, with that said I have also met some incredibly lovely people since I've been here and I also completely understand that life in London, with 7.5 million people living in a wee (compared to Canadian cities), congested and expensive space can be stressful and I am yet another newcomer. ('I need to stay longer,' I've been told)
I do have to admit that it's great to be back. It's finally summer! And among the plethora of daily and nightly activities, there are festivals every weekend.
When I left at the end of April, winter was just departing and London was just starting to thaw.
In fact, two days before I departed for Africa I went to the final Synergy Project for the season and it was a great send off. Not only was it fun, but also an incredible juxtaposition to the Kenyan environment I found myself in 48 hours later. About 2000 people under London Bridge Station all dancing until the early hours with minimal alcohol, an incredible array of music and activities, as well as about 14 different NGOs promoting causes from anti-war to climate change.
It was my second event with them, and though I'm a little biased as I'd been volunteering with their media team for a few months, I can honestly say their events are fantastic! (I have a few more images here if you are curious)With my return, I found myself in a similar contrasting adventure on Carnaby Street, shooting stills for a Nokia commercial with both a director and producer I've worked with on a few different projects as photographer and producer/AP. It's was comparatively glam, and the cast and crew very friendly.
Whereas days prior, I was admiring downtown Nairobi shrouded in litter from its western outskirts, amidst a scattered crowd of coal workers and vegetable vendors on my way to see some of the wildlife in the city's national park.
I confess to feeling caught between two worlds. I miss Nairobi and the people I've met there. There is a warmth and sincerity to the Kenyans and Ugandans I haven't felt for quite some time. I'm not sure if it's the fact that religion is such a dominant part of the culture or if it's because consumerism hasn't jaded everyone's perspective on what one 'needs' to have.
What struck me, virtually everywhere I went was, how happy nearly everyone seemed; whether it was kids playing with milk-carton trucks with bottles caps for tires or the head of the transport union waiting patiently for hours for the film crew. There appeared to be a glaze of pleasantry and general contentment I don’t often see in the west.
To put things into context with an example, I took my friend from the slum to the theatre. It was the first time she'd been since her 18th birthday, she is now 28, and she'd never tried any of the chocolate bars at the refreshment counter.
I felt as though I complained from the time I met her. First because the matatu was taking so long due to traffic. Then because I had to pay at 3 different counters at the fast food place. And again when they didn't have change for our chocolate bars. When the movie started 15 minutes late I became agitated and after a mobile telephone went off for the 15th time (no exaggeration) during the movie, I walked across the theatre and politely asked him to turn it off and then when it rang 3 more times I was pleased that I refrained from a more extreme response.
Now lets compare the two of us. One of us has left an abusive husband and is raising a small child alone in one of the poorest areas in Nairobi while living in a one-room shack with her grandmother, surrounded by neighbors that beat their kids and play the radio until late in the night. The other is getting paid to travel around the country and take pictures, able to return to either London or Canada with supportive friends and family at any time.
What is wrong with this scenario?

New meaning was brought to the term slumber party when I stayed over last night in the Lenana slum.
I’ve spent a significant amount of time in the settlement due to work with the orphanage, and decided that it’s about time I get to know the community a bit better, and there’s no better way than spending a night or two with the residents.
I arrived early in the afternoon and discussed some of the fundraising activities and proposed developments with the trio from the Lenana Slum Orphanage (LSO) and then, on a whim, decided to make a quick trip home, grab my things and returned in time for dinner.
My friend Lucy, who is the orphanage treasurer, was very excited at having the first mzungo, white person, to stay overnight in the slum, and we giggled as we tread stealthily through the aluminum shacks, mud and garbage to her little one-room dwelling, neither one of us particularly keen on advertising my presence.
I brought along some beef and tomatoes for dinner as we were going to cook traditional Kenyan fare. None of the little shacks in the center of the community have electricity so we had to rely on her kerosene lamp for the most part, and my little headlamp that I tend not to leave home without since my arrival (actually as I type this letter I have it on as there is a power outage in my complex)
I thought years of camping in the great North American outdoors would prepare me for most of my stay, but a few things were beyond my scope. As an example, Lucy doesn’t own a cutting board and I didn’t think of having the meat cut at the butchers, so I had to hold the piece as she sawed through it with the very dull blade of her knife.
I also am still getting used to the Kenyan system of bathing, and it was fun to watch her four-year-old son squeezed in the small plastic basin and then have her excuse herself to venture to her neighbors’ to use the same basin.
We chatted as we made dinner for ourselves as well as two of the neighbor’s kids that wanted to spend the evening with the crazy mzungo, and Lucy told me a little more about what brought her to the slum.
Lucy left an extremely abusive marriage about a year ago and moved first to Mombasa, the east coast gateway to the beaches (and where I spent last week) and then to the little settlement with her son Denzel, named after the famed Hollywood actor.
Work is scarce in the slums and although monthly rent is less than $US15, it’s a challenge to raise a small child. Her grandmother lives with them when not working in a nearby community six days of the week as a maid, and somehow they manage to get enough money together to survive.
Lucy is always smiling and brings with her an air of positivity regardless of the situation. She has transformed the 6x6 foot, partially-rusted-aluminum-shack into a very cozy little home for the three of them; gluing magazine images of starlets on all four walls and organizing everything neatly away in corners.
As we readied ourselves for bed she rearranged the room, so Denzel would be close to her and casually pushed a chair against the door to keep out any potential intruders that might be tempted to make an abrupt call on the foreigner.
Perhaps I should have been more worried, amid the blaring sound of reggae from one neighbor, the yelling of a mother as she beat her 12-year-old son two houses down, and the commentating of the first half of the Serbia vs Ivory Coast football/soccer match playing somewhere in the distance, but if I worried about such things I probably wouldn’t have come out to sub-Saharan Africa to document the activities at truck stops. (That, and after witnessing a thousand overly-energetic outhouse maggots instantly consume tissue a mere 8 inches below, just minutes prior to retiring for the evening, images of little else seemed to pervade)
The morning arrived way too soon. Having fallen asleep to Lucy translating the highlights of the football match around 10:30pm, I woke up a few times in the night, mildly disoriented and wrestling with a mosquito net that managed to consistently wrap itself around my head. Then at 6:30am the radio started again.
Denzel and I responded similarly to the blaring of reggae as Lucy performed preliminary preparations for the day.
I didn’t want to get up and go to school either!
I eventually pulled myself out of bed grabbed my camera and headed out to an accompaniment of giggling, ‘mzungo,’ and ‘hi, how are you’ from behind curtained doorframes and dark windows.
Lucy explained that they were all very amused that I’d spent the night. And the gentleman that fried us our morning mandaze (like a doughnut without the hole) was even more so. He laughed away, asked me to take his picture and threw in a couple extras for us.
(He was so nice in fact that we spent about an hour at his wooden shack in the afternoon chatting over tea, chapatti and fried beans)
For the next hour we readied Denzel for school, and accompanied him there, before returning to do dishes and laundry. Lucy put me in charge of our breakfast mess and with a small basin, bucket, a bar of soap and a child’s sock I went to work. By this time, those of the neighbors that didn’t get a laugh over me spending the night, certainly found entertainment. And it definitely broke down a few barriers.
As Lucy explained, most mzungos in the area have far too much pride to stay over, nevermind do dishes. (I really don’t see much of a difference between the slum and camping at Glastonbury music festival, or 2 months car camping around the U.S., just less people and more diversity in music)
The rest of the day was similar to past experiences I’ve had in the settlement. I usually divide my time between the LSO office, the daycare run out of the church and the sections in between. There is always something interesting to entertain and people are usually interested in talking.
Today one of the LSO organizers was showing a group of teachers and environment advocacy groups around Lenana.
The LSO is trying to become a self-sustaining organization and one of the plans devised is the creation of briquettes out of leaves, water and paper, which the kids have learned to mash into pulp and compress. These will be sold around the area and used to cook the gruel for the kids.
I believe I’ve mentioned the gruel earlier as being the main meal of the day for the majority of the orphanage children. Although the smell of it usually makes me nauseous, I got over it enough to try a small sip of it and found it surprisingly not so bad.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon speaking with the educators and then hitched a ride with them back home. The majority of them are from The Giraffe Center in Karen, literally up the road from where I am staying, and after talking with one and hearing of the programs they are implementing, decided I will visit them in the coming week prior to departing.
Despite the fact I’ve been in east Africa for nearly two months, I have yet to see any wild animals except baboons. And that will definitely have to be remedied!

Hi everyone,

I don’t know where to begin with thank yous for all the lovely letters and offers of support, so I think it best save them for when I start showing images of contributions.

Much has transpired since my last posting and I’m uncertain as to where to begin. I think I see the direction of the blog as being an amalgamation of an online journal and my desire to effect change. I think one of the things I would like to do is frequently highlight someone I’ve met that could be helped.

Today I have two women I’d like to feature.

The first is Florence. I met her in Malaba during my recent trip to Uganda. I will admit to having a few preconceptions as to what would drive a woman into the sex industry. And after this trip I really came to see how in the region, for the vast majority, there is absolutely nothing else.

Florence lost her husband within the first few years of marriage, he had AIDS as does she. She tried to return to her family, but was abused and rejected by her siblings, so ended up in the Kenya/Uganda border town. She refused to become involved in the sex industry initially, and worked as a maid for about $4/month for a couple months. What do you do in a country where 55% of the population lives below the poverty line and you have several children to support?

Two of her siblings have since passed away and Florence has adopted their kids, who have no one else. During one of her last jobs the condom broke and she is now pregnant again and due any day. Because she can’t work, she is now 5 months behind on rent, which is about $3/month and she has 6 children relying solely on her.

We spent a few days with 3 women in this small town and my heart really goes out to all of them. All have adopted kids they’ve either found on the street or from family members that are dead from disease.

There are so many children…

The other person I just met yesterday as I was on my way to the orphanage for a visit. Her name is Phoebe and she is involved in projects to empower women in the community. She has been teaching knitting and silk screening but has run out of materials. Her project is closely linked with the orphanage in that the guardians of some of the kids are looking for ways to earn a living.

I meet somewhere between 5 and 10 people a day that are in a critical level of poverty. And I will try and focus on those that are more forward thinking.

As I mentioned previously, help extends beyond financial and I would love assistance and volunteers in a few areas.

With respect to the Lenana orphanage, we are looking at getting a website together. Is there anyone out there that would like to help with editing copy? We’ll also be looking at a volunteer web designer and then a web host somewhere…

We left Nairobi yesterday for the town of Makindu, a couple hours east of Kenya's capital. We were able to travel with a friend of mine who works at one of the many NGOs in the region and it was great having him there for our first location on the road.
For those of you I haven't told, we are working with the International Transport Federation on the creation of a documentary that reveals how the HIV/AIDS has been spread in Africa via public transportation, specifically truck drivers. I arrived in Kenya at the beginning of May and had to establish contacts around the country and organise our travels for when the crew arrived on the 10th.
Our cameraman, Niru, arrived from Mombai a day before the director, David, of Parachute Pictures and Thomas our Bohemian bodyguard/grip arrived from the U.K. and Germany. With our driver in Nairobi, Francis, our little crew is truly unique and beyond the scope of convention. I feel as though I have landed in a Hunter S. Thompson's adaptation of Life Aquatic starring Dr. Strangelove in an east African setting. And I could tell many stories in support of this, but I think last night really epitomised the eccentric/absurd reality in which I am living.

We arrived in Makindu in the early afternoon to meet with female sex workers that are receiving educational support from the German NGO, and after a short meeting with them on the grass outside, we all headed to their homes in town.
The three we chose to follow live in neighboring huts behind a bar/restaurant along the highway. We spent the afternoon with them and the few interested neighbors that chose to come and hang out in the pueblo-like setting with us. As the crew interviewed the women, I photographed those outside and particularly enjoyed watching a small boy carrying a little kitten around like a ragdoll. Poor thing, but it really illustrated how children are children regardless of continent.
We left the women in the early evening and headed on foot along the highway for GVs, General Views for those not familiar with the cinema term, and stills. As the stills photographer, I have a little more latitude because it doesn't take as much time for a snapshot. I usually tend to venture off a little further into the bush, small villages, dark alleys etc to see what I can find.
And today I was lucky. I found a group of kids that hadn't seen the likes of me before and I had an instant little fan club for about an hour. And man we had fun!
For a quarter of an hour they were very shy with me and chose to just stare. Then one came up and asked me about my camera. 'What is that?' So I showed him the images I had just taken and there was an instant chorus of 'more!' So I raised it again and suddenly I had 10 little boys practicing their kung fu techniques in front of me! It was fantastic! And I really could not stop giggling. I was running out of space already on my memory card, otherwise could have spent the day with this little impromptu photo shoot. I instructed them to come a little closer and showed them I wanted them to kick over top of the camera etc. And they followed perfectly!
From there I returned to the little pueblo and met up with the women we'd met earlier in the afternoon and headed to the club for the evening. It proceeded about as can be expected, drinks, food, conversation, filming and pics. Thankfully no fistfights or bar brawls over the presence of foreigners with cameras and we were finished by about 12:30am.
At this point, after having been up since 5:30am, I was exhausted and really looking forward to retiring at the sheik temple up the road for the evening. But no, the boss had other plans. And within ten minute of wrapping, the cameraman and I were suddenly on the 6 hour, overnight bus to Mombasa with all the crew's luggage. 8 bags! I'm not really sure how it all happened and how the director managed to convince us that this was the right thing to do, but, I think as I alluded to earlier the spontaneity, element of surprise and the subject matter are exactly why I've chosen to explore this way of life. (That and being able to spend a day at the most perfect beach waiting for the rest of the crew to arrive)
In the meantime, as I alluded to in my first email, I meet a lot of people that are in extreme poverty and could use help. I can't help them all, but if any of you feel inclined please let me know and I'll partner you with the individual.
Today it's one of the women we were with in Makindu:

Hi everyone,
I'm just going to dive right into this and if you want a background of the project. Please click here.
I will post a bio at a later date, but if you would like an idea of who I am, please click here.

I think to be fair I should post the original letter that I sent to friends on May 11, 2006.

Hi everyone,
As some of you know, I will be in east Africa filming a documentary for the next month. In addition to the main production, I am working on a few little side projects to keep occupied.
Nairobi is a wondrous city of extremes. I've been here a week and have witnessed not only the effects of the horrible poverty in the slums, but also seen blossoming-middleclass Kenyans. Everyone I've met has been incredibly kind and generous and, with the exception of traffic in the city center, I have no complaints.
Over the course of the last ten days I have regularly visited the slums of Lenana, just outside downtown Nairobi. For six hours during the first day, two of which were in monsoon rains, I tromped around in sewage and garbage and what I saw both horrified and inspired me.
The people were lovely. Because of the colonial rule, most of them speak English in addition to Swahili, and so I can listen without an interpreter.
I haven't met my neighbors in London though I've lived there for a year. Yet in that single afternoon, I met many villagers. The generosity and sense of community I experienced in that single day I haven't felt for a long time.
As I walked from aluminum shack to aluminum shack, I received chapattis by a group of women cooking dinner, shared a pair of rubber boots with my escorts for the completely flooded areas and played games with the six children that were around the orphanage for the day.
I met a grandmother who is looking after 5 children and they haven't eaten for days. I met a woman who has suffered from AIDS for 6 years and has three charges. I met a little 3-year old boy who had never seen a wazungu (similar to a gringo) before and wouldn't stop staring up at me. And of course there are the children from the orphanage.

This morning when I visited I saw feeding time. I haven't cried for a long time, but when I saw the excitement over a cup of wallpaper-paste/gruel by 60 children it was too much...
Prior to leaving London I met Hanne, a German-born-Columbian-raised Canadian who has been working with the orphanage for the last 4 months. She has a fascinating story, which I will tell at a later date via other media, but her and her husband have contributed immensely to the improvement of the school all out of pocket.

There are 60 vulnerable and orphaned kids in the village. Most have members of the community that look after them, but as you may imagine there is not a lot of anything to go around and without proper education these children will never get out of the slums.
I was lucky enough to have been adopted at a young age by loving parents that could easily afford to educate and provide for me. We also had the opportunity to travel extensively, experience other cultures and meet people from around the world.
Over the course of my life I have met many wonderful people along the way and have come to appreciate the many similarities of life on different continents, regardless of race, religion and income.
Furthermore, I believe we are all connected, whether through six degrees of separation or through the air we breathe and the planet that we collectively share.
Although we are rapidly reaching the maximum capacity that the planet can handle in terms of natural resources due to the ever-increasing population, I find it appalling and disgusting the amount of people that live at this level of poverty. It is not right.
And I know that despite the heavy NGO presence in the region and the millions of dollars coming in through donations, it will be a long time before these people see even a shilling of it.
Corruption is rife.
We cannot as humans expect our governments to take care of things for us and, the bottom line is, this planet cannot sustain the high level of consumption in the west and lack of preservation and care of environment.
We really need to work towards finding some balance. Now I could go further, but my desire is not to rant, but to provoke thought and perhaps prompt some sort of action.
I firmly believe that the actions of the individual can make a difference. And the collective actions of many individuals can exact change. The people I've met in the past ten days have given me hope. From the initial contact I had with Hanne, to the lengthy interview I had yesterday with Kenyan MP and humanitarian Ruth Oniang'o.
I mentioned that we are all connected. As a photographer, during the course of my stay in Africa, I will bring some of the items that I have collected from people over the years to people I meet in the community and photograph them, like a visual prompt for a remembrance of things past.
While I am here, I have access to resources I won't when I return to the UK in June. If there is enough interest I am happy to stay on and continue work for a little while as a photojournalist and as a human.
Also, as you may have noticed, I am writing from an address I don't usually use. If you have any thoughts, comments or would like to help in any capacity (IT, creative inspiration, financial, educational, moral support, etc) please email me here. Otherwise, we'll still chat through our regular channel.
hope this finds you all well.
Love and Smiles,
Dana

May 12, 2006

So after an evening spent mulling things over, and arriving at the cyber cafe this morning to find an inbox with the most beautiful letters, I've decided to work on a blog, (or at least post regular pics) and although it will be quite brief and infrequent, after yesterday, I feel like I should share a few of my experiences. (At least those that mean the most to me.)

I went to the Lenana slum, on the periphery of downtown Nairobi, for the third time since my arrival at the beginning of May, and though something really touches me each time, yesterday my heart was ripped out. I want to try and convey what it was like.
I know as a journalist I’m supposed to be neutral, but if newspapers can be politically alligned, I don’t see any reason why I can’t venture into advocacy every now and then.
Every time I venture out to the slum, I always come with a full bag of food, clothing for my little ‘connection project' and money for someone or another who either hasn’t eaten for days or who’s mother/wife is now hospitalized for Aids. Where do you draw the line?
I know that we’ve seen images like these a million times. With Band Aid, Live Aid and the recent Make Poverty History campaign, but until you are in a room vibrating with 60 kids that can’t contain their excitement over the anticipation of consuming what, in my mind looks like wallpaper paste, and then vying to get the first cup but having to wait because it’s too hot…
But really what really got me was the little boy that licked his cup clean of the bits that had dribbled on the outside.

Lenana is one of many slums in the country. For those of you that saw “The Constant Gardner,” Kibera is just across town and has about 5000 inhabitants, which is about 5 times the size. It is heartbreaking to meet some of the people and inspiring to see the energy and life. Here are 3 of the older orphaned boys in the hostel (with Hanne-donated bunk beds).



Aside from the slum, I have been busy with the groundwork for the main film project that centers around truck drivers and AIDS. I had to add a photo of one of my main contacts, just because for the next two weeks he’ll be my main man on the inside and this will probably the first of many images of him.

And perhaps most importantly in many ways, I want to show a side of the country that not many have seen. So I’ve added a couple shots of downtown Nairobi.

I guess I'd just like to say I’m inspired by the country and it’s inhabitants and want to share. It’s been a long time since I’ve been at an event where I haven’t had to struggle for a shooting position alongside 6 - 60 men twice my size.

I guess perhaps I’m finding my niche.