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Can I give you this photo, please?

11/30/2015

‘Can I take …?”

Traveling all over the world and living in exotic places like Cambodia, I take a lot of photos. I take photos of monuments and mountains and temples and tuk tuks, but most of the time, I take photos of people. Witnessing and documenting the daily lives of average people fascinates me, as I believe it reveals the true roots of their culture far better than any anthropology book ever could.

Unfortunately, many of the people I take photos of are poor, often living on the streets, reduced to begging, eating out of the trash, with no education, medical care, social programs or government aid to help them, a form of desperate poverty that we’re not accustomed to in the United States.

“Can I take a photo …?”

I can’t help not to take photos of these people, and all people, as it would be inauthentic not to document what I experience in the world. But I make sure I am not just a tourist in their pain. When possible, I ask if it’s ok I take a photo first, thank them in their own language, smile widely, and give them a dollar or some money for their trouble.

But despite these measures I cannot help but think it’s still a one-sided transaction. I – the privileged, fair-skinned, empowered, overly-fed Westerner walks among the poor, dark, uneducated masses in exotic lands, snapping photos of their deplorable circumstances in order to spread “awareness” and “help” them by posting their photos on Facebook. To me, the whole thing reeks of a new colonialism, no matter how good my intentions. The power dynamic is still there, even if the abject imperialism is absent.

“Can I take a photo of you?”

,So I had an idea. If the exchange is always that I take a photo of these poor local people, carving out a sliver of their lives uninvited, and then carrying it back home with me to share, how could I change that so there is more equity to our relationship as human beings?

My thought was this – just like always, I would ask to take a photo of someone remarkable I encountered. But if they happened to live in poverty, powerless and bereft of hope, I wanted to leave them with something this time– not just take something away.

“Can I take a photo of you, please?”

So when I was recently in the U.S. for a few months, I bought an instant camera. It’s not a Polaroid, the household name in instant cameras for decades, but a Fujifilm. I also bought enough film to take 100 photos (and let me tell you, the film ain’t cheap – about $1 a shot).

I tried it out for the first time today. Passing a street corner in Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia, I encountered this woman living on the streets. She was sleeping on a bamboo mat right on the pavement, taking care of her little baby.

I signaled to her that I wanted to take a photo and she didn’t object, as she probably had many tourists walk by on their way to breakfast snapping photos, and maybe she hoped to get a tip out of it.

I clicked the button and the photo ejected from the top of the camera with a whir. Never having seen or heard of an instant camera before in her life, she didn’t even blink. But a few tuk tuk drivers on the street saw it and came over to look, realizing it was something cool and different. I took the photo in my fingers and waited for it to develop. Impatient, I shook it a few times, even though the instructions for this Fujifilm camera states that shaking it doesn’t make it go faster.

Soon, the image seeped into existence – a poor woman sitting on the street tending to her baby, the deep red of the wall and the rich purple of her clothes in contrast to the straw yellow mat beneath her. The tuk tuk drivers “ohhhh’d” when they saw the photo develop.

I handed the photo to her. She didn’t understand at first, and then she looked at it. She was looking at the only photo she owned – maybe the only photo she would ever own – one of her baby. For any mothers reading this, imagine if you didn’t own a single photo of your children when they were babies? They cherish so many little things here in Cambodia, so believe me that this woman will keep that photo the rest of her life, and probably pass it on to that baby when she grows older.

“Can I give you this photo…?”

Enchanted with her own image, she finally understood that it was for her. I asked to take a photo again but this time, she held out the photograph and I snapped a shot with my iPhone.

I may have walked away with something rare and beautiful, but left her with something just as valuable. Of course this won’t feed her family or take them off the streets or “fix” her problems, but our encounter is finally in balance.

I went down the street and ate a hearty breakfast, looking at her photo on my phone and excited to get back to my hotel room where I could write this.

I would give her a dollar, too, when I walked back past her, I decided. But when I walked the same route home, she wasn’t there. Her bamboo mat was empty beneath the red wall. Maybe she was so excited, she’d gotten up to show off her new photo, I thought.

I have 99 photos left to take and give away – and share with you. This is going to be fun.

“Can I give you this photo, please?”

-Norm :-)

PS To read more like this, just click on the Give a Photo category to the right, and thanks for sharing.

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Coffee and self-respect.

11/28/2015

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I met with a friend for coffee this morning, at a nice place on the riverside, overlooking the banks of the Mekong. While I waited for her (as Khmer people are always a little fashionably late), a woman from Australia came and sat down at a table nearby. She was middle aged and had an expensive handbag and expensive shoes, which is noticeable around here.

Since there was really no one else but us sitting on the coffee shop’s veranda, she started talking to me. She told me how she had a bad stay this time in Cambodia, and how the conditions were wretched, and how she couldn’t wait to get home.

The woman said she'd walked past a local woman earlier this morning. The Khmer (Cambodian) woman was sitting along the boardwalk that parallels the riverside. She was sitting out in the sun on the ground on a bamboo mat. She was breastfeeding her baby.

I tried to be polite but didn’t want to talk to the Australian lady, and I even got on my phone during the pauses, but she didn’t take the hint. Instead, she complained about the local woman who was lying on the ground and breastfeeding.

“They have no self respect,” the Australian said. “At least cover up.”

She said when she walked by the Khmer woman, she pulled one of her rags over her exposed breast and threw her a dollar.

I told her I was pretty sure it was a poverty thing, not a self-respect thing, but she went on. Luckily, the Australian woman’s coffee date showed up so I was off the hook, and soon, my friend showed up for coffee, too.

After coffee, I wanted to walk along the riverside, to clear my head – and those who have sat on the banks of a river and contemplated life know there is no better place for it. (P.S. Read Siddhartha by Herman Hesse.)

I ran into a lot of poor and homeless Khmer people along the river, but this woman stood out to me. She was sitting not on a bamboo mat, but right on the pavement, breastfeeding as well. She had many babies and toddlers around her, most of who weren’t her children, I’m guessing. Most of the little ones didn’t have any clothes on.

When she was done feeding, I asked if I could take her photo by showing her my camera and signaling. She nodded yes. I clicked the button. When they heard the whirrrr of the camera and saw the white plastic photo, other little kids ran over to look at what it was.

I gave the woman the photo, and took a couple shots of her holding her new family portrait up with my iPhone.

When I look at these photos, when I look into her eyes, I see a lot of things - but lack of self-respect is not one of them.

- Norm :-)

***
To read more like this, just click on the Give a Photo category to the right, and thanks for sharing.

This is part of a series where I take approach random poor, homeless, or just remarkable people here in Cambodia, and ask if I can take their photo. I do so but with a Fujifilm instant camera, so the photograph pops out and develops right on the spot. I then had them the photo, sometimes the only one they've ever owned. I then capture the moment with a shot from my iPhone so I can share it with you, but my new friend gets to keep the photo.

You can read more about it here: Can I give you this photo, please?

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The smile.

11/26/2015

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I always notice it when I walk by, usually crossing to the other side of the street from her shop so I can walk in the shade, but still, her glowing, welcoming smile is unmistakable.

The next thing I notice is that she’s in a wheelchair, which isn’t remarkable because she’s disabled, as there’s a large population of disabled people here in Cambodia for various reasons, but that she’s in a wheelchair - an expensive and rare apparatus for most common people.

Still, I see the smile as I pass, as she sits at the entrance of a shop along a street of shops to cater to the tourists as well as a beauty parlor and bookstore. At first, I smiled back, then started waving, then said hi, and finally, today, I stopped and talked to her in the heat of the afternoon on my way home from lunch.

I go inside and look at what they are selling, handcrafted purses, wood carvings, necklaces, and other knit goods that they make right in back. She proudly holds up a lime green knit coin bag and tells me that she made that one herself, pointing to the 1950s Singer sewing machine in back.

My new friend explains that the store is called Yodicraft, and hands me a brochure. It says that “it was established in 2009 aiming to provide training and employment opportunities for youth with disabilities to become more self-sufficient, to showcase the talents of these youths and to provide an income for ensuring the sustainability of our work.”

This is part of a series where I take approach a common but remarkable person in Cambodia and ask if I can take their photo. I do so but with a Fujifilm instant camera, so the photograph pops out and develops right on the spot. I then had them the photo, sometimes the only one they've ever owned. I then capture the moment by taking a digital photo of them holding their new gift.

You can read more about it here: Can I Give You This Photo, Please?
or just click on the Give a Photo category to the right.

Thanks for sharing this link: http://ow.ly/UF2re

You’ll find a much larger population of disabled people here because of several factors: malnutrition, childhood illness and fevers that go untreated, lack of nourishment as an infant, iron deficiencies, diseases like polio that are all but gone in the west, and landmines, as the United States, the Khmer Rouge, and the Viet Cong all set millions of land mines during the Vietnam conflict that still explode to this day, maiming or killing innocent kids and farmers.

If you happen to be disabled, the best-case scenario is that you have family to take care of you. Another mouth to feed that can’t work is a heavy burden even for families to bear. For most disabled people who are on their own or live in the city, they resort to begging. There are no prospects for a better life or opportunities to live even a moderately comfortable, happy life.

That’s why programs like Yodicraft, which are usually designed and funded by private individuals, international non-profits, or foreign NGO’s, are so crucial –and in desperate need. For for the same reason, this young woman, who is only 20 years old and came by herself from a remote province to work in Phnom Penh with Yodicraft a couple years earlier, is so inspirational.

We chat for a while and then I ask if I can take her photo. She agrees and poses as I take out my Fujifilm instant camera and snap a shot. She’s interested when the photo emerges from the top and I tell her it’s a special camera. I give her the blank white frame and watch her expression as she sees her image appear.

I tell her I want to give her the photo as a gift, so she can see the wonderful smile that she blesses the rest of the world with every day. She thanks me, and I take a couple of photos of her holding up her new photograph as she warms up to the camera.

I peel off $2 and try to hand it to her. I tell her it’s a small tip for letting me take the photo, thought it’s no insignificant sum - $2 is the daily wage for many laborers and normal people here.

But she refuses. She says she can’t take tips or handle money other than the normal transaction. There are no security cameras is the one-room shop, nor any other employees present. She’s just being polite, I think, so I put the dollar bills on the counter, under her new photograph so they won’t blow away.

She’s gives me the money back apologetically, adamant that she will not accept any tips or personal donations. She is a proud, loyal, ethical, and diligent employee. She feels blessed and thankful just to have the opportunity to work, learning and growing as a person and earning respect, and that is reward enough.

In the end, I purchase a bracelet I’ll never wear for $3, my way of supporting Yodicraft and honoring my new friend – and in some small way, sharing her smile with the world.

-Norm :-)

For more information:

www.YodiCraft.com

Yodicraft Outlet
Located at house no. 24, Street 3 (Sothearos Blvd a block away from the Royal Palace) in Phnom Penh.

Ms. Kangchana Meas
Business manager
manager@YodiCraft.com

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The girl who discovered butter.

11/23/2015

1 Comment

“This is but-ter. You put it on your toast like this,” I said, using my knife to scoop a dollop out of the single-serving plastic dish and spreading it on the bread.

This little girl approached me at breakfast this morning, walking through the sun speckled outdoor patio of Le Museum, a café in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. She saw I had pushed away my plate, content with my breakfast, but there was still food on it – two halves of white toast.

Kids rule the streets in Cambodia; and in most humble countries in Asia, and the developing world for that matter. What I mean by that is that poor kids – which is most of ‘em – roam the streets at all hours, hanging out right along with their parents or completely unattended, or working, themselves. To them, it seems like a game, or rather, they make a game out of their circumstances no matter how hard they are, just to find joy.

She didn’t look destitute, but was sharp enough to know when to approach the Barang – foreigners – and look cute and genuinely hungry. She wasn’t dirty or dressed in oversized rag tag clothes, like most of the street kids, so I guessed that her father was probably one of the respectable tuk-tuk drivers working on the corner there.

The girl was shy, but not because she was asking for food but for another reason: she didn’t know what it was. The way she looked between the bread, the butter, and the packet of jam, I could tell she had never eaten these things, and certainly not at a fancy restaurant like this where breakfast cost $4.50 USD – enough to feed her whole family for a couple days.

So I encouraged her to pull up a bench so we could dine like new best friends and I took the knife, spread a little butter, and then opened the packet of strawberry jam – which is the sugary payday for any child, anywhere in the world.

I handed her the knife and she said “Ohhhh,” – or the equivalent in her Khmer language – and took over the operation. She giggled as she tried to take a little butter with the knife but accidentally scooped the whole pat of it at once. But she had no problem with the jelly. Once she was done prepping her luxury meal, she closed up the pieces – making a sandwich out of it like she’d seen someone do before.

I took a few priceless shots of her expression and then smile as she explored the delicacy. She was already getting up, ecstatic to run off and show her father or friends her new discovery, but I implored her to sit still for another minute while I shot a photo of her with my Fujifilm instant camera, then handed her the photograph once it developed, a keepsake of the first time she tried butter.

-Norm :-)

If you want to read more from this series, just click on the Give a Photo category to the right, and thanks for sharing!

1 Comment

Can I give you this photo, please?

Coffee and self-respect.

The smile.

The girl who discovered butter.

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