Date Farmer © Donn Anning Jones, 2007
I found this man manually impregnating trees! He wanders through an Oasis taking white sprigs from male date palms. He ties them to his stick and places them in the tops of female trees. Talk about a trained eye! When the Gaetna (date harvest) comes around, there will be many more dates than if things had been left to the wind and the birds.
As he explained this in an alcove of palms, I asked if I could take his picture. Mauritania is culturally very closed and I’ve been refused more often than not– much more often. “No problem,” he said. “God made everyone, even tourists.” I wanted him to understand that I lived in his country but I quickly gave up and got my camera. He continued to explain to me how some people pay to take pictures—and how some people don’t. As a photographer, I have a philosophy against that idea, fearing that the whole anthropological aspect of environmental portraiture will come to a screeching halt in response to everyone’s hand extended for a few coins. Or, that with payment will come “the standard pose”. What he was talking about is as unsightly as the power cables that scratch the skylines of millions of 20th century, Western photographs. I let his words hang as I began to work. In the back of my mind I searched for the right explanation as to how it was in everyone’s best interest for photography to progress, unprostituted and to document some aspect of Rashid, Mauritania, 2007.
I put the camera to my eye and saw the man staring back at me through the lens and focusing screen. All my thoughts were replaced by an immediate realization, “That’s it!” I pressed the shutter even before I had a chance to glance at the settings. [This is a classic example of intuition (and luck!) in making a photograph. I usually use either a view camera or Leica rangefinder. (Both are cameras where everything is set manually and I am very comfortable with their straight forward processes.) I recently got a digital SLR – not because I’m sold on digital, but because of the difficulty getting chemicals here and the absence of any decent color labs. I am still getting used to the myriad of possibilities offered (but not necessarily needed) in a modern, electronic camera. I’ve been in the habit of ignoring most of the technology I purchased and using it in aperture priority mode similar to my approach with the Leica; chose the aperture and monitor the shutter speed.]
This was an instance where I just had to press the button and think about the details later. Afterwards, I saw the camera was set to one of the myriad of other possibilities and the picture was taken at 1/15th of a second at a smaller aperture than I would’ve preferred. I changed settings and kept shooting but it was over. He realized perhaps I wasn’t going to respond and his gaze transitioned into slight discomfort as I continued to “work it” beyond what the average, divinely-created tourist might do.
I put my camera away and got a bottle of milk from the cooler in our car. Most Maures love milk. He seemed pleasantly surprised with the milk solution and photography inches forward in N.Africa, relatively unadulterated.
© 2007 Donn Anning Jones
Stop looking for what they promised
you would find here-
That stone, whose color is not stone,
Reminds you of all you love in life—
and that all other stones are nothing.
That form, in breast or cloud or stem—
Saying what you can not about your desires.
And after which you despise all that is chipped and injured.
That light, whose clarity makes you believe in unseen worlds,
Or that where you stand is somehow different,
Comes always on the edge of darkness.
Exhilaration, too quickly fading
leaves you tired, wondering
what is love more than disappointment.
Stop looking. I know they promised you,
but it is no longer here. Just
be glad you have grown up and
have acquired a taste for bitter things.
© 2005 Donn Anning Jones
“You don’t photograph people; you photograph animals and objects.” My friend was trying to explain to me why photography is so disliked here. “If my family or tribe saw that picture, what a shame that would be for me. It would be very humiliating.” That is a harsh environment for a photographer, even more than the heat and sand here.
Recently, I’ve noticed younger Mauritanians making constant assaults on each other –and even tourists– with their phone cameras. Perhaps a modern acceptance of photography will be one small consolation in the desensitizing glut of images the modern world pollutes itself with.
I was amused as I was stuck behind a donkey cart in a narrow passageway in the market when a poor woman of the “freed slave” class — bumping along on the back of the cart– pulled out a cell phone and took my picture. A sense of accomplishment flashed across her face. She seemed smug about being on a donkey cart with me trapped in my car like a moving fishbowl. Doesn’t she know I’m normal? She’s the rarity in the modern world. Look at the magazines! How many National Geographic spreads do you see on middle-aged white guys “using their implements”? I looked around the market, she was right; my modern normality stood out in the timeless mass of goods and people. A little experience and a better lens; perhaps she could work for Nat’l Geo.
At the camel races, not looking at all like your typical Arab spectator, again I was the one who stood out. “Monsieur! Monsieur!” two young men thrust a camera phone at me in a gesture of asking my permission to use it. “Maa vie mooshkila –no problem” I said as they smiled and took a picture of the stocky guy not wearing a turban. I was amused; how many times had I asked someone if I could photograph them because I found them curious? It’s true, I do it with more serious intent and with better equipment but in the end, the motive is the same. “You’re odd –or maybe striking or beautiful or old–, can I show my friends how you stand out?” Moments later I heard one of the other few westerners there say, “NO! Why do you want my picture?” Obviously not a photographer but a forgetful tourist. I wanted to say to him “Because we’re strange! Look around!”
I was glad to be on the other end both those times. I do what I can to encourage an appreciation for the wonderful qualities of my medium. Even if most of those qualities will be lost through a cheap cell-phone lens. Whenever possible, I return with a photograph, hoping that owning the photograph will overshadow the embarrassment I caused them when I pointed my apparatus at them.
Making Tea, RIM. © Donn Anning Jones, 2002
Last week I returned to a distant village with a photo of a man making tea in a dry river bed that I’d made a few years earlier. I promised him I’d bring one next time I came through. My companions and I stopped at a roadside auberge for tea and lunch; we asked some folks about him and they looked at the picture; “We know him. He’s dead. He wandered off without enough water. He died of thirst in the desert.” I tried to imagine that? Could that be true? How terrible. The photograph gained significance as I put it back in the box. I thought about it all during lunch. An hour and a half later, as we were leaving the man came up to us, “ I recognized your car he said.” I looked at him, I opened the box and looked at the photo and then at him again. “You look great!” I said and handed him the photo.
[Technical details for Making Tea: Tri-x 8×10; luminance values zones III-VII; developed in Pyro N+1. Schneider 210 HM Symmar]
