On Photography
I have gotten a lot of requests from friends and family in the US and elsewhere for photographs. “Take a lot of pictures.” Unfortunately, I will not be taking many pictures here and let me explain why.
Photography in the Democratic Republic of the Congo is forbidden. You hear it all the time. Stories of foreigners arrested for walking around with cameras. You read warnings in official security reports. Even before I got here I had heard stories about people demanding “autorisation” of anyone using a camera. It was one of the first things I was told when I got here--people are extremely sensitive and you need to get permission before taking even the seemingly most innocuous pictures. But people in the US have asked for pictures. And I like to think I am clever; couldn’t I just be discreet? So, like an asshole, I walk out on Sunday afternoon with my camera in my pocket.
It is my last day staying in Gombé, which is on the Congo River, and I wanted to look at it. Even though it may only be 100-200 meters from where I am staying, it is almost completely hidden from view by walls that line the streets. I had seen a small street very close to where I am staying that looked like it led to the river, so I decided to walk the short distance. I didn’t think I was being adventurous by taking the walk. At 4pm on a Sunday afternoon. With my camera in my pocket. I knew that I was not going to use it if there was anyone around. The street was relatively desolate, but there were a few people around, so I kept the camera in my pocket. I walked up to this one spot where there is a partial view, and was then called over to a nearby metal gate. I honestly can not say why I went up to the gate--if it was because the men calling me seemed welcoming or unthreatening or because I felt like I did not have a choice or some combination. Once inside the gate, I realized I was in the wrong place. I was surrounded by five soldiers in mismatched, ill-fitting uniforms. If their attire did not appear very official, the small pile of automatic weapons off to the side convinced me. They asked me for identification and I did not have any. (I am still not sure if that was fortunate or unfortunate.) Then they reminded me that the river was the “frontière,” the border with Congo-Brazzaville, and that you just can’t walk around here. It was a secure area. But then one of them offered to let me in for $100. And despite the absurdity of his offer, this guy was not smiling. I apologetically tried to turn around but they closed the gate, blocked the exit, and would not let me leave from their small encampment. They asked me what I had in my pockets and I said my telephone, hoping they wouldn’t notice the camera. Well, they searched me quite thoroughly and found my wallet (with a little cash money, but no id or cards), telephone, and, yes, the camera. They were very disturbed with the camera, which is “interdit,” and confiscated it, by placing it on top of the pile of guns. So, then they search me again, make some calls on their cellphone (or at least pretended to), and tell me that we need to wait. Damn if I didn’t look like a spy--a foreigner out by the river on a weekend afternoon with a camera and no identification. Thankfully I probably looked like too big of an idiot for them to take me seriously. The guy who initially wanted the $100 now tells me that they will return my camera for $100. I really did not want to be there at that moment, but I also did not want to leave without my camera. And I was not going to give him $100. So I offered a $5 bill, which was all the US currency they found on me. He was insulted and refused to return the camera. So I offered my Congolese francs, perhaps another $5. He still said no. Then, another soldier took the $5 bill and about half of my francs, leaving me some for “transportation.” And he gave me back the camera. They still wanted me to stay. A soldier by the gate put a hand on my shoulder as I tried to leave. But they had gotten their money (about $7 or $8), which was probably all they ever wanted, so I just walked past them and opened up the gate and left. They didn’t say anything or try to stop me. I walked back to the Guest House with my tail between my legs to lick my wounds. With my camera back in my pocket.
Still don't expect many pictures from Kinshasa.
Photography in the Democratic Republic of the Congo is forbidden. You hear it all the time. Stories of foreigners arrested for walking around with cameras. You read warnings in official security reports. Even before I got here I had heard stories about people demanding “autorisation” of anyone using a camera. It was one of the first things I was told when I got here--people are extremely sensitive and you need to get permission before taking even the seemingly most innocuous pictures. But people in the US have asked for pictures. And I like to think I am clever; couldn’t I just be discreet? So, like an asshole, I walk out on Sunday afternoon with my camera in my pocket.
It is my last day staying in Gombé, which is on the Congo River, and I wanted to look at it. Even though it may only be 100-200 meters from where I am staying, it is almost completely hidden from view by walls that line the streets. I had seen a small street very close to where I am staying that looked like it led to the river, so I decided to walk the short distance. I didn’t think I was being adventurous by taking the walk. At 4pm on a Sunday afternoon. With my camera in my pocket. I knew that I was not going to use it if there was anyone around. The street was relatively desolate, but there were a few people around, so I kept the camera in my pocket. I walked up to this one spot where there is a partial view, and was then called over to a nearby metal gate. I honestly can not say why I went up to the gate--if it was because the men calling me seemed welcoming or unthreatening or because I felt like I did not have a choice or some combination. Once inside the gate, I realized I was in the wrong place. I was surrounded by five soldiers in mismatched, ill-fitting uniforms. If their attire did not appear very official, the small pile of automatic weapons off to the side convinced me. They asked me for identification and I did not have any. (I am still not sure if that was fortunate or unfortunate.) Then they reminded me that the river was the “frontière,” the border with Congo-Brazzaville, and that you just can’t walk around here. It was a secure area. But then one of them offered to let me in for $100. And despite the absurdity of his offer, this guy was not smiling. I apologetically tried to turn around but they closed the gate, blocked the exit, and would not let me leave from their small encampment. They asked me what I had in my pockets and I said my telephone, hoping they wouldn’t notice the camera. Well, they searched me quite thoroughly and found my wallet (with a little cash money, but no id or cards), telephone, and, yes, the camera. They were very disturbed with the camera, which is “interdit,” and confiscated it, by placing it on top of the pile of guns. So, then they search me again, make some calls on their cellphone (or at least pretended to), and tell me that we need to wait. Damn if I didn’t look like a spy--a foreigner out by the river on a weekend afternoon with a camera and no identification. Thankfully I probably looked like too big of an idiot for them to take me seriously. The guy who initially wanted the $100 now tells me that they will return my camera for $100. I really did not want to be there at that moment, but I also did not want to leave without my camera. And I was not going to give him $100. So I offered a $5 bill, which was all the US currency they found on me. He was insulted and refused to return the camera. So I offered my Congolese francs, perhaps another $5. He still said no. Then, another soldier took the $5 bill and about half of my francs, leaving me some for “transportation.” And he gave me back the camera. They still wanted me to stay. A soldier by the gate put a hand on my shoulder as I tried to leave. But they had gotten their money (about $7 or $8), which was probably all they ever wanted, so I just walked past them and opened up the gate and left. They didn’t say anything or try to stop me. I walked back to the Guest House with my tail between my legs to lick my wounds. With my camera back in my pocket.
Still don't expect many pictures from Kinshasa.
posted by irad at 1:00 PM
1 Comments:
Your words are worth a thousand pictures anyway.
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