Taking Pictures

The first days, I couldn't bring myself to take any pictures. How could I stand behind the lens and snap shots of the immense suffering my eyes were seeing. It felt dirty. I knew we needed pictures to tell the story to those in the States to motivate them to come and help, but I couldn't. . .

Maybe I felt too ashamed to do it. . .
Maybe I was afraid to get too close to the pain knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep myself going if I saw too much and got too close. . .
Maybe I felt like it was disrespectful of the people's own private pain. . .
Maybe it was because I felt much more useful attending to the pharmacy and passing out diapers and meds than I did taking pictures. . .

Whatever the reason, there I was with my new fancy camera and memory stick with plenty of room on it, and I couldn't bring myself to take a single shot. I even held up the camera and framed a few shots feeling like they captured something crucial, but I couldn't press the button. I passed my camera to others on staff, sending them to take the pictures. I knew they didn't know how to use the camera well, I knew they didn't know how to frame shots and capture things the way that I could, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

There were many photographers there and many touristy cameras taking shots, so I would not have been alone, but I couldn't.

As the weeks went on, many people came through taking pictures. They would show the digital images to the patients and the people would smile as they saw themselves. It didn't feel right to me still to take pictures. Then I had an idea. I had a couple of small photo printers that had been left by a group with tons of ink and paper. I took them out with me and I went around taking pictures of everyone; bed by bed, and printing copies and handing them to them. I felt like I could capture moments within the hospital setting that were a little happier. The patient with their loving families, the patient with a favorite nurse, etc.

As I took these pictures, I deliberately left out the wounds. I got head shots mainly. But when I printed the pictures the patients smiled and then told me that this wasn't what they wanted. They wanted their whole selves. They wanted the stumps of legs, the external fixators, the stitches, they wanted to see themselves as they now are.

So I went through again taking pictures and printing them off and giving them to the people, and this time they smiled for real and were truly pleased.

Taking these pictures selfishly gave me a chance to interact and get to know the people better. One man reminded me so much of my dad. Partially his looks and partially his manarisms every time I see his picture I smile and think of my daddy. Another woman seemed unsure about the camera and gave me a crinkled face glare, but when I took the first shot and showed it to her she signaled that I should wait, grabbed her fancy hat, put it on and told me to take another. People cherished these photos. Many had lost everything they had owned, so this was the one precious photo that the owned.

Pictures are powerful and needed. I learned that I could never be a news photographer but I guess I found my place and was put in my place! ;)

Screaming in the Night

I had dosed off in the pharmacy for only a sec. when I heard her. She was SCREAMING at the top of her lungs. I thought she was in pain or that someone had just died. I ran to see what was the matter, ready for action. . . and then I saw her a woman about 50 years old holding on tightly to a woman in her twenties.

I asked what had happened and a translator explained that the woman had been sure her daughter was dead, and then they had found one another in the midst of the chaos of the hospital and were screaming with joy and praises to God as they held to one another, not willing to let go. I heard many such screams of joy over the next few weeks!