It was the third day of the International Medical Corps/National Geographic Photo Camp and this was our second workshop with refugee youth who are unable to attend school. Some children from the trading center in Bukere were wearing shiny shoes and significantly more fashionable clothes than their counterparts from other zones. The group I was teaching were from Itambabiniga, one of the zones farthest away. There were two girls and a boy in my group, two from Rwanda and one from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Mapendo wore a patterned yellow scarf tied around her head, the ends draped over her shoulders. It was all you saw after her eyes caught yours, an instant smile burst forth and then ducked quickly away. She said she was 18 years old though she looked much younger. She had lost both of her parents before she fled DRC barely a year ago. Like almost all the children in the refugee settlement, she had never held a camera. Overwhelmed by shyness, she had an uneasy grip on the camera, only taking the photos I suggested, while her friends snapped away with excitement. After a morning spent photographing around the community center and two neighboring schools, Mapendo had taken fewer than 40 photos.
After lunch, the children, a translator and I drove for 20 minutes through the settlement to my student’s village of Itambabiniga. The afternoon session was meant to encourage the children to use the camera as a tool for storytelling: to take photos of their homes and village that would illustrate what was important in their lives.
The heavy clouds had been releasing a light rain for most of the day. The banana fronds and maize leaves were covered in droplets and the earth was a slippery red sludge, which we navigated on narrow paths to the children’s huts. Mapendo’s hesitation with the camera had not diminished as I hoped it would. Most of the children had taken to the cameras like familiar friends. But a few children, like Mapendo, remained awkward and unsure of how to tell a story through a lens.
Her home was new for her, invited out of pity to stay with the pastor’s wife who looked barely older than Mapendo. A baby perched on her hip, the young woman watched us with interest as Mapendo explained why she had brought a camera and a muzungu (foreigner) to her home. For the first 15 minutes she kept the camera hanging loose around her neck and I had to encourage her to take photos. She copied the photos I was taking – of her house, of flowers growing wild beside the garden, of the chickens huddled against the mud walls hiding from the rain. Then slowly, she began finding her own images. Inside, she took photos of the mat she sleeps on, and the plastic dish she eats from. She said it reminded her that in DRC she had a real house and slept on a proper bed. Outside, she took photos of the woman who has given her shelter, and the buckets laid out collecting rainwater to drink.
The end of the afternoon drew us back toward Itambabiniga’s village center where clusters of people, enamored children, skeletal dogs, and flustered chickens became the subjects of more images. The other two children had both visited their homes and all three were now searching out the most resonant pictures with which they would tell their stories to the group the next day. As I watched them I wondered, were they all having fun? They seemed to be. What were they thinking when they took their photos? Did their eyes see the same perspectives of their lives as mine? How did they feel about this new tool, obviously expensive, and possibly their first introduction to technology? What explained Mapendo’s hesitation and the others’ exuberance? It was difficult with the cultural and linguistic barriers to fully understand what it meant to be looking through a lens for the first time.
At the end of the day we collected the cameras and moved toward the car. I reminded the translator to explain to the children that they would get the cameras back the next morning at the community center. I was away from the group at that point, worrying that Mapendo hadn’t enjoyed herself. Maybe the camp had missed its objective with her. Mid-thought, I heard the patter of feet behind me, felt a warm hand grip mine, and looked down onto a yellow scarf, and under it, a big grin and shy eyes. Mapendo, more excited than I’d seen her all day, held my hand and walked with me all the way back to the car. It seemed that she was looking forward to another day with a camera.
The next morning we arrived late to the community center in another cloud of rain. The International Medical Corps/National Geographic team made a dash for the enclosed room with the photo equipment. Mapendo broke away from the children sitting patiently under the shelter into the room where we were and threw her arms around me and then another International Medical Corps staff member. The hug was enthusiastic and warm; she was bubbling. Her hesitation and shyness had disappeared; Mapendo was like a different child. From then on she was animated, affectionate and eager about everything we were doing.
In the afternoon, students were able to view their photos, then choose their 10 favorites and explain their significance. With each of Mapendo’s images, she recounted a story: of refugee life; of life as an orphan with two siblings she couldn’t live with until her older sister found a way to build them a shelter of their own; of the generosity of a pastor’s wife for letting Mapendo into her home. Meeting Mapendo allowed me to measure the success of the photo camp in yet another way. Some children produced striking photos, some allowed their photos to tell stories too painful, depressing or confusing for words alone. Many did a combination of that and more. For Mapendo, the photo camp opened a new door. It allowed her to access worlds she may not have otherwise experienced – a world of technology, a world of artistic expression, a world with the power of communication, and an audience eager to listen. The sense of empowerment she felt was evident in her expressions, her body language, and a few translated words, like the frequent: “Jen, come look at my photo!”
The photo camp was an amazing experience for everyone involved, though too short. It gave agency to 60 kids in all, who typically have very small windows of opportunity in their lives.