Ecotact Limited
When to Put Your Camera Away
by Marc Manara
May 2007: I’ve recently returned from working in Acumen Fund’s Nairobi office, where I had the opportunity to visit sanitation facilities in low-income communities in Kenya as part of my work. Having never lived or spent time in East Africa, I had never seen life in any of these areas first-hand. Most Americans never do.
Knowing this, I felt the need to capture everything I saw in photographs. If there were children playing in a pile of trash, I wanted to capture it. If a woman dumped waste water into the narrow mud street of a densely packed community, I wanted a picture of it. When I visited a clean, high-quality sanitation/ablution facility amidst otherwise dilapidated construction, I wanted to take photos that highlighted the contrast, that demonstrated the potential for lasting change.
My motivations were simple: I wanted to share vivid stories with my friends, relatives, and even colleagues back home in order to raise their awareness of what life is like for many of the 4 billion people living at the 'base of the pyramid.'
This is a critical part of Acumen Fund’s work, because until someone has an understanding of the challenges facing low-income consumers, he or she will not fully appreciate or support Acumen’s efforts to finance social enterprises serving these consumers. Similarly, without evidence of successful business ventures in low-income markets, he or she will not be convinced of their viability.
In communicating these points, photos can be a great tool. Yet on this trip, I learned that sometimes it’s just not appropriate to take a photo, regardless of your good intentions. Sometimes, out of respect for your would-be subjects, you just need to put the camera away.
For instance, after visiting a sanitation facility in Nakuru, Kenya and chatting with the attendant, I asked if I could take a picture of him in front of the facility. He was reluctant and asked me suspiciously, “Is that so you can show everyone back home a man working at a toilet?” I immediately felt a pang of guilt for wanting to take the picture: in trying to capture the success story of the facility, I had inadvertently infringed on this man’s dignity. I had not anticipated his shame and was startled by his question.
I explained sincerely that I just wanted to remember meeting him since we had a nice conversation, and that I was taking pictures of the facility in order to communicate to others in the U.S. why there should be more units like this one. Hearing this, he got past his initial trepidation and was quite happy to be in a photo or two.
After that incident, though, I was especially careful about taking pictures of people in the communities I was visiting. Even taking a photo of a crowded market scene can be potentially disrespectful; it’s important to remember that when I enter some communities, I’m seen as a white guy (“mzungu”) from New York who visits depressed areas for 30 minutes at a time and takes pictures of people as though they are zoo animals. While this is not the truth of the situation, it is sometimes difficult to overcome that natural suspicion. Respect is a delicate commodity and at times leaving your camera in your pocket is the best way to preserve it.