WA#6: First Draft

Introductions first take place. The Father, blind, is named Jafar. The mother, Sittina. The eldest child, a girl, Dalila. Jamani, a boy, is the middle child and Kwame, the baby boy. The hired translator tells them my name is Eric.


I first tell them my story:
I am traveling through this country on business. (Pause, translation). I am a photographer for a magazine called National Geographic. We are doing a special on life in Sudan. I am capturing shots that entail many aspects of life here. (Pause, translation). If you consent, your family may be displayed in a public magazine. Of course I must first inquire: would you all so graciously allow me to take a picture of your family? (Pause, translation).

Sittina cradles her baby intently, looking as though we foreigners may reach for the child at any moment. The two elder children gaze wildly around at my jeep, photography instruments, and fellow white coworkers. Jafar keeps his head at a constant tilt as though looking into the sky, absorbing every word coming from the translator’s mouth. They keep close to each other, still a little apprehensive towards us foreigners.

Jafar is the first to move after a long pause that succeeded my question. He brings his head down and points straight at me, as though his swollen eyes can see me. I can sense he is sizing me up, in some way, considering my question. After another few seconds he speaks, still facing me, but his words are directed to the translator. He speaks slowly but with immense pride. I don’t speak his language, but a strong demeanor and a mind of wisdom can be recognized universally.

The translator says, “Will this disgrace our family name?” I was taken aback by this question. I had prepared myself for more detail-oriented questions, even flat out rejection, but this was past me and my cultural upbringings. Of all things, he was most concerned about his family name? I was sure there couldn’t possibly be more than one person within 800 miles from here that even subscribes to National Geographic. I was lost for words. After I minute, I fumbled out, “Oh um, well, no. No I suppose not. I mean, oh no, of course not. Your family will remain entirely anonymous. Unless it would please you to have your family name in the magazine?” (Translation).

Jafar spoke again and the translator said, “No. Anonymous.”
“Very well. If you would just spare me a minute.” (Translation).

For the first time, I really took in the surroundings. It was practically a barren wasteland. There was no sign of water and maybe 8 or so ‘huts’ with other natives occupying them. These huts were hardly huts though. They were made from cardboard, straw and canvases. I noticed one piece of cardboard on their hut said ‘VELVEX. Super Soft Napkins.’ There was a small box of those stored in the glove compartment of my jeep for me to wipe my mouth and hands with after eating my fruits and steaks. I felt guilty about my fruits and steaks comparing to housing material.

I shuffled the family closer to the hut, so the ‘VELVEX’ showed and the setting sun was at their backs. My goal for the picture was to capture a sense of family. I didn’t have to rearrange the family one bit to get that sense in the picture. As I looked through my lens, it was clearly a family staring back at me as they gathered around each other, holding hands and shoulders, standing with a sense of security. I peered above the lens, smiled wide and pointed to my mouth. I told the translator to say smile. The children were now fascinated with everything but the camera, but Jafar and Sittina grinned slightly.

Click.