The Nepal Photography Ethics Omnibus

I have a confession to make: buying a camera, for me, may have been a mistake. Looking at my recent contributions, or more appropriately, lack thereof, to this journal of sorts, I see a growing trend. Rather than exercising my writer’s brain and painting a picture of linguistics and emotion, I’ve been quite lax in my willingness to simply compile a pictoral history of my time here in Nepal. This may not be a problem for those of you who are happy to be visual learners, but it’s provided a hidden angst for me: I have a lot on my mind and heart, and photographs simply don’t effectively capture a good portion of the things I’d like to express. Plus, Jason’s revealed proof to me that I am incapable of taking a serious picture – Mom, you were right.

Regardless, during our return trip from Chitwan (you can read a good synopsis of it on Jason’s blog located here: www.jasoninnepal.blogspot.com) , I devoted myself to reading Alex Garland’s trekking opus The Beach. Yup, it got made into a crappy Leonardo DiCaprio movie, but it’s a compelling book nonetheless, and the deeper I got into it, I kept laughing internally at the narrator’s keen insights into international travel, specifically here in South Asia (the tale takes place in Thailand). Anyway, the main character makes this comment about how when he travels, he never takes a camera with him because whenever he records a journey in photographic form, he inevitably comes to a point where the only memories he can drudge up of the entire experience are those captured in the pictures.

This might seem obtuse, but if you’re anything like me, taking pictures on vacations or outings is often times an afterthought. I’m wandering through a botanical garden or throwing a Frisbee at the lake, on the verge of leaving, when suddenly I’m struck with this frantic urge of “Oh-Jenga! SomebodysgottatakeaphotoforthesakeofposterityorI’llneverbeabletoprovetomyselfthatthesefriendsandthisplacewerereal.” Or something anxious and furious in that same vein. I fight that kind of internal loneliness that only seems to surface when I’m in a crowded room full of laughing, joyful people; suddenly, I’m struck with this attack on my ego and my heart that threatens that none of this, none of me is real, and it staggers me every time. So when I look at photos of holiday celebrations with family, high school bus trips to the Harvard campus, or collages of my summer spent in the ghettos of south Chicago, I’m wracked with the guilt of trying to recall, “Did I take this picture because it was meaningful to me, or simply because I felt the urge to take a picture?” I simply can’t remember, and it drains me trying to reminisce over whether or not my memories of people and places are anchored in the truth of the moment in which they took place, or if I’m attempting to rewrite my life experiences to provide insulation from pain.

The sheer barrage of photos I’ve taken and received from co-volunteers in Nepal is overwhelming. Seriously, I have something like 3000 on my computer, and the decision process of posting them online is excrutiating. Do I post:

a) photos of myself, marking the gradual transition from beer-drinking office employee to weathered, pseudo-bearded international missionary

b) photos of only the orphaned kiddos, eventually succumbing to favoritism and only
revealing those children with whom I spend the majority of my time, thus robbing you of the fullness of how amazing the children at CWC truly are

c) photos of what I think and hope captures the essence of Nepal, i.e. architecture,
mountains, lepers, homeless children, Hindu shrines, street dogs, etc., thus capturing the experience, but at the same time trivializing the people by converting them into a brochure designed to evoke an emotional response from you and myself

These are the things I wrestle with, all because of this stupid Canon IXUS 65. Silly, perhaps, but I’ve always had that tendency to over-analyze to the point of non-action. So here’s the deal: I’ll continue to post photos here, but I need to write, and by that I don’t mean venting, and I don’t mean putting together a travelogue. I hate the feeling of needing to have some sort of result or activity to report to America as proof that I’m worthy of attention, when in fact I spend most of my time reading books on the roof or pouring myself into thought over games of Solitaire on my laptop (I tried to delete it, but it’s impossible…seriously). After all, my ministry target is in school for seven hours a day, and unlike home, I can’t just drive to Best Buy or Chez Newell every time things get boring.

So, seeing as how I’ve managed to bore you to death by giving you a thoroughly wordy treatise on photography, blogography, and all things inbetween, let me simplify: I’m going to revert back to making blog posts at least once a week, cutting back on the number of photos a bit, and writing about the things I really want to write about. I’ve got this burning urge to just share about the gospel, about what you can learn about Jesus through pilo, about Nepali transportation, food, culture, and about the problems facing Westerners in international missions and aide work (because there are a lot of them). Here’s a hint on that last one: the American way is NOT the best way, as I’m finding out consistently.

One ridiculous prayer request before I log off: my beloved Chacos are on the verge of falling apart. I bought them my freshman year of college, 7 years ago now, and I never imagined they’d crap out on me. Regardless, a big split opened up in the sole where the toe strap cuts across underneath my foot, and I really, really want them to make it back to America. So as dumb as this sounds, pray for my sandals…I hate wearing socks and shoes.

Expect more from me soon. For now, here’s a picture of me running from a rhinoceros.