Ban Ki-moon is coming to town..
In late April 2008, I got the chance to travel around West Africa with the Secretary-General of the United Nations, Ban Ki-moon. Visiting Ghana, Liberia, Burkina Faso and Cote d’Ivoire, the trip was a chance for “Spanky” and his wife to check out the work being done in some of the previously-unstable countries in the region.
First stop; Accra and the beginning of a week-long theme of brass bands and honour-guards. There was an old joke that the Queen must think that the world smells of paint as, 10 feet ahead of her, there’s always some guy putting a new lick of Dulux on the walls. The same applies to the SG (Secretary-General) with brass bands and blokes stood in straight lines.
After the soon-to-be obligatory inspection of the troops, we headed into the Capital. The main reason for the visit here was to attend the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) which was as just as exciting as it soundzzz so I managed to blag a lift to the Mary Louise Children’s Hospital with the First Lady to see how the country’s health care was improving. It’s incredible to think that what we saw was a step forward but it demonstrates how far the country must have come if it was a matter of pride to show off the wards, complete with broken light fittings, padlocked televisions and smashed windows. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for the people that have devoted all of their efforts to setting up the hospital but without a reference point for a before-and-after, I couldn’t imagine what life must have been like if this is an improvement.
Next on the tour was Liberia and potentially the most unstable country. The drive from the airport is one of those moments that I will talk about soon in another post where you really are in such a uniquely privileged position, it’s hard to believe that someone’s paying you to do it. As our convoy of Police outriders and UN jeeps makes the 35-mile journey from the airport to the UN HQ, every single car, bike, pedestrian and piece of tumbleweed is cleared from the roads. This was probably enforced as soon as we landed resulting in a half-hour drive along mile after mile of road, lined with local residents, bemused onlookers and people just trying to get home after a hard day. The reason for the strict controls is made clear later as the last time our UN press officer had been here, the locals were often sleeping with the corpses in graves in the cemetery in a bid to find somewhere that offered protection from the uncontrolled gangs that patrolled the streets at night. During our stay, it soon becomes clear how screwed up the country must have been when most of the official speeches include at least one reference to rape and sexual assault, reminding the assembled public and media that it’s not the done thing. Thankfully, the message seems to be hitting home and a trip to the Waterside markets showed a relaxed and friendly population, despite the horrors of previous years.
One of the highlights of the tour of Liberia had to be a field visit to a UN military station for the FPU-INDIA UNMIL Police, an armed UN police unit comprising mainly of women. The unit, made up of over 100 female officers with 20 male supporting staff, is the first largely female FPU to be deployed to a United Nations peacekeeping operation and, as such, gets a lot of media attention.
In a world of sexual equality, it’s quite strange to see this taken to it’s conclusion as these officers serve for months at a time, away from their husbands and children back in India.
As the time comes to leave, Liberia has one last surprise for me in the form of my first ever helicopter flight. Looking at the ex-Russian Cold War military helicopter for the first time, I realise that it could also be my last but thankfully all goes well and after a stunning trip over the wild terrain and forests, we land at the airport, ready for the next leg aboard UN001..
Next stop, Burkina Faso and the scene of some VICIOUS food poisoning. Anyway, as I’m guessing that anyone reading this is more interested in either photography or current affairs rather than my health, I’ll get back to the point..
The regular format of arrival is adhered to, complete with brass band, honour guard, bouquets, steamed-up lenses, running through the VIP area into a car-park full of chaos, jumping into a random van, dashing through the city, running into various Government buildings to get a 3 second grip-and-grin photo, running back to van before heading on to the next handshake, all while trying to set up and send pictures to Paris on a temperamental satellite phone..
By this point in the trip, as you may have gathered, I can’t face any more handshakes in beige rooms with unidentified ministers so do everything I can to actually get to see something worthwhile. Thankfully, the UN press office can see that I’m a day away from standing in a clock tower, naked, with a high-power rifle so a few trips are arranged.
The first visit is into proper “ForeignLand”. That’s the only way I can describe it. Imagine those clips from charity programmes and benefit videos that are filmed in dust-bowl villages in the middle of the African desert. After a 75km drive out of Ougadougou, I find myself in the village of Poa.
Seen as a shining example of what a poor village can do for itself if proper training is provided, the female residents had invested in a single diesel engine that could be used in a huge variety of ways. Food and grain could be crushed and processed, it can provide light and electricity but most of all, independence from government and charity handouts. Inspiring stuff.
Next up was a visit to Manegda Primary School in Ougadougou. With my old school in Sheffield “cramming” 25 into a classroom, it was amazing to see up to 70 kids filling these simple rooms, soaking up any scrap of information that was given to them by the teacher. If I was to walk into a classroom in the UK with a camera, all hell would break loose as attention spans shattered and play began. However, here in Burkina Faso, within 30 seconds of walking in, the kids were sat in silence again, scribbling with their tiny splinters of coloured chalk onto their slate boards.
Finally, we hit the Cote d’Ivoire and this place will forever possess a part of me. Well, possibly quite a few parts of me unfortunately due to most of my body-weight being forced out of me through various routes due to the chronic food poisoning taking a further grip on my body. Chicken in an olive and tomato stew from the Hotel Joly in Ougadougou. Just the thought of it is enough to give me flashbacks. Anyway, back to the trip..
All seems as normal but this arrival has the addition of the most aggressive press pack I’ve ever seen. The SG’s personal security detail start showing signs of concern as, during the flight, I’d already had a discussion about how it’s known that terrorist groups would love to carry out some kind of headline-grabbing action here and as we made our way across the tarmac, the unsupervised photographers were physically pressing against the boss. Much shouting, pushing and swearing finally got him through and we could continue out of the airport.
With my guts still a complete warzone, I managed to shoot for a few hours in the morning then headed back to the hotel where I proceeded to pass out for 16 hours, broken only by shivering, sweating and all-round nastiness. Remember these words, people; Chicken in an olive and tomato stew from the Hotel Joly in Ougadougou..
With the trip drawing to a close, I manage to break away from official delegation again and follow the First Lady to an orphanage that proved fantastic until the orphanage manager informs me that I wasn’t allowed to show any children of any age in the photos due to their privacy policy. I think he can guess how frustrated I am as he then proceeds to follow me around the rest of the tour, making sure I understand his reasons. In the end, I hang my cameras up and go and sit outside. At this point, he tells me that he’ll happily allow me to take pictures as souvenirs. My expression lets him know that his suggestion isn’t the best I’ve ever heard. Thankfully, if I can’t get a shot, at least a Brazilian journalist I was travelling with could get on of me at work with Mrs. Ban before I had to down tools..
The day finishes with a trip to a Jordanian UN camp where we see a variety of demonstrations that start off with riot control through to the rather dubious “how to assassinate a sleeping guard”. United Nations stealth dagger techniques aren’t quite what we were expecting before lunch but the look of bemusement/discomfort on the visiting delegation’s faces is a picture..
With the official tour now completed, the 18 hour journey home begins. Jobs like these are a reasonable rarity for me, having only done one similar thing before when Tony Blair did his last trip to Africa but they really do a fantastic job of refreshing the creative batteries. Where daily life in London is a varied and exciting thing, it is also all in London. Shooting new people, places and situations really does give you a massive kick and gives you momentum for the months ahead.
Roll on the next one..
This is an excellent article! It’s great to read about your work and the amount of effort that goes into getting the calibre of shots that you produce!
Really inspiring…
Jon
2 things: That you can actually take pictures through your sun glasses is a skill you’re going to have to share soon. Secondly, I have to hook you up with some proper Nigerian food.. You’re tummy will sing operas!!
Rather than the death metal it was grunting for a few weeks after that chicken?