"I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." - William Ernest Henley

I sometimes wish I could make the kids at Amasango believe in the quote above.

A reporter from Grocott's Mail, the local Grahamstown paper, came to interview the kids about the photo project yesterday.

She and I sat down with the kids and they spoke about what the project meant to them, what it taught them and why they took the photographs they did.

One boy, a 17-year-old in grade 7 was asked why he took a photograph of himself. He looked at the reporter and said "It's for my father."

We both smiled. It was a nice response from a guy who's taken some really nice photos. Of course, the next question was "why do you want this photograph for your father?"

Without much hesitation, the boy replied, "Because when I go to jail, I want him to be able to remember me. He has no pictures of me." There was a pause for a couple seconds; the reporter and I both a little stunned about what we should say or ask next. He put his head down for a moment before looking up again and saying "I need this photo for my father so when I go to jail he doesn't forget me."

He's talked to me a bit about his life in the past. His father is an alcoholic. His brother is in jail. His mother was murdered. He believes his future will be a one way ticket to prison. After all, that's just how life operates for kids like him, isn't it? You're born, you struggle, you steal, you go to prison, you die.

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Oscar Wilde

I picked up the contact sheets yesterday from Kodak Grahamstown.

32 children returned their cameras and many of the photos are remarkable. Through this exhibit, and through the photographs, the children will have given anyone who looks at this exhibit an uncensored look at their lives. There are images from school, images from Eluxolweni Shelter, images of family and friends, from around town, and images in the township.

There are also 5 or 6 images of kids doing drugs. Crystal clear images of faces, pipes and what is believed to be Mandrax. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. I asked the children to take pictures of anything in their lives that tells a story of who they are. The student photographers who took these photos of their drug use--and abuse--were perhaps the most honest and most faithful to the task at hand: of taking photos of their day to day lives.

While I appreciate the honesty conveyed in these photos, should they be shown? I don't have any qualms with showing the images when I return home to New York as the abusers are half a world away. In Grahamstown though, they're right down the street. I am going to talk to Kodak about seeing if faces can be blurred. The exhibit promised to be an enterprising, gritty look at the lives of children from Amasango. Without these photographs, the exhibit won't be entirely truthful. Drugs, and issues surrounding drug usage, are a part of these students' lives. It shouldn't dominate the exhibit, but in my opinion, it shouldn't be excluded.

I asked them to tell a truthful story about their lives through the lens of a camera. I suppose I got exactly what I asked for.

Not black and white

I was walking through Rhodes yesterday with a friend of mine from Zimbabwe and she and I ran into a mutual South African friend of ours, Atha (and fellow Rhodes student). I hadn't seen Atha in a while so we took a couple minutes to catch up.

I am still quite angry about the racial-profiling and socio-economic profiling (as in poor looking people are immediately suspects) at Rhodes, so I was telling her about that. I also told Atha I felt odd being a white, foreign guy standing up to black security guards about the rights of black children.

She shook her head in disgust about what had happened to the kids and said "Jason, you want to see some of the most prejudiced people? Look no further than blacks on other blacks. It's not just white on black, no no no. It's a class thing. It's really not just white against black."

Her words really struck a chord with me. She's a black South African. Apartheid fell only 13 years ago. Her parents would not have been able to eat in the same place as whites, or live in the same place as whites, or really exist, except as domestic workers (butler or maid or gardener) in the same place as whites, and there seems to be no hard feelings. She doesn't see the South African fight against inequality in black and white terms.

For her, and for countless other whites and blacks I've met during my time in this country, it's never been a fight where it's white versus black. It's a fight with the ignorant versus the informed ; where fair and unfair square off; a battle with just versus unjust, it's a fight where millions of South Africans, regardless of skin color, have often found themselves on common ground.

There are nice white people and nice black people. There are terrible white people and terrible black people. Skin pigmentation has no affect on how informed or misinformed you are.

Atha says so. I believe her.

Rhodes response

Dear Jason:

Thank you for your email dated 21 May. I regret these incidents and
have asked the Vice-Principal, Dr Colin Johnson to deal with the
matter.

Yours sincerely,

Saleem Badat




Dear Jason:

Thank you for you email to Dr Badat which was brought to my attention. The issue of the RU culture and what we project is of great concern to us. The equity committee is in the process of addressing the matter, the challenge is to change practices and how to communicate at the coal face.

Regards,

Dr. Colin Johnson

Racial-profiling and fighting back

I brought a couple more students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week. No, wait a minute; I tried to bring a couple students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week and was stopped by the security guards. I was allowed to come onto campus, but they were not. I argued and argued and argued. It didn't work. Shortly after this latest incident, I spoke with my former professors and they advised me to write a letter. The letter will be sent to the Vice-Chancellor, the Dean of International Students, and the Dean of Students. I found it a total reversal of roles to be a white, foreign guy arguing with black men about the rights of black children. Here's the letter, and here's hoping.

Dean Marius Vermaak:

My name is Jason Torreano. I was an international exchange student at Rhodes University from February 2006 – June 2006. During my time at Rhodes, I volunteered several times per week with Amasango Career School and Eluxolweni Shelter.

I returned to Grahamstown this past April to volunteer full time with the school and shelter. I’m also a visiting researcher in the History Department under the guidance of Ms. Carla Tsampiras.

As part of a project I’m pursuing with Amasango, I’ve given out dozens of 27-shot disposable cameras to children in grades 5, 6 and 7. The children were asked to take pictures of anything that sums up their lives. I’m printing the photos and they will be on display in Rochester, New York sometime after I return home in July. They’re also going to be on display at this university in early June. I’m writing to express some concerns I have with Rhodes.

During the week of May 14, 2007, I brought a couple of the students I’m working with on this photo project at Amasango and Eluxolweni to Rhodes. I have been taking a couple students on campus with me each time I come so they can see Rhodes, experience just a small slice of life at a university even if it’s just walking around the grounds for 10 minutes, and perhaps plant a seed in their head that if they work hard, they too, might one day be able to attend a university of this calibre.

As we were walking onto campus, we were stopped by a Hi-Tech guard and questioned. I explained to the guard I was a former student and was currently doing research under the History Department and that these students were with me. He refused to allow us to enter and called over an officer from the Campus Protection Unit. I explained to this second officer that these students were with me and that we were going to walk around Rhodes. This second officer informed me that no visitors are allowed on campus and said I may come, but that the students with me would not be able to walk any further. I was not willing to comply with this ludicrous arrangement nor was I in a state of mind to speak with this officer regarding his assertion that no visitors are allowed on campus, or how these guards determine who is a visitor and who’s not. Therefore, we all left.

I understand that Rhodes University must protect its students, staff and faculty. I understand that there are incidents with theft and violence within the boundaries of the Rhodes campus. I understand these guards have a difficult job to do. I do not, and will never, feel it is fair to suspect every young, black, male who so much as places a foot on this campus of being a liability.

I did go speak later in the day to people at CPU about this incident and they said as long as the children check in with me at CPU headquarters, they will be permitted on campus. I have since brought a couple students back on campus with me and did follow CPU’s wishes. The first day I went to check in, the officer at the counter seemed to be baffled as to why I was bringing these students to show him. It was obvious the officers I had spoken with the day before never communicated to their co-workers what they had told me. I decided at that point to not bring the students to CPU any longer. It is a degrading practice that I regret going along with at all.

I feel as though if these students were dressed in St. Andrew’s uniforms, they would not have been stopped. I feel as though they were singled out, again, because they were young, black, male and not dressed like typical Rhodes students. Rhodes is always stressing that it is a part of the Grahamstown community, but events like the ones from the week of May 14 make me seriously question the validity of that statement.

I do hope that you take the time to consider all the ramifications for Rhodes, and for these Amasango students—fellow Grahamstown residents—of kicking them off campus.

Sincerely,




Jason Torreano

Window on High Street provides window on the world

Judy and I are taking the kids of Eluxolweni Shelter to "Nando's," a chicken place in central Grahamstown tonight. It's meant to be a treat for the people who came to our video workshop and behaved themselves over these past two weeks. They voted for Nando's. We're taking them to Nando's. 16 kids in all will be coming.

It's odd how quickly your thinking changes when you find yourself in different situations. Nando's has big windows that face the street--and that face a very busy street in Grahamstown. In most areas of the world and in most situations, these windows would be a selling point: eat your meal, watch people passing outside, talk a bit, then leave.

However, here, these windows translate to a security concern for the kids. With the stabbing still fresh in our minds, and with the stabber out of jail wandering the streets, we weren't entirely prepared to eat in a restaurant where he might see us, get jealous and come in. The boy he stabbed is healing nicely and will be in attendance tonight.

For everyones peace of mind, we've hired a security guard from "Hi Tech Armed Response," a security firm in South Africa, to accompany us. The kids we're with are fantastic kids. The hours we spend with them will likely never be forgotten. We just can't have anyone crashing the party and stabbing the kids.

So, tonight, it will be Judy, myself, and 16 really great, hopefully well-behaved children from Eluxolweni Shelter eating, laughing, loving life in glass walled Nando's. Just a couple feet away will be one security guard ready to take out anyone who tries to hurt the kids.

I suppose there's some truth to the saying that desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."

Mr. Knife came to school today. He was released last night from jail. He's a minor, so they don't keep him locked up for more than two days.

I really didn't want to see him. I didn't want to be near him. I didn't want to talk to him. But he wanted to talk to me.

He came to the 7th grade classroom I was in and asked me to come outside. A bit angry and a bit sad, he told me he wanted to run away. "Jay-Sen, my name, it's dirty now," he said. "Everyone knows my name and it's dirty."

I'm still pretty angry about Saturday and I wasn't willing to give him a free pass, so I looked at him and said "And who did that? Who made your name dirty? You did that."

He started again with "but he said I don't have a father and.."

I had it at that point and cut him off. "You can't go around stabbing
everyone who says something you don't like," I replied hastily. "I stood up for you at Rhodes. I put my reputation on the line when I told the guard you wouldn't do anything and you came back and stabbed him. You lied to me. You are the reason you have a bad name."

He looked at me and started crying. The boy who whipped out a knife and stabbed a kid in the back three times was in front of me with tears welling up in his eyes. "It's best for me to run away. My name, it's not good here anymore," he said again. "And they want to send me to Queenstown."

Queenstown is a facility that helps students like this boy overcome tremendous obstacles and hopefully rehabilitates them in a way that keeps them out of prison.

I looked at him again and said "I have fought very hard for you (and I have). I think it is the best thing for you to go. I'm not happy that you have to go. It will be sad to see you leave, but you must go. You need help. You're smart, but you have issues with anger."

He said, "I can work on that (his anger). I would like to stay till July then I'll go because you'll be gone then maybe I will go."

"No," I replied. "You could do something that will put you in jail again by then. You really have got to go now." He started crying again. I want him to go. I think somewhere in himself he realizes he's got to go. The principal wants him to go.

It's odd how quickly my anger wears away. On Saturday, I really didn't want to see him ever again. Even this morning, I wasn't fully prepared to see him. When he came to school, I was prepared to just ignore him. When you sit down and talk to him and realize how lost he is, you can't help but let that anger fall away. He just doesn't know what to do and you can't help but feel sorry for him. You can't help but see the humanity right under that tough outer shell. You can't help but see the vulnerable little guy that's caught up in drug addiction, and yes, unspeakable violence. You can't help but want to give them a second chance.

"But you say you want to see me," he said. "Right? You say you want to see me. You won't see me again if I go to Queenstown."

He's right. I won't.

But maybe, just maybe, he'll be given one last chance and he'll take it.

"Jay-SEN, he told me I don't have a father and that makes me very angry. I want to cry but I have to be strong and I will get revenge."

The kids at Amasango School and Eluxolweni Shelter have begun to figure out that I have favorites. In an attempt to try and calm this tension and jealousy, I told the boys at the shelter that anyone who wanted to come do a video workshop at Rhodes could this Saturday. It was an open invitation of sorts. I thought I might get two or three kids and I would have been perfectly happy with just two or three. Thirteen eager kids showed up at the arch, ready to learn. I thought thirteen kids, two cameras worth hundreds of dollars would be a recipe for disaster. To my surprise, it went very well.

The kids were fantastic (all thirteen of them). We (Judy and I) took them to Dulce, an ice cream shop in the wealthier, whiter part of town and each kid got a small cone.

Another boy who used to live in the shelter, but now lives in the township was tagging along. I had the kids come into Dulce two at a time, choose their ice cream, and then go stand outside. Having them all come in at once was going to be far too much. The thirteen shelter boys were okay with doing this. The one former shelter boy was not happy with this arrangement and refused to stand outside. I told him "if you don't leave, I'm not going to buy you ice cream."

He didn't leave. He didn't get ice cream. Unhappy with this arrangement, he walked outside and stole one of the kid's ice cream right from his hands. There was a brief exchange of words in Xhosa. I walked across the street and tried to get the ice cream back but he wouldn't give it to me. I knew he had a knife with him, so I just let it go.

The shelter kids, Judy and I were walking back toward Jane's house with all the equipment and this child pulled his knife and was trying to stab the boy whose ice cream he had stolen! A couple shelter boys quickly got between the two and the knife-wielding child backed off. Though he distanced himself from the group, he kept following us, so I told the kids (who were carrying all the camera equipment) to walk right through the center of Rhodes University. They usually walk around the perimeter of the campus because they know they're not welcome but I said "You're with me and Mama Judy and you'll be fine at Rhodes."

I figured if this boy tried to pull his knife at Rhodes, the guards would be there to take him out. When we got on the Rhodes campus, I had the other kids sit by themselves and I just talked to Mr. Knife because he and I do have a decent relationship. We talked. And talked. And talked. And talked--for close to two hours.

He told me he was sorry he had stolen the ice cream because he knew I had paid for it but that this boy had gotten him "very angry."

I asked him why. He looked at me, looked down and shook his head saying nothing. Again, I asked "why?" Again, he said nothing. I tried once more, "Tell me, what did he do that would make you want to stab him."

He looked up still very angry and said, "Jay-SEN, he told me I don't have a father and that makes me very angry. I want to cry but I have to be strong and I will get revenge."

I begged him to give me the knife, but he wouldn't. The shelter boys just sat on the lawn playing with the camera equipment, waiting for me. I thought I had gotten through to him and he said he'd go and apologize to this boy. I took him up and he shook the kid's hand, said "Sorry" following it up with a couple sentences in Xhosa. The other boy smiled, responded with a "sorry," again accompanied by a couple words in Xhosa. Though I didn't know what they were saying, they both smiled so I figured we'd diffused the situation.

Just as the two were finishing their apologies, the guard approached me and was ready to escort the boy, who doesn't have a stellar reputation, from campus. Knowing that he had a knife and believing that the knife would resurface if the guard grabbed him, I told the guard "He won't do anything...I'll just walk him off thanks."

This boy returned to campus about 5 minutes after I escorted him off, grabbed the boy who he'd just apologized to and stabbed him three times in the back. By the time I realized what was going on, it was over. I pulled the stabber off and shoved him. He ran away. We called the shelter. The house parents from Eluxolweni rushed to Rhodes, grabbed the stabber and put him in the car. The victim was taken to the hospital. He has three stab wounds in his back/shoulder area, but he'll be alright.

The other boy is now in jail.

"Photography is about finding out what can happen in the frame. When you put four edges around some facts, you change those facts." - Gary Winogrand

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. If that's the case, every 5th, 6th and 7th grader at Amasango Career School in Grahamstown, South Africa will have provided me with 27,000 words about their lives by the end of next week.

The SNAP foundation (www.snapfoundation.org) in Rochester, New York sent me to South Africa with 80 disposable 27-shot cameras for the kids. We brought them onto the school grounds concealed in
plastic bags so that we could move into the office quickly, without the kids thumbing through the bags.

The cameras were handed out yesterday in true Amasango fashion. It was crazy. It was fun. It was a bit violent, but it was, without a doubt, Amasango: passionate kids who may have never had anything like a new camera for themselves pushing and shoving each other in line, screaming at one another in Xhosa, perhaps afraid that if they didn't push, they wouldn't get one.

They are allowed to take pictures of anything they want so long as it tells a story about their life. 80 cameras, 2160 photos, dozens of life stories.

I was looking over the proposal I sent to the SNAP foundation when I requested the cameras for this project and figured it would be nice to post here about what I hope this project accomplishes.

Who am I?

What should people know about who I am—about where I come from?

Who has helped me to become who am I? Who do I aspire to be like?

What do I struggle with the most?

When everyday is a fight—for dignity, for the hope of a better tomorrow, for the basic necessities so many take for granted—one has no time to reflect on these most basic questions.

Street children living in the Eastern Cape of South Africa have never had the opportunity to reflect: to examine who they are, to tell other people what their life is all about. Perhaps nobody has ever really cared to know the answer. Perhaps these children have been damaged by life and don’t want to know the answers themselves. It is my hope that “L.I.F.E.-as they know it” aims to take both the children photographers and the viewers of the photos on an emotional, excruciating, heart-wrenching at times, joyous at others, journey into the life of a South African street kid. Their sorrows, their triumphs, their lives.

Armed with a camera, watch as dozens of Eastern Cape children branch out to show the world what makes them happy, what makes them cry, what makes them tick, what makes them who they are.

Their histories. Their lives. Their thoughts. Their pictures. Their stories.

“L.I.F.E-as they know it”
[existence through the eyes of South African street children]

"We do not choose our beginning. We do not choose our end. But in the moments between, we choose who we are." -Tsotsi

Yesterday, I enlisted the help of three boys from Eluxolweni Shelter to help me shoot video for a project I'm hoping to piece together about Grahamstown and its inhabitants. 14-year-old Bramwell, 16-year-old Sinathemba and 16-year-old Samkelo accompanied me all day; they shot video, they carried the tripod, microphone and camera case, and they made sure none of it was taken by opportunistic, desperate people hoping to get some cash for drugs, or perhaps, to feed their families.

After the day of shooting, I told them I'd spend 35 rand on each of them and we could do whatever they wanted. They chose to go see "Spiderman." A good friend of mine from home, Heather Flay, gave me more than a hundred dollars from turning in pop cans she'd collected. Each weekend, I use some of that money to take the kids to eat, take them to the movies, or take them for an ice cream. It's a treat for them.

On our way to the theater, there was an older woman sitting in the shade of a tree, on a flattened cardboard box, begging for money. She sits there everyday. She must be in her 70s, and it doesn't look as though there is much life left. Her face is hollow, her body emaciated from years of not having enough. She sits in the same spot each day, looking up at people, relying on the kindness of strangers; of people like myself, of anyone who is passing by and might have a couple coins, or an apple or leftover slice of bread for her.

As the four of us were making our way to the theater, Bramwell stopped in front of this woman. Looking down at her and reaching into his pockets, his serious, somber look slowly morphed into a half-smile. I was about to pull him away because I really wasn't quite sure what he was doing, or planning on doing.

Before I could grab him and move along, he pulled from his pockets four or five coins that probably added up to no more than a rand. He dropped them into the little cup by her side, smiled again at her and walked toward me.

These couple coins came from a kid who hasn't been dealt a particularly good hand in life either. His family life isn't the best. He lives in a shelter where he's fed, and that,for him, is enough.

In the moments where we were passing by this woman who's probably passed hundreds of times per day, something clicked in Bramwell's mind. He must have recognized he didn't have much use for the coins, or perhaps, that she needed them more.

A few minutes later, he looked at me, and said "Jay-SEN! Did you see what I did?"

I certainly did.

"Cuz in the world today you can't live in a castle far away" - Five for fighting

I've decided that the kids begging on High Street, around central Grahamstown and close to the Rhodes campus is good. Positive. Educational. Before I'm dismissed as this awful person, let me explain my reasoning.

First off, I wish nobody had to beg. I wish nobody went to bed hungry, but people do, so let's acknowledge that it happens.

So, Rhodes, and much of the "white" part of Grahamstown, while existing as part of the greater community, is pretty set apart from the township and the "Grahamstown beyond." Sure there's nice PR materials talking about how everyone is in this together. Rich. Poor. White. Black. But for many--perhaps even for most--it's not their problem. It's not their fight. It's "those guys."

Perhaps these sharp divisions are the remnants of apartheid that haven't yet fallen. Perhaps these remnants never will fade away. I don't expect people who live in these upscale areas to pick up shop and move to one of the sprawling extensions of RDP (Reconstruction and Development Program) housing, or to go deliver meals daily to people living in utter poverty across town. I know I've never ventured into the township alone. I don't expect others to either.

What would be nice though is some acknowledgement, and at times, some compassion and understanding of why people are begging on street corners, why you have individuals attempting to sell used plastic bags in a desperate attempt to make ends meet, why you have so much stealing and violence. These poor people are not inherently terrible. Many are desperate--and desperate times call for desperate measures. Sure, some kids do have the option of living in a shelter and some adults have an option of going to a soup kitchen for a meal, but everyone has a story, and these crystal clear solutions are sometimes not so crystal clear.

Also, it's important to note that not everyone in South Africa is apathetic about the enormity of the problem. There are many passionate people I've met who truly want to make a difference. But there's also many who just really don't care. They have. Others don't, and that's just how it is.

It's a shame that it's possible to go to Rhodes, live on campus which is essentially "a castle far away," though it's just a 20 minute walk from the township, and never see how the other half of your town lives. It's sad that you can live in one of the "white areas" of high-walled, gated homes and not have an understanding of the underlying reasons about why you need the fence and the "High Tech Armed Response" systems on your home.

My first sentence said "I've decided that the kids begging on High Street, around central Grahamstown and close to the Rhodes campus is good." And in some ways it is. It is harder to ignore that way. You might not be able to see the desperation of the town beyond, but the kids, and some of the adults, can bring that desperation to you. In front of the pizza shop. In front of the university. Along the predominately white, predominately wealthy streets.

The kids still might just be dismissed as troublemakers, but perhaps to some it plants a seed. It makes them see not all of Grahamstown is fancy gardens and upscale gated housing. It forces them to see a problem that exists 20 minutes from the comfortable confines of where all of us "privileged" people live, but for too many people, this problem is a world away. Perhaps it forces them to think "what can I do to help?" It forces them to see that they "can't live in a castle far away."