When I bought my adorable, magenta Kodak Elf for Christmas, it was with the promise that I was going to take more pictures. I wanted (or still want) to become an amateur photographer. I used incentives to ward off laziness. The first dangling carrot was my photo blog. I was thwarted though by a stronger desire, to develop my writing skills. While I continued to post, I started using pictures from the Internet. They were better images and more appropriate for my subject matter. Then I got my assignment in Jordan. What better reason to practice and improve my photographic skills than a new country? So Jordan became my new carrot.
And yeah, maybe I don't like carrots. It seems that every time we are in an interesting place, worthy of being captured in the annals of time, I find myself without my camera. At the SOUK JARA, at the down town market, at the Dead Sea, passing a camel, walking the streets, everywhere I go it's the same mantra: "I'll be here again, I'll take pictures next time." The irony is that for most of these occasions my camera has been tucked into my bag hanging from my shoulder. I bought the smallest camera I could find so that it would always be with me. And it is. I'm just too lazy to pull it out.
But when I first arrived, I was determined to keep my promise. On my second day in Amman I walked a few blocks from our hotel, snapping pictures of the interesting buildings, the supermarket, anything that looked unique. And of course everything did, because everything was new. Admittedly, though, I was scared to walk far. I even took pictures of several of the streets signs, kind of like dropping rocks behind you or trailing a piece of string when you are lost in the woods and need to find your way back. I was also nervous about the residents staring at me. What I wanted to take pictures of were women in hijabs, men in white gowns with red head bands gathered on the street corner or silent, armed guards in front of every building. But I wasn't ready to interact with strangers so intimately when I was so obviously a foreigner...from America.
The next morning we were driven to our first day of orientation and as we pulled up to the large, stone-white abode and entered through the gates, there was the ubiquitous guard in blueish fatigues, sitting on a chair in the shade with a rifle resting across his lap. I told myself tomorrow I would take his picture. He was associated with our organization, so it would be safe.
During the orientation our supervisor discussed many issues, one of them being photography. He warned us about where we pointed our lens. "Don't take any pictures with bridges in the background, malls, official buildings, police stations or officers." He then related a story about a former fulbright student on his last day in the country. At his mom's request, he scouted the city capturing images that illustrated his life for the past year. After several shots, he took a picture of the police station. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by angry men and under arrest. He made a frantic call to our supervisor and then throughout the day was moved from one police station to the next until he finally ended up in a white van with a black bag over his head and his hands cuffed, on his way to the Jordanian equivalent of the CIA. Our supervisor was tracking his every move but was powerless to help. Fortunately, after a brief interrogation, the CIA realized he was not a terrorist threat and released the shell shocked student. I'm sure he stepped on that plane home more relieved than he ever could have imagined.
So this anecdote is my lame excuse for why I have been procrastinating with my picture taking. The unfortunate photographer was Turkish and probably looked more like a terrorist than I do, but still, you can never be too careful;) I promise though that my next post will begin with a photo taken by my own hand.
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