Riots in Kenya: From the Archives

June 10th, 2010

Digging through my old files I found some B/W photos I took during a massive street riot in Nairobi. I was on a 6-month trip to Kenya during my time at University and for me as a student studying International Politics but not really knowing what I was going to do with my life, these pictures actually became very important to me. The way I took these pictures, the fun I had while taking the pictures, the fact that I was in the middle of a dangerous situation (police and army were firing with live ammunition, the protesters were using slingshots and Molotov cocktails) and pushing my limits and the fact that Reuters and AP were considering printing my shots made me see for the first time that this might be something I could be doing in my life.  I got a camera from my dad when I was 14/15 years old and photography was always a very serious hobby for me. But not for a second did I consider doing it for a living. The proper thing to do, was to do well in high school, get into a good university to study and then to make something out of your life. Being a photographer wasn’t part of that equation. That experience of documenting the riots in Nairobi didn’t make me drop everything right then and there, it took me another two years or so, after finishing University, to pursue photography, but to this day the memory of that experience keeps me going. The day itself unfolded totally spontaneously and later got me into big trouble. My study group was on a lay-over in Nairobi for a few days and our hotel happened to be next to the Nairobi University. The Kenyan government had shut down the University, just days before the final exams were supposed to take place and demanded that the students pay tuition. That meant that all the students who were going to finish their final year, couldn’t. It meant they were going to loose a whole year of studies. It meant all the students had to pay tuition to continue their education and in a country like Kenya all but the wealthiest people were able to afford that. The students took the the streets, trashed the downtown area, destroyed shops, blocked all the main roads, set fire to everything they could and shut down the city. The government sent in special army and police units and they tried to crack down with full force. And all of this started as I was walking back to our hotel after I had dropped off some film to be developed at a nearby shop. All I had with me was my old Olympus OM-1 camera with a 50mm lens, half a roll of film in the camera and a spare roll of film in my pocket. As I came around a corner I literally got swept up by a stampeding horde of army and police troops who were driving the students down the street. Being the only white guy around but with an SLR camera in my hand they assumed I belonged to the press. One army guy said to watch out for Molotov cocktails and I don’t know what I was thinking, because I took his advice and ducked but obviously didn’t listen the the voice of reason telling me that maybe I shouldn’t even be in a place where fire bombs were being thrown in my direction. In somewhat of a quiet moment I had a look around and noticed I wasn’t the only white guy with a camera. Off in the distance, out of the line of fire, there were some real photographers with some real telephoto lenses. They had listened to their voice of reason and stuck to their 300mm lenses. I didn’t have that luxury. With a 50mm lens you have to get pretty close to get the details you want so I stayed close. At one point the army troops were retreating and four soldiers came running past me carrying a wounded soldier by his limbs. Probably hit by a rock from a slingshot just under the brim of his helmet, blood was gushing from his head and I couldn’t even recognize his face. Without realizing what I had just seen up close I managed to get a shot of the scene. Then in one of the next charges (they went back and forth up the street) I stayed behind and switched over to the student side. There I was the only white guy and was greeted with open arms. I was also the only “journalist” and all these students came up to me…

wanting to tell their story so I could tell the world. To summon their courage they were drinking heavily and smoking dope and other stuff and the level of aggression was pretty scary. Things then got serious because the army started shooting with live ammunition and tear gas. Running away, I got hit by a tear gas canister that exploded next to me and I thought I was gonna die and go blind from the stuff. Tears and snot ran down my face, I couldn’t see anything until some people came running up with bottles of water to wash the gas off our faces. At that point I had had enough, my second roll of film was used up and there really wasn’t any point in hanging out any longer. As I beat my retreat one of the real press photographers ran up to me and asked who I worked for and when I told him nobody he gave me his card with an address and asked me to come to the Reuters office the next day if the shots turned out well. Tired, scared and pretty damn proud of myself I made my way back to the hotel. I had the films developed the next day and to be honest there were hardly any good shots. I was using a manual focus, manually metered camera so the majority of the shots were out of focus or badly exposed. The people at Reuters wanted the shot of the wounded soldier, even said it would run in the big newspapers, but…it was too underexposed to be saved! That was my first taste of  battle photography and I am still pretty surprised with myself at how calm I stayed during all that madness. Granted, these riots were nothing like Afghanistan or the Kosovo but there were some hairy situations, it was dangerous, but for some reason I stayed calm and cool. I am also surprised how much of a kick it was. I remember really having fun, being in my element and thinking I could do this more often. But, life turns out differently than you plan or foresee it though and that is good. Now I am a single dad raising a son and I have responsibilities. I can’t run around the war zones of the world, I don’t want to either. Just knowing that I could is enough for me, knowing that I did once (on a small scale) reminds me that I can handle almost anything that might come along the way in the future.

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