New Chapter, New Blog

This New Year begins a big new thing for Erika and me. We feel it's big enough that it merits a whole new blog. So I'm discontinuing this blog in favor of a clean slate. Thanks for reading, please click here to keep with it in a new spot.

Scenes that give me hope

Sometimes, I need images that remind me God is in control and that His kingdom is still breaking through, even in quiet, still and anonymous ways. This woman praying with her baby in the small village of Mare Rouge, Haiti, was that for me yesterday. I'd take the small, subtle victories of the divine any day over the grand schemes of man -- or at least I hope I would.

Back in Haiti for another week, then home to spend a long weekend with the greatest in-laws in the world.

More later.

Hunger. Illustrated.

The images for this photo essay were made over the course of more than a year. It's a portrait of hunger and malnutrition in Haiti, insidious challenges that contribute to many of Haiti's greatest problems and yet are not often overtly noticeable in the day-to-day. The video was produced pre-earthquake.

Images of hardship and struggle are (ought to be) hard to view and even harder to photograph. Certainly, this kind of work takes its toll. But I have to feel working on this project prepared me in many ways for photographing in present-day Haiti. I hope these images present the characters in an honest, vulnerable and respectful manner, preserving the dignity God created in each of us while not sugar-coating the complexity of the issues.

What do you think? Check out the video here (in HD).

Florida. Vacation.

Here's to the first time off since January 12, earthquake day. After shooting a fabulous and windblown wedding in Panama City, we took a few extra days in the land of sunburn and kitsch beach shops, chasing flamingos and petting stingrays. Time well spent. The convertible didn't hurt, either.

New Faces, Rural Places

For a look at some of the stories of those who are rebuilding their lives after Haiti's earthquake, check out the latest feature on displaced survivors from Port-au-Prince to Haiti's countryside, just posted by NWHCM here.

I'm in Port-au-Prince for a few days with Colts' receiver Pierre Garcon, doing a tour for earthquake relief efforts. A medley of media, a cadre of characters, and a few laughs along the way.

Old, Blind, Alive

Palmera Georges is 83 and can barely see. She was at home in Port-au-Prince on January 12 when the earthquake struck. Her family rushed out the front door as it collapsed just feet behind them. They assumed she was dead. Seven days later, when they heard her tapping the wall with a rock, and a group of a dozen neighbors worked to dig her from the rubble. When she emerged, the family boarded a truck for Port-de-Paix, a city where they have no family and no friends.

Now the family of 10 lives in a borrowed home off a noisy street that has become a sort of house prison for them. With no money and no contacts in town, they rarely go outside. They have no plan for what comes next.

There are stories on every corner here, refugees -- or more correctly, I suppose, internally displaced people -- peering out from seemingly everywhere. So many questions, so few answers. More to come.

A good couple of weeks, all things considered -- minus brief fight with a stomach bug. Heading back Sunday to Kentucky and the hottest babe I've ever met. God is good.

Refugee Tales

A sea of tents, packed 20,000 full, wanderers covering the hillsides like ants, nothing to do but look for aid workers passing out goods.

Buses carrying thousands to cities far and wide, armies with little more to their name than a sheet.

Port-au-Prince has lost its swagger, the proud city reduced to a restless rest. Its people -- many of them, anyway -- are looking elsewhere for hope, in places like Northwest Haiti. Their stories are the ones I hope to tell this week.

Shrimp Fun and Sonic Booms

Heading back to Haiti after a fun couple of days scrambling around the deck of a shrimp boat, shooting earthquake relief supplies being loaded for their journey to Haiti.

Kudos to coworker Cameron Mayhill for all his work in orchestrating the endeavor, and to the many volunteers who sacrificed their lower backs and leisure time to move thousands of boxes of goods.

And to Mike and Teresa Grant, for having the connections to make it possible and for living in such a cool town as Cocoa Beach/Cape Canaveral.

Who knew that when the space shuttle lands just a few miles away, it creates a sonic boom that rattles your hotel room and feels a little like an earthquake?

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Thanks, Chris, for this oh-so-flattering photo of me working in Haiti a little less than a year ago. Just stumbled upon it. Wonder what I'm so grumpy about?

Enough is Enough, Or Is It?

It's been asked a lot in the last month: Were there too many journalists in Haiti? In particular, too many photographers?

I head back to Haiti on Saturday and, as such, have pondered that one quite a bit myself. The issue has even been explored on Lens, the photojournalism blog at the New York Times and probably the best place outside of academia to find engaging and insightful dialogue on photojournalism. It's worth your time to check out the excellent essay and images here.

Lens does a great job going in-depth, so I won't belabor things by rehashing the arguments here. Suffice it to say, I've always felt that any photographer going to Haiti (or taking any photo, for that matter) should ask: Am I shooting this for myself, or am I shooting to contribute something new to the greater understanding of the story? They should also ask not only if they are respecting the subject, but if they are respecting the spirit of what is appropriate in a given circumstance.

Haitians have always been skeptical of the motives of photographers, and I do not blame them. I've probably given them reason to be skeptical myself on occasion, and I hope that I've learned from my mistakes.

(For the record, anyone desiring to do relief work in Haiti should also ask themselves similarly hard questions: Am I doing this for my reputation and my need for self-satisfaction, or to help the helpless and bring God glory?)

I was in Port-au-Prince soon enough after the earthquake that there were not many journalists on the ground yet. I did not have to deal with the bona fide media circus in the weeks that followed. But I caught a glimpse of what was to come, like the moment a television crew stabbed a microphone at a victim's face the moment she was pulled from the rubble of a building. There were only a handful of us at the scene, but I already felt it was too crowded.

And yet, for all the cameras that were there and at every scene around Port-au-Prince, there were almost certainly important images that would not have been made if any of those had been missing. After everyone else had stopped shooting at the rescue mentioned here, I made an image that later stood out to me as the essential image from the evening: The redemptive moment when the victim embraced her mother (the again, giving my background in wedding photography, I've always been a sucker for hugs).

I don't want to give the false impression that I somehow am letting myself off the hook because I am a Christian photographer working for a Christian NGO in Haiti. On the contrary, I feel that fact imposes on me, in some ways, an even higher set of standards, both in excellence and also in integrity. We are not immune to superficial or self-serving motives. In a part of town on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince, I watched a videographer from another Christian NGO ask his subject to turn as bit while he was doing some relief work, "so I can get a better angle on the logo on your shirt."

After a disaster of such horrific scope as the earthquake, I don't know how many photographers is the "right" number to be covering such an event. There were probably too many. But I think we know that God used the collective photos they captured to spur individuals to give aid like almost never before in American history.

The more pertinent question at the moment might well be, Why aren't there more photographers documenting the struggle now that the dust has cleared? And a follow-up: Why don't Americans seem to be as interested in such stories?

My favorite subjects are and always have been ordinary people, those on the fringes of human and environmental conflict who generally suffer most of the consequences but are often ignored. There are many great stories to be told in Haiti right now, most of which will require "explanation and contemplation," in the words of Magnum Photographer Christopher Anderson.

Those are the ones I hope to tell.

Be Still

Above: Men place a casket in a stranger's crypt in Port-au-Prince after breaking it open and removing the old contents. Andy Olsen photo

Saint-Louis du Nord, Haiti

If you were looking for someone who is angry at God, surely you would find them here.

In this country where a magnitude 6.1 aftershock woke thousands from their sleep this morning and sent terrified crowds into the streets, just a week after the initial earthquake razed their capital city.

In this country where so many still have not heard about loved ones they fear are dead. In Port-au-Prince, where I watched men open a crypt and remove old bones with their bare hands, refilling the hole with a cheap casket and wedging it closed with broken rocks.

But if you are looking for fists raised to God, you'll have to look hard. In the streets of Haiti, there are more often hands lifted in prayer, in praise, and in thanks.

Even in the midst of great sadness -- and there is plenty to go around here -- Haitians have a remarkable ability to remember God's goodness.

To be sure, I do not intend to idealize Haitians, because every culture is enveloped in its fair share of evil. But it is nonetheless remarkable to watch so many people singing and praying as they are surrounded by death.

Less than 18 months ago, some of the worst flooding in recent history nearly destroyed Gonaives, Haiti's third-largest city. Like many foreigners here, I have wrestled with God over the past week about how He could allow such tragedy in a country that was already besieged by it.

In Haiti, there are abundant attempts to answers to that question. Some blame foreign governments, some blame Haiti's practice of voodoo, some blame sin, and some do blame God himself. I reject all of these as too simplistic.

I believe we all have the right to ask tough questions of God, but we are not always entitled to answers. I choose to accept that I am incapable of comprehending the mind of God.

Yesterday, I was struck by the words of Psalm 46:10 - "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."

Most of us have been anything but still over this past week. We've rushed to help in the ways we could, and tensions have run high at times. We've been glued to news reports, the same as many of our families in the United States.

But there have been moments of stillness when God unexpectedly broke through, like the rainbow I saw arcing over a mountain peak as I drove to Port-au-Prince the day after the quake, a reminder of God's promise to Noah that he is still watching over the earth.

In those moments, I have heard eternity calling, a quiet assurance that all I've witnessed does not invalidate who I know God to be.

Those same moments help me see that God still smiles on me, even in seasons when I despair that I am not doing enough to make a difference.

I was shooting one day in Port-au-Prince when a stranger called out to me, "What is your name?" It's a common question foreigners in Haiti might hear a dozen times a day.

"Andy," I told him, and walked away.

A few minutes later I passed by him again, emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Hey," he said and smiled. "You know, your name means 'warrior.'"

He's was right, I've checked. I walked away, wondering if I'd seen an angel.

The View from Here

ABOVE: Patients and doctors. Andy Olsen photos

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

The vast majority of us usually view human catastrophes of this magnitude through a television screen, myself included. Even as a photographer, this is the first time I've seen anything like this from the inside looking out.

Our hotel is swarming with media, busy people scurrying about with expensive equipment, private security guards (in some cases), cigarettes on their lips, and thick European accents. I don't mean to perpetuate stereotypes, but that is what I see. Journalists and TV crews are sleeping anywhere they can find a clear spot: Conference rooms, truck beds, and pool chairs (I spent a night on one myself earlier this week). Laptops and video equipment glow all evening, and Anderson Cooper's ever-present voice on CNN is both comforting and good for a laugh.

I've watched them do some great journalism, and I've also watched them do some pretty lame journalism. I've observed the power to transform: How one gunshot in an otherwise calm city (for Haiti) appears on the front page of every news outlet in the world and, suddenly, Port-au-Prince is transformed into a dangerous and gun-ridden ghetto in the public eye (I have seen no one here with guns so far except for police, soldiers, and private security guards, though I'm sure they're out there).

I've also watched UN helicopters drop food into masses of people which, as one would expect, caused something resembling riots. Those who have done relief work in Haiti for years and who are truly thoughtful and successful in their approaches know there are better ways to organize food distribution. I am beginning to understand how a poor plan can turn people upon each other and, when captured on camera, the ensuing chaos can shape the entire world's opinion of a nationality.

I also watched some great relief work done today by missionaries in Port-au-Prince, people I do not know but for whom I developed a great respect after spending a few hours with them. Their relief efforts -- medical care and food distribution -- were small-scale, to be sure. But they were well done and done with much love. While I appreciate the bravado and eagerness I've seen among the "big guys" like international rescue teams and military personnel, I find something almost more comforting in the quieter efforts of the Christian groups and grass-roots organizations here. Long after all the big planes fly away, I know the little guys will still be here, working quietly as they always have.

I really enjoyed shooting today (as much as anyone can enjoy Port-au-Prince right now), though I am exhausted. This city has moved past the destruction-and-dead-bodies chapter and is getting on with the real work of relief and healing. There is a real sense that we are no longer just gawking at a train wreck, but we are beginning to pick up the pieces.

But oh, how far there is still to go.

It is only beginning to dawn on people here what a historic moment this is. It will shift the balance of power in unknown ways here. It will ensure Haiti remains at the very bottom rung of the global economic ladder for decades to come. It will reshape the Haitian identity in profound ways. And it will surely alter the course of the future for an entire generation, shattering dreams before they were even dreamed.

But not too many folks are thinking about that at the moment. Right now, there is only one dream here: Stay alive and find a doctor, food, and something to drink. Then find somewhere to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

I plan to return to Northwest Haiti tomorrow with a team of people, for there is more to be done there.

When the Earth Flexes Its Muscles

ABOVE: The dead, the wounded, the orphaned and the rescuers. Andy Olsen photos

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

It took nearly 500 years to build this city. It took less than 60 seconds to level it.

I've been wandering the streets of Haiti's capital city for the last two days since a magnitude 7.0 earthquake split the streets and crumpled buildings here on Wednesday afternoon. Words and photos fail to describe the devastation that hundreds of thousands of people here are living through.

I am well and safe, staying with a good team of folks at the Visa Lodge, one of the city's few remaining hotels. We've felt many of the more than 28 aftershocks that followed the quake. They've become so common at the hotel, at least, that most of us don't flinch. But mattresses still line the parking lot outside where many of the hotel guests sleep at night, safely separated from the concrete building. Erika is helping an equally great team of people back at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission's main campus in Saint-Louis du Nord, manning the mission's phone lines and e-mail and sifting through the hundreds of communications that are coming through.

Time and fatigue won't allow me to write everything I should, but I trust there will be moments for that later. Nothing here is easy now -- diesel and gas are scarce, cell phones have been useless until just today, and nearly every remaining building in the city is shuttered. It took two days to find a local person who was finally able to provide us with a cellular device to access the internet. As I type, the drone of C-130 cargo planes rumbles through my room, goliaths with bellies full of gifts for a badly hurting country. They are now taking off and landing at the Port-au-Prince airport 24 hours a day amid swarms of helicopters.

We stopped by the airport this evening and found a disappointing lack of food, water and supplies. Instead, there was an army of journalists and expensive broadcasting equipment, waiting to meet the heroes of Haiti as soon as they arrived. At the moment, they outnumber the heroes.

I have no idea why God chose to place Erika and me in this country just a few days before the darkest day in its history, but I have no choice to but see a reason behind it. It has been a trying few days in many ways, and I have had to turn down offers from photo editors at national media outlets in order to be faithful to my commitment to working for NWHCM. I trust they are decisions God will honor.

To my family and friends, thank you for all your prayers. I'm sure it has been hard to be out of contact due to the extreme limitations on communication. Erika and I cherish each of you so much. The plan at the moment is to head back to Northwest Haiti on a truck that's coming Sunday, not a lot of other options. As much as it pains me to leave Port-au-Prince while half of the other photographers in the world are here, I have a lot of other things to tend to before we head home.

I'll try to post more as I'm able. As for tonight, I'm going to take a shower to try and wash off the smells I've accumulated across the city. Port-au-Prince smells like death.

Rainy Haiti

Back in Haiti for a couple of weeks. This is perhaps my favorite time of year to be here -- cool and cloudy, the best you could ask for with day-long shooting, giving you maximum control of the light. The downside is the risk for multi-day stretches of rain, not so conducive to shooting.

So hoping for good weather. This time we'll be mostly video for a handful of new projects rolling out this spring. Always fun to try new things...looking forward to it.

More later...