EBRAHIM MIRMALEK

By Standing Voice

August 22^nd, 2019

Ebrahim Mirmalek is an Iranian documentary photographer based between the US and Iran, with over a decade’s experience in international professional photography. Joining forces with UK-based photographer Brian Benson, Ebrahim joined Standing Voice in Tanzania this year to deliver the photography workshop in our Summer Skills series. Below, he reflects on a magical and unforgettable journey:

Before 2011, I had never met someone with albinism. In Persian, the word ‘albino’ translates to ‘Zal’, a legendary character in Iranian literature featured in Shahnameh (The Book of Kings). At the time, I was struck by the tragic parallels I could see between news reports of abandoned African children with albinism and the story of Zal, who was similarly abandoned in the Alborz Mountains. I wasn’t sure how, but I felt compelled to help.

I travelled all the way to Ukerewe Island—deep in the heart of Tanzania’s Lake Victoria—to try to imbue the news reports I’d seen with some humanity. I wanted to meet the people affected by this violence, and give them a platform to share their stories. In a whirlwind trip, I couldn’t believe the hospitality of people on Ukerewe: I was welcomed into homes, and worlds, invited to document the multifaceted reality of life with albinism in Tanzania. Returning home, I planned an exhibition of my photographs to raise awareness and, critically, donations. Sadly, my equipment and memory cards were stolen, and I was never able to realise that ambition. My desire to go back to Ukerewe—to reignite those relationships, and continue a story that ended so prematurely—has burned like a fire in me since.

Years later, I was thrilled to discover Standing Voice. A friend from Ukerewe contacted me to let me know about the work the charity was doing on the island. Feeling an overwhelming urge to get involved, I reached out.

This year, through the Summer Skills Workshop, I have finally been able to find an avenue where I can deploy my skills and experience as a photographer to help better the livelihoods of a group I have cared so deeply about for years.

Before departing for Tanzania, I put a call out on social media asking people to donate any second-hand cameras they were no longer using, which I could take to Ukerewe and leave for my students to have indefinitely. The outpouring of generosity touched me: in the three days before my flight, I sourced eleven different cameras from all over Iran.

I had my apprehensions about running a photography workshop for people with albinism: how would I teach the intricacies of lighting to students for whom light can be uncomfortable, and even threatening? How would I encourage precision, and an instinct for composition, among people who are visually impaired? Fortunately, I had the pleasure of working through these difficulties with Brian, an extremely talented photographer from the UK who ran the workshop alongside me. Together, we overcame these issues to deliver an accessible and stimulating course.

As much as possible, I encouraged participants to capture glimpses of their own individual realities through photography. Rather than focusing on the unusual or spectacular, I wanted to convey the enormous power of the real, the material, the mundane. People’s everyday lives are so beautiful! Opening our participants’ eyes and encouraging them to capture personal moments, to tell real stories, enabled a shared vulnerability through which the group became closer, forging stronger connections to each other while also taking stunning photos!

With the support of Standing Voice, we were able to take the self-titled ‘Umoja Photographers’ on documentary excursions across Ukerewe: an experience that would normally be a financial impossibility for many of the island’s residents. It was a privilege to share their joy as they relished and reflected on the beauty of their homeland. As we drove, the bus would erupt with excitement, laughter and singing. In Swahili, umoja means unity. Sensing an unbridled energy of solidarity and elation, I began to understand the significance of the Umoja Photographers’ name.

On occasion, students would complain about the simplicity of their cameras relative to others in the group, but I wanted to emphasise the importance of storytelling, and skill, above and beyond the capacity of one’s equipment. In the end, we were delighted to find some students with older cameras taking better images than those with newer models! Properly harnessed, limitations don’t constrain creativity: they unleash it.

The future of the Umoja Photographers is bright. I’m excited to help share the group’s work online once they have the facilities to upload their photos to a computer. With the cameras that Brian and I left at the Umoja Training Centre, they have the resources to begin capturing and sharing with the world their authentic perceptions of what it means to know, or be, a person with albinism in Africa today.

This beautiful and valuable experience has shown me that people with albinism aren’t ‘disabled’ in any meaningful sense of that word. They are, at once, somehow the same as anyone else, and also exceptional in their difference. They aren’t damaged or impaired by disability: they are distinguished, and empowered, by their unique abilities.