Our yearlong project has been published, next year’s applicants are hard at work, and I still feel like my job is far from being complete.
Before beginning this project, I thought it would be the epitome of my college career, perhaps even my life’s work.
I still think that this will be one of the most important accomplishments of my life. But the project became much more than a journalistic endeavor.
This project led me to discover the most frustrating issue I’ve ever had with journalism.
If you asked me about my craft a year ago, I would tell you that it’s my passion; it’s what keeps me ticking. I love photography and the challenge of telling stories through images.
I also love meeting new people and learning about their lives ““ in the larger picture, I have always thought of it as my way of trying to understand what is human.
But in this way photojournalism was, and still is, mostly self-satisfying.
Back then I never had to question the civic quality of my work, because my subjects didn’t need help. I didn’t always think about whether my photographs could change their lives.
During our trip to Cameroon, photojournalism became more than a simple obsession; for the first time, I understood my job in context with the world and the lives of the people we met.
And this experience began to make me question my purpose as a journalist.
My photographs won’t free Biliga Marvel Bemelingue’s father from prison, they won’t get Oliver Noah a U.S. high school scholarship, and they won’t solve the array of issues plaguing Cameroonian basketball.
In fact, there’s a good chance that my photographs will do absolutely nothing to change basketball in Yaoundé.
Throughout our trip, people would tell us that they think our project will change Cameroonian basketball forever. I felt an immense amount of pressure, because I wasn’t sure of photography’s ability to do more than simply document life.
This is why my faith in photojournalism has slowly eroded. Sure, images can be informative or emotionally moving. But I’m not convinced they have the power to evoke change.
It was the second day of Luc Richard Mbah a Moute’s basketball camp, and the sun was piercing.
Crystals of sweat flooded down the foreheads of 50 teenage basketball players and onto the scorching cement court.
Finally, a water break. I drew my 1.5-liter water bottle to my lips, when a player I knew motioned to me, asking for a sip.
Before I had time to warn him that I had a cold, a stream of water swept into his mouth.
A second player tapped him on the shoulder, and he passed the bottle on.
A third. A fourth. A fifth.
Before I knew it, there was no water left. But I was left with the realization that we were all thirsty, we were all exactly the same in that moment.
It’s basic, I know. But think of it as a symbol of something larger and more complex.
Many Cameroonian coaches and players laugh at the same jokes we do; we even make the same jokes. We are frustrated by the same problems in basketball; we also have our disagreements and our arguments. We give each other relationship advice.
What makes us different from each other? As far as I can tell, nothing.
So how can I feel satisfied by simply documenting their problems while they work tirelessly to fix them?
If we’re the same, isn’t it my responsibility to fix the problems, too?
Taking pictures is still what I want to do with my life, but I hope that one day I will come to the realization that my craft produces more than personal satisfaction.