Commercial assignments abroad

Commercial assignments abroad
Jeremy Webb


	Baby chameleon, Kiono Forest

On the face of it, spending 3 months photographing one of the most beautiful corners of the earth sounds like a doddle, doesn't it? A Dream Commission. I've always been envious of those photographers who appear to travel the globe producing beautiful images of beautiful places AND being paid for it. While I've never wanted to travel full-time, there are plenty of opportunities to create this kind of work which, even for short periods, can be immensely rewarding. The images which illustrate this article were all taken on a 3-month trip to East Africa to accompany a scientific expedition gathering data for research and conservation projects within some very remote and inaccessible areas.

My first contact with the expedition team was via one of their leaflets. At that time, they were a young organisation and their promotional material contained some fairly routine images that were gathered together within a simple A5 leaflet.


Ornithologist at work, gathering detailed information on bird life within Kiono Forest

Having spotted an opportunity here I arranged a meeting with my portfolio. My intention was to persuade the expedition organisers that amateurish photographs taken with unsuitable cameras by volunteers was no way to promote the organisation and its important work. With a specially-commissioned photographer on hand to record the landscapes, people, plant and animal species solely for the expedition organisers, this would be the best way to produce the quality of images necessary to market themselves effectively and professionally. They could raise future sponsorship, awareness and credibility, as well as having a solid library of images to call upon for magazine articles, conferences and other promotional activities.

I was offered my place on the team and had a few months to prepare for the trip. Good job too. Major headaches to deal with included a fair amount of negotiating from both parties over our contract, passport and visa problems to solve, unspeakable dental work to be faced up to prior to departure and a list of vaccinations which included Cholera, Yellow Fever, Polio, Typhoid, Meningitis, Rabies and a Tetanus boost. After this little lot I felt I could face anything head-on.


	Back in Dar es Salaam University Herbarium, specimens collected are logged, studied and stored.

Additional Insurance cover (personal liability, medical expenses and personal accident) had to be arranged, Malaria precautions organised, and learning Swahili began as soon as I could get my hands on a phrase book. One particular sentence within my contract however needed no translation - "The Photographer confirms that he/she is aware that participation in the project presents hazards to life and limb greater than that normally encountered in other environments". For several members of the team this phrase would turn out to be prophetic.


Very occasionally my job description would allow me some freedom to capture the look and feel of a still life image as well as taking an informative and descriptive shot for the scientists

Breath-taking at every turn but due to the thickness and dense vegetation, very hard to do it justice photographically

Even before we had entered the country it was apparent that this would be no easy-going, air-conditioned tourist experience. Travelling to our first destination deep into the heart of the coastal rain forest courtesy of an ex-army 4-tonne Bedford truck with a pick-up jeep ahead, we bounced painfully along the pot-holed roads with our supplies roped-down and 14 bodies crammed-into what little space there was. After 8 hours of being beaten black & blue in the heat of the African sun (not to mention the occasional picnicking of tsetse flies on our freshly-flown-in skins) the villagers came from miles around to welcome us and watch our clumsy attempts at setting-up camp.

Toilet pits and water wells had to be dug, tables, pit fires and tents constructed over the next few days and I discovered that already one of my Nikons had been battered senseless and was inoperable. During those first few days, spent setting-up and acclimatising to the conditions, a number of insights hit me very hard.

First, it is a truth universally acknowledged in rain forests that simpler, older cameras with fewer electronics and fewer parts generally will survive the heat and humidity, rough and tumble, rain, insects, moisture, and general wear and tear that expedition life will throw at you. State-of-the-art, super-electronic, multi-chip cameras will not. Sounds simple I know, but it can be a sobering experience when your back-up cameras become your only functioning ones.


	The hardcore botanists amongst us were ecstatic at certain finds. They were able to concentrate fully on their task, and I was able to be called upon at a moments notice.

Secondly, protect your film at all costs. On the outward journey, 120 rolls of film had been carefully packed and carried through hand-luggage or wrapped in special x-ray proof bags. These bags became indispensable for storing exposed rolls of film somewhere cool and dark and when these bags were then given further protection from the elements by the use of waterproof casings, my films and remaining equipment survived an unexpected rainy season downpour which flooded our tents within minutes.

The research work and documentation of specimens began in earnest and it was my job to accompany the research scientists in the field and photograph the work in progress, individual specimens in their natural habitats (which were often rare), and the habitats themselves. A thorough inventory of these pristine forest areas had to be undertaken in order to provide evidence of their rich bio-diversity. The information thus collected would be presented to the government in order to strengthen and support the argument for maintaining and improving the protection of these areas as Forest Reserves and sites of high conservational priority.

I accompanied a party of botanists to a collection site along with a local guide-cum-medicine-man. They made meticulous notes on virtually every plant species in the area and one of the African scientists with us translated a wealth of fascinating information on each plant's uses for treating insomnia, fevers, eye infections, impotence, and so on. I was privileged to photograph many rare, even unrecorded species and their habitats, not to mention scenery and landscape virtually untrodden by any homo sapien. Unfortunately the flip-side to all this pristine beauty, was stark evidence of illegal logging stations and huge gaps in the canopy above, leaving many rare, shade-tolerant species to die from the removal of the foliage shelter to which they had so successfully adapted in order to survive.


This forest is the original site of the African Violet. Many species are under threat from such destructive and illegal practices.

Leaving Mafia Island aboard launch boat on the way back to Dar es Salaam

As a photographer I often felt uneasy with the distractions of the lush beauty of a living forest and the responsibility I had to record objectively the sites and species so crucial to the expeditions aims. The lengthy hikes with full rucksacks were exhausting but necessary and the humidity and fatigue which drenched us daily were easily surpassed by the sheer wonderment of standing in some of the most remote and bountiful forest in Africa, virtually unchanged since prehistoric times.

Back at base camp, one of our team had made an oven out of empty survival biscuit tins, extra drainage channels had been dug around tents still soaked from a tropical downpour and the ants determined progress to occupy the camp table had been seriously hindered by the placing of kerosene-soaked 'socks' around the table legs. There was also a record number of cases of the squits, tropical ulcers, a machete accident requiring 10 stitches from the expedition nurse and further feasting from the tsetse flies. The locals meanwhile, looked-on with bewilderment at our unsuitability to their environment.

After 6 weeks or so of the coastal forest camp, I had arranged with the expedition organisers that I would fly to a small island off the coast of East Africa to catch up with the other half of the expedition based at a marine research camp on Mafia Island, south of Zanzibar. Stepping off the tiny rubber-band powered aeroplane, the environment couldn't have been more different.

Greeting everyone there who I had not seen for 6 weeks, they enquired whether I was ill; so pale and scrawny having lived under the dense shade of the forest scavenging berries, while these poor people had spent the last 6 weeks on a tropical island paradise, diving, out in the open all day in mangrove swamps or on white sandy deserted beaches. What a life! Here were stunning sunsets, fresh bread from a local baker, street market and a more relaxed approach to life. This was an environment that made one think more of Bounty Bar Ads rather than the serious business of silted-up coral reefs or environmental research carried out by dedicated conservationists on the cutting-edge of science.

Needless to say, the shock of the new wore off in time and important work was being done. There were vulnerable reefs here, encircling the island and its near-neighbours which, due to destructive practices such as coral burning for industrial lime, dynamite fishing (literally blasting the fish out of the water), shell collecting, and inland de-forestation, were being systematically destroyed or smothered by silt. Coral reefs sustain a huge and delicately balanced number of life-forms and daily monitoring by diving - to produce fish counts- was one of the methods employed here to monitor the changes.


	A beautiful place but greatly under threat

During one such dive we encountered a previously undiscovered ship wreck. Out came the Nikonos and in went the photographer. Back on land I was also lucky enough to provide photographic proof that a certain species of monkey was living the life of Riley on the island despite all reports to the contrary. By this point I was having to monitor film stock daily and spend more time photographing the team members at work rather than strange forest specimens of nitrogen-fixing nodules or whatever it was that so excited the scientists.


An unexpected find which really set the pulse racing. The anchor is visible here on the bottom of the sea bed.

There were constant reminders that we were merely temporary guests to this deceptive environment. By day, a tropical white sand paradise in which coconuts drop at your feet. By night, nature takes control. I was once woken under the mossy net by strange clicking noises to find a dozen or so hermit crabs making a beeline for the full moon by going straight over whatever happened to be in their way, which on this particular night, turned out to be me. And despite layers of anti-mosquito repellent and careful checking of the net I had 60 visible bites that night and a bad case of insomnia brought about by shrieking Bush Babies. 5.00am however was a different story. The sun rose over the island painting everything vivid orange. The nightmare of darkness was over as, second by second, the sky changed hue and I carelessly used up precious film recording the stages of this transformation for the pure joy of it all. No photographer I know could have let that one slip.


	In order to reach these remote forest sites, this was the only way to travel and pitch camp for a night.

	Irresistible!

There were far more serious problems at base camp, however, which put everyone's personal discomforts into perspective. One of our team was bitten on the foot by a Black Mamba and after local treatment and several days and nights spent climbing the walls in pain, was lucky to keep the foot, let alone the leg. Unfortunately, with the end of the expedition looming, vigilance and observation of strict rules were very slowly slipping away in an atmosphere of fatigue and weariness - flip flops at night would offer no protection from a snake in the grass.

I had always found with previous trips abroad how small gifts from home would help cement relationships and build bridges, even gain favours when these were most needed. Biros, postcards, family photos all helped to secure friendships and favours when it was time to leave the island and we had to get out quick before the start of the rainy season when the roads turn to the consistency of blancmange.

We left the island in stages, having debated and agreed on all the logistical issues of storage, packing and transportation. The weeks spent in the forest camp seemed like months ago and since my first camera casualty, I had gone to great lengths to keep my equipment and film safe from danger. Leaving the island in the pouring rain was a miserable affair, as a tiny launch boat took us (and double its intended capacity) to board the massive ferry. In the scramble for places - amidst chickens, mangoes, and many desperate villagers - the water came flooding over the side of the boat swamping my entire kit; cameras and all, except for the small compact I had round my neck. Funny thing was, I didn't really care as I knew my films were safe, and nothing else really mattered.

So there I sat, dreaming of home comforts, on top of the soaked remains of my miserable possessions, merrily snapping-away at the chaos. A photographers life is anything but dull.

*All photographs were taken on the Frontier Tanzania Expedition run by the Society for Environmental Exploration