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Students at the National Geographic Photo Camp in Rajasthan, India, learning to use a camera for the first time. © Ed Kashi

1/5/09

The first day of the workshop was frustrating due to a selfish teaching assistant. I was tired and cold and wanted to go home. Until then the workshop had not been satisfying; the kids were too timid, unengaged with us, and the conceit of the structure of the workshop began to show through for me. The power and importance of education is what I learn from these experiences, not always smooth or easy.

This workshop was a challenge, to bridge the gaps between us and the students, as well as between the city and rural kids. By day three the magic had begun, with the shy and nervous rural kids finding their voices and comfort levels, expressing themselves more openly to the instructors as well as their urban workshop mates. Likewise, the city kids began to shed their pretensions and superiority complexes, opening up and letting themselves just have fun.

By the end of the workshop the kids had made new friends, the shy had come out of their shells and the smart city kids had shown tremendous teamwork and supported their non-English-speaking rural peers. It was heart warming to see how well the two groups coalesced to support one another, had fun by sharing music and other teenage things, and ultimately moved past their previous stereotypical impressions of one another. Breaking down barriers is what this workshop and my life are dedicated to.

During the workshop’s graduation ceremony, my team of 5 students created and presented me with a poster; I’ve included a few of my favorite comments from it below. I love the first one, written by a stick-thin and very shy village girl named Deepika, who was crying the first day trying to hold a camera to her face and close one eye, something we photographers take for granted but for her was an impossibly weird and discomfiting thing to do.

Deepika…“I like your nature and behavior. I love the way you talk. We were able to learn lot from you and I even like you.”

From another student…“You teach us really nicely. You are very joyful person, which keep us energetic.”

Darhmendra….”I love your style of photography and how you solve our problems.”

At the National Geographic Photo Camp that Ed taught in Rajasthan, a "city kid" photographs a cow. © Ed Kashi

1/4/09

We’re in Jhadol, a small village nearly two hours drive outside of Udaipur to teach 20 teenagers, 10 from the city of Udaipur and 10 from the villages of this area. This is one of several National Geographic Photo Camps, which use photography and visual storytelling to foster cultural exchange and to open new vistas of awareness for these kids. The goal is not to create photographers, although that would be lovely. Instead, we are trying to empower these young people to tell the stories of their lives, communities, and families, thereby opening their eyes to their own world while sharing their vital and meaningful stories with outsiders.

I believe strongly in the power of photography to teach, to raise awareness, and to intimately and dramatically bring to life our stories, our issues, and our subconscious concerns. I have witnessed this power in countless situations, including refugee camps in Uganda, rural villages of Oaxaca, Mexico, the Latino district of San Francisco, and the South Bronx. These are the other National Geographic photo camps I’ve been a part of, but beyond this one set of experiences, I’ve been reminded repeatedly that photography has an uncanny, unique power to inspire, to prick the questioning mind, to discover beauty, and to express the intimate and personal.

It is this nexus of passion for, belief in, and commitment to the unique universe of visual storytelling that compels me to keep on driving forward, moving against the current odds, the dire predictions and blatant economic and structural trends. I cannot stop, nor do I believe I should. There is a usefulness, potency, and necessity to photography.

Showing my work from the Niger Delta to teens in the south Bronx or a village in India elicits the same response: indignation, surprise, and horror at the social, economic and environmental injustices of that story. These reactions exemplify the universal language of photography and the power of what I can achieve with my work.

Ed Kashi and his family on vacation, in Jaipur, India. © Ed Kashi

1/3/09

Being on the road half the year away from my family is probably the hardest part of being a photojournalist at this point in my life. The challenge of balancing these two vitally important parts of my whole being is essential, because without one or the other, my life would dissolve into an abyss I prefer to avoid. I’m constantly in dialogue with myself to keep in check my compulsion to create and push my boundaries, while maintaining my family’s tight bonds, making sure my children feel loved, continuing to be a vital participant in their lives, and providing my wife with enough support and love. At times, when I’m far away for long stretches, I wonder how I can continue to make it all work.  My wife and kids are tremendously supportive and understanding, yet it’s my sense of loss and longing for their companionship that causes my heartache. What I find so interesting is how both elements of this weird life feed into one another.

It used to be, when the kids were younger, that I couldn’t wait to leave again, within days of getting home. Now I battle with the need and desire to be home and not miss all the amazing things my children are up to, while I also feed off of the engagement with the world my work and travels provide. I couldn’t do this without the unconditional support of my wife, Julie Winokur. She is an incredible woman: a great mother, a talented writer and multimedia producer, and an excellent storyteller. She has that rare quality of the common touch, the artist’s sense of how to put a story together and the writer’s ability to construct narratives. We are so fortunate to have one another. It is rare to be able to combine work, family, and friendship. Not that it’s always easy or fun or loving, but, at the end of the day, we recognize our good fortune. Finding a teammate or collaborator in life is not easy.

Of course, Julie and I constantly imagine how much easier our work life could be without the responsibilities of the children, being able to travel freely, have her join me on my more dangerous and risky projects. But what I’ve come to realize is the vital importance our children have in our work lives. The daily minutiae — making a school lunch, eating a home cooked meal, giving love and support to a sad child, sharing a movie together — help buffer us from our obsessive ambitions. And such simple family pleasures, which make us human and reaffirm our love and commitment to one another, remind us of the most important aspects of our work: new-found sensitivities to other people’s lives and a deeper understanding of what it means to come through for another person who is depending on you.

And what is even more exciting now, as the kids mature and grow up, is that we’re increasingly able to include them in our work. Last year my son Eli, who is 14, assisted Julie and I on two shoots, which gives him a better understanding of what we do, as well as boosting his income dramatically :-)  And at the moment we’re working with Isabel to produce a musical score for an upcoming multimedia piece to accompany my next book, THREE, due out in April.

Ed's son Eli and wife Julie in the back of a rickshaw in Jaipur, India, in January. © Ed Kashi

1.2.09

I am on a rare vacation with my family, traveling around Rajashtan, India for two weeks over the Christmas, New Year break. My nearly 11-year-old daughter Isabel is gaga over animals and continues to fall in love with every stray dog, monkey, cow or other animal, of which there are countless on the streets of India. We are in Udaipur, a lovely city tucked in the hills of southern Rajashtan, where today our rickshaw driver suggested out of the blue that we go to a place called Animal Aid. It is an animal shelter and rehab clinic run by an American couple and their 19 year old daughter, who moved from Seattle seven years ago. Just earlier today we had been talking to Isabel about going to a veterinarian to watch how they care for animals, so it was providence that brought this suggestion to us. Once we arrived, it dawned on us that not only had we chanced upon a discovery for Isabel that could lead to a summer volunteering opportunity, but we might also have found a story idea for one of our clients back home. As I say over and over again to students, keep an open heart and open mind, and you never know what life will bring you. Here was a perfect example of that.