From Lucidity to Utter Failure: On Street Photography in Addis Ababa

By Dan Seltzer

Photo by: Dan Seltzer (copyright)

“[...] Poems, my dear Degas, one write with words – not ideas.”

Mallarmé

In what follows I wish to elaborate on some questions and reservations I came across as a

documentary photographer during a six months visit to Addis Ababa. If at all possible, I

wish not to expound on the work itself, not on behalf of it and not on what it “says” or

“means”, but to address practical issues that arose from my intention to engage,

understand and photograph a foreign place, a jungle that’s not my own. And though in

my last few months there I’ve studied some sociological and ethnological aspects of the

Amhara culture, I hope these will only serve to convey my first hand encounters with

those who make their living in the city.

In retrospect, underlining my stay in Addis-Ababa are the many configurations of

its violence. I derive this rather harsh statement as I reexamine my own far-from-peaceful

habitat. And yet, as any jungle would suggest, the Amhara forces, its motives and means,

were not only strange and unique to me but also particular, intelligible and regrettable in

their own merit. Any comparison between my own birthplace and Ethiopia will serve

little to none in understanding their respective and distinct place in history. The search

for common ground will reach only as far as ones social conditioning permits, and one

should strive toward a more wholesome understanding of a phenomena, an experience of

it that would encompass and resolve ones own mere conditioning, and transcend them.

Early on in the city one may anticipate the initial discovery of at least two internal

gaps. Assuming you come from a western culture and were educated to briefly know of

the African tragedy – but not much more – you quickly come to learn of the many

foreigners living in the city as they give out a sense of fear mixed with a superiority

complex towards the “indigenous” people, a sense not customarily talked of or openly

confessed but present nonetheless. The gap lay in the fact the locals seem to express – and

much more freely – a similar notion towards both the “whites” and the “blacks”, i.e. the

rest of the African population.1 But these are not of our concern here. A second revelation

creeps to the unsuspecting mind, that which doesn’t hold on tightly to any such

preconception of anothers’ jungle: if one is not alarmed of its’ inscrutable sense of

identity, one may feel drawn to the numerous formalities and customs, to its ancient (and

sematic) language and codes, to a unique dialogue apart from his own. Indeed I expected

something unknown and had hoped it will be far from anything I could call western. But

one should be carful of ones’ own wishes, or so they say.

Walking the streets of Addis for more then a transient period naturally calls upon

an identity check. The crowd is likely to seem a polite and gentle community though the

setting may sometimes be crude and confusing. Faces of chance waiters and drivers are

welcoming, sincere and familiar. From cafés to discotheques, encounters are filled with

                                                                                                               1 It’s worth mentioning the Ethiopians are the only country in Africa not to be a colonized (apart for few years under Italian occupation 1936-1941). Their unique history in the continent has fostered notions of the “Habasha” or Abyssinian nation, and they generally regard themselves to be neither black nor white, but “half backed”, i.e. better the both. In turn, studies seem to show their unique tradition and behavior in regards to the rest of Africa. See, Reidulf K. Molvaer, Socialization and Social Control in Ethiopia, Harrassowitz Verlag, Wiesbaden, 1995

puzzling etiquettes contrasting with an overwhelming poverty in booming masses one

must pass by. These seem to suggest not only of the city’s character but also of what one

is accustomed to, looking for, and maybe lacking.

A tour of the city reveal a chaotic muddle of construction sites for future shopping

malls and offices, encircled by mud huts and rubbles that run in streets with no names

and no pavements; old 60’s villas hidden well behind high barbed walls and shabby

looking guards, next to tall and hideous looking mansions copy-pasted from neighboring

Arab counties; coughing cars from the 50’s amidst luxury SUV’s that roam in tattered

roads which never seem to go strait. The cocktail most befitting here is of shear

coincidence in any “proper” urban planning, spiced up with obscure intention of local

proprietors. For a photographer this may mean his subject is what Bazin identified as a

culture devoid of aesthetic expression of its “spiritual reality wherein the symbol

transcended its model”, but one who’s aesthetic ambition lay in a psychological

duplication of its exterior.2 It would be tempting to see their overall esthetics as fallen to

Kitsch if it weren't for their historical lack of romanticism, idealism or any 'ism' to suggest

a critical formulation behind such schemes of color and form.

Having traveled to an unknown territory, the work, I felt, must have no

conceptual destination; free from historical references or biographical annotations; having

only a sense of dialogue, that the output may be communicated, engaging and hopefully

remembered. The hazards of taking up a camera in Addis were rapidly realized as I

walked on: not to create an exposé of a culture, not as a tool for anthropometric

denotation of the mythical Other or the mimicking of a Platonist ideal, nor to address the

(western) connotation of a signifier to point at the (African) “thing-itself”. Baring no

intentions to spot an ethical shame or blame, veering away from pricy spectacles of

destitute and cruelty (scandal mongering in the form of free press); as from meliorate

sentiment to the immense-though-misleading great African Tragedy. The only

involvement conceivable, I felt, was of an alleged friend who will listen to the story: not to

extort spurious charity3, not to arouse conciseness or fortify the comfort-class in its

                                                                                                               2 See, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, André Bazin, Translated by Hugh Gray. In Film Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 4. (Summer, 1960), pp. 4-9. 3 I was proposed once to work for a charity NGO depicting hunger and poverty for its upcoming brochure.

blanket notions of morality. And lastly, not to serve a “Document” of a place in time

under the auspicious of valor or savvy to go where another might hesitate to enter.

In practice I was concerned with endless walks around the exteriority of the

culture, not with the study of its presumed interior. I therefore held on tightly to the

notion of a flat existence. Not merely a photographic two-dimensioned world but one that

has only a virtual inside to show, its history and voices mute. I assumed that no foreign

gaze could ever penetrate that which cannot be formally taught, and so was left with an

entity transparent to inspection and play. These are working premises for the

photographic investigation of an unknown – neither an absolute truth nor a

recommended attitude in Ethiopia. It subsequently follows that ones’ imagination is

slowly emptied of notions, concepts, gradually filled up by scenes from aimless

wonderings and finally, shooting as if to capture the emptiness itself, to bear witness there

really is nothing to show but ones own chance route. Though highly meditative, these

walking instructions are, I found, both viable and fruitful.

Form the complimentary technical aspect I felt one should be limited to a single

lens point-n-shoot camera, so as to force a release from a mechanical habit of shooting –

and hopefully of viewing as well. It may yield a less detailed and fashionably correct

“document”, but one more agile and responsive to the shifting scene. It allows one to

detach from the viewfinder, from the grip of what one actually sees as a confirmation of

what he knows. Aiming from the hype or shoulders, as I did, forced me to gamble on

intuitions of inner observations. I favored to follow the backlight as means to allow ones

indifferent fate to enter my own blind framings. I still feel that no matter how far one

journeys away from his proverbial ties to shapes and concepts, our technical habits keep

us at bay, they produce familiar shapes to form verisimilitude only once removed from

what there is to see, keeping us from both realizing a comprehensive sensual event and

from the shivering fantasies it bares. Through chance and coincidence – how ever you

wish to look at it – we may hope the subject at hand will take part of his own in the

picture, and the final work may sustain both authors’ voices – a process I believe to be

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         They offered 400$ per day (a two weeks project in total), when a government monthly salary here is about 120$. Regretfully, I lacked the sufficient “connection” to get the job.

uniquely tied to the photographic practice, and more so in its documentary aspect.

It is inevitable, though, that with time passing one may gain some knowledge of

the place, that it will inescapably become familiar: People and institutions are suddenly

recognized while the phone rings, chance meetings gradually become gatherings,

friendships lead to obligations. One becomes entangled with the formerly unknown, still

unknown, though the mind makes such life into a habit, a home in exile. This stage in the

photographers voyage is crucial if he wishes to linger on, however it may cause the

working assumptions to sway dramatically.

And so I gradually became involved with my investigation, taking a roll in the

subjects’ affairs, irretrievably immersing in the field of study. Interiors now appear so far

apart from the lucid exterior of my day trips. These enmeshments, though they may

include some merits to ones’ private life, inevitably create dark spots in ones mind and

scenes resemble now the façade they appears to its principal players. For the Amhara, I

found, seem to regard the form as a direct denotation of the phenomena, not as a

connotation to a symbol or an idea. They present power with the direct figure of excess

(of price, of size, of media etc.), as they show neediness with the same denotation of ones

extreme misery: there seem to be very few symbols in what is gradually becoming a

modern urban polis. Amidst ingrained poverty and unrelenting tradition this proud

nation has no time for silly games of the intellect, time is spent on survival and the drive

to become, once more, as great as their presumed ancestors. They seem to let out only

the bare necessity, keeping deep inside their privet interests and aspirations, minding

what they happen to know, talking business and love in carefully dimmed lights, saying

what they think will sound agreeable, calculating immediate consequences and maybe

above all, a relentless scheming and weaving of tales as means to maintain personal

ambiguity and a unified sense of self.4

Photographers often like to talk of light and color and texture, some prefer to

speak of movement and lines, others still, look for synchronicity and harmony. Yet a

carful observant will notice none of these meet the criteria set upon the dominant                                                                                                                4 Reidulf K. Molvaer, Socialization and Social Control in Ethiopia, Harrassowitz Verlag, Wiesbaden, 1995, esp. pp. 318-322.

Amhara culture of Addis, as the shape and form of their daily life vaguely resembles there

mind. Indeed they too show a mask, but one that bares no distinct mark of identification

or purpose, always presenting a modeled version of the typical Amhara, a myth.

Everybody seems to have something on their minds, something of which they will never

confess.

And though the city is undergoing fundamental changes due to western influence,

one can still find the majority of the people sitting silently in cafés, on street corners, in

bars and homes, all to pause and think, for hours, so many people doing nothing but

frowning at an invisible distance, thinking of what apparently is nobody’s business. I

suddenly felt trapped in a society with a constant, almost existential suspicion, as if mass-

schizophrenia became a collective condition I was forced to deal with. The masks keep

changing and the crowd seems predestined to an irreproachable solitude. One can find its

roots in a religion of apocalyptic apathy towards the so-called temporal world, the sense

of pre-determent history waiting silently for celestial redemption from sin. Or seen from a

historic-linguistic aspect, where reality is predominantly ambiguous, full of double

meanings and quintessentially vague, where open dialogue can hardly contain what lays

an inch beyond the already known.5 And though the wind of change is upon them,

pressured from returning Diasporas and from western capital, the transformation is far

from being an ideal union of opposites, curiously analogous and adapted of one another

though conflicting still.

As I began to practice life through everyday encounters – with institutes and

officials, artists and entrepreneurs, charity and profit – there seem to be an aura of

procrastination to every meeting, text massage and summary. It was never exactly clear

why matters were dealt with in the order and manner with which they did. Such modes

and motives may be understood as part of the Amhara rural background, ancient and

                                                                                                               5 “The overall aim of [traditional Ethiopian] child-rearing and upbringing thus seems to be to instill obedience, conformity and loyalty – to parents, teachers, the government, the church, and to traditions, costumes and received wisdom […]. Recent attempts to change old forms and attitudes are showing some results, with manifestations such as increased crime, prostitution, reduced politeness and hospitality, poor social relations, more extensive but inferior education, and a lot of confusion. If something good (a better life for the people) can come out of this remains to be seen.” from, Reidulf K. Molvaer, Socialization and Social Control in Ethiopia, Harrassowitz Verlag, Wiesbaden, 1995. Pp 82-83.

strong, when communities were mostly isolated, where relationships outside the family

were cautious, and social gatherings where mainly religious or militant.6 The notoriously

ambiguous language and mind of the Amhara seems altogether unfitting for an industrial

urban life, let alone of the rational modus of the modern technique. As with other

cultures, tradition often refrains from imitating and assimilating to another culture

(modernity), and undergo some drama while a syncretistic culture is being born.

Fellow Ethiopian photographers as well as local art students, they all seemed to

prefer ignorance then to admit to what they lack – both in theory and practice. They

would give ridiculous answers as a way of avoiding direct confrontation with what was

said, relaying on their customary vagueness in lieu of analysis, preferring polite and

honorable silence to informative questioning. With students I found this troubling as the

phenomena persisted with professionals.

I soon learned that “gaining a name” in the city most often involves negative

attributes, which the local ear understands as “big man”, for, as their logic states, to be

deserving of makana (jealousy) attests to the worth of a man. Taking into account the

frequency of insults and litigations they seem to be much more reserved in taking the

actual insult seriously.7 On the same note, random conversations welcomed me with

reluctance to comply and understand the simplest requests while still acting outwardly

                                                                                                               6 “[…] Attachment to symbols of religion, territory, and language is important in providing a basis for identity and morale. Yet these attachments are of relatively little importance in shaping a self-transcending orientation in the day-to-day community, and in the civic sphere the Amhara manifest very little solidarity. Indeed, it may be said the Amhara have virtually no sense of “community” at all, the concept can scarcely be rendered in idiomatic Amharic. The absence of community sentiment among Amhara is implied by the ecology […] their country in even barren of that frequent cornerstone of peasant life, the village.” In Wax & Gold: Tradition and innovation in Ethiopian culture, Donald N. Levine, Tsehai 1965. P. 242. Mr. Levine writes back when Addis was significantly smaller but I feel these traits are still visible, dominant, and give a coherent explanation to the common show of aggressive and deceitful behavior in the city.

7 “Argumentation, litigation, insulting, and revenge comprise the hard core of social interaction among Amhara. While it is possible to exaggerate the significance of these forms in the total pattern of Amhara social life, there can be little doubt of a strongly dissentious disposition just below surface, and often at the surface, of Amhara interpersonal relations. Still another axis along which this individualistic disposition tends to be manifest is that of deception and suspicion […] the Amhara is a master of deception.” Ibid, P.250.

“obedient” and even committed to give answers – preposterous or useless as they may be.

So whether feeling superior or inferior in a conversation – a side effect of having no

horizontal relationships – they all seem to be proving themselves devoid of any binding

commitment from fear of disclosing their own unique mistir (secret) nature, from fear of

loosing it.

And while I kept to the slowly vanishing fantasy from the street life I found it ever

more difficult to penetrate inner scenes. Social events in café’s, restaurants or random

venues, not only were they guarded by murky lights that prevent any recognition of the

figures (not to mention the photographic challenge) but primarily by an ever-watchful

gaze of their participants. If on the streets I was frequently approached with suspicion and

probing questions from “concerned patriots” as to why and what I’m photographing, the

minute I got indoors I had to put the camera in the bug or otherwise stay out. It was not

merely a wall of privacy but a code of mystery. On the streets it’s becomes clear the

national pride was deeply hurt by foreign depictions of past famines and the manipulative

image it supplied. It seems their interior is none of anybody’s business, especially not a

foreigners’.

Addis exposed me to people and emotions that both urge and necessitate caution,

as the day unfolded in accordance to an encryptions of signs and gestures encircled by a

gloomy solitude of . And though my own tradition is far from being perfect and

harmonious it maintains, so I learned retrospectively, a considerable degree of common

fidelity, solidarity, and conventional familiarities that facilitate a common ground for both

locals and foreigners to act in. All this would not be worth the stay if the people and

scenes of Addis did not consist of something to give. And they do. Colors and light, forms

and movement they now appear to say something, unintelligible but something

nevertheless – colors are painted to conceal it, forms include it as shaded notion,

movement slip out of sight. The streets shine like nothing of the spark one came to know

at first. Images submerge in routine, scarcely escaping from the stream of familiarity,

appearing as the vacant casing that they are to the local eye, keeping a secret. Finally, the

whole Amhara veneer became the mask with no marks, illuminating nothing but

inscrutable flax secluded desires.

I came to appreciate the lucidity once felt from afar in new light. From the child-

like wonderings I was all-too-quickly embroiled in the vicissitudes of alien politics, of a

newfangled play, a melodrama, becoming oblivious to its true form though more aware of

its’ elusive depth. It is a complete failure, I thought, as I lost all fantasy. Ultimately one

may recognize there really was no jungle to begin with. Perhaps as means to study ones

self as a jungles. But why? What truth may lay in such a revelation?

In conclusion, I felt that not only is photography lacking the means for a

comprehensible, rational, coherent narrative (without succumbing to one form of bias), it

may also drew me closer to notice (another) reality as far from words and notions as

possible, a fantasy to be regarded only in light of reality's previous conceptual failure.

Some might want photography to expose and express an image in “more then words” but

every aesthetic studies an enfeeble morale and virtue as the expression itself – not as its

content translation, a liminal experience to language but not quiet in it. Words upon an

image are as fruitful and insightful to its invoked fantasy/reality it bares as oneiromancy is

to dreams, as all lingual forms are compellingly equaled and numb. Pictures may bring

about color and tone of a tree that echo an epitaph to another shape, a totem or symbol,

while a face or hand gesture caught for an ever-instance may become the mouth piece to

glory or shame, to a singular voice of the viewers’ desire. The photograph may indeed

denote to a “matter of fact” to which we usually need no other prove of. It can also

disclose itself as a blunt inexplicable existence. The existence of beauty seems to comprise

of both the sublime reality (an-sich) and of our most common dirty secrets, while the

necessity for depicting words become futile in the midst. Nevertheless, the presence of

beauty as expression above-or-beneath words has a remarkable power in all cultures

(except maybe the postmodern sect – but they seem to reject the very idea of beauty as

such and hold it as mere ideology). Photography as a (chemical and physical) science only

slowly became a form of art; a form to expose our traditional aestheticism and kitsch to

include insipid empty values while potentially showing our (in)human form as sublime, as

beautiful. Whether through synchronicity of action or by asymmetric tones and lines, a

photograph attest to all that past crafts tried to hint on, that contrary to any positivist

logic, the spirits rule the skies of any meaningful story – not its concepts, notions or words.

And if the ineffable story ends, so does beauty.