A different kind of spirit and intoxication

These days, the right words used to describe me would be, zombie-fied and kelam-kabut.

In the last month, I have been completely engrossed in a project which has inevitably driven me to physical and mental exhaustion. Being sleep deprived, I have unwillingly arrived at work late in a dishevelled state. I’m almost always late for meetings held in-house and above all, I’ve committed one of the biggest and most embarrassing professional crime - giving the wrong name to a very important government minister while drafting a press statement!

I should be fired, but deep down I hope I won’t for two reasons. I’m psyched about what I’m doing and I’m driven by the pool of people working around this project.

A good marriage is really hard to come by these days but this article is not about marriage. It’s about team work and it’s as equally rare. Mom used to tell me this, “If you marry the right man, half of your life’s happiness is secured.”

In the context of a job, I would say that if you get to work with the right team, at least half of your day’s happiness is guaranteed. When combined together, I guess I’m a really happy woman despite the sleep deprivation and long hours of slogging.

Not too long ago, a fellow writer informed me that she doesn’t believe in Committee. She told me that it’s easier to get things done by herself. I do agree with her because there have been many occasions where I end up doing a job on my own simply because it takes too long to wait for others to act, especially if they are unreliable. Also, when there’s more than one person, it usually involves having more than one opinion and this means more time needed to take a collective decision.

In a marriage, it takes two to tango. In a team, it takes a whole troop to perform that awe-inspiring Shaolin acrobatic formation. All members need to lean on each other for support, be willing to take a fall and last but not least to sweat it out together so that their goals can be achieved.

However, these are not just the essential ingredients. It takes much more to become an exceptionally good team.

The spirit of team work was first introduced to me when I worked in Afghanistan. My wise Italian friend taught me the first lesson of being in a team: loyalty. Loyalty in his case does not mean to submit to one’s leader blindly and unequivocally. A team needs to be challenged. Otherwise, how would you know that it’s truly a good one when everything works like a bed of roses?

Loyalty here means to sort out disputes fairly and transparently, without backstabbing one another. If things get really difficult, you don’t just jump ship. You stay and work things out together.

I remember when I had just become the newest member of an electoral team in Bamyan, I did not appreciate our Coordinator. We had different working cultures which made it difficult for me to adapt.

Whenever I expressed my dissatisfaction towards the Coordinator, my Italian friend would remain impartial, refusing to partake in any of my personal observations. Instead, he would provide objective views and advised me to communicate my frustration to the Coordinator.

I find this to be a constructive and effective method of solving professional disagreement. If anything, it improves and builds working relationship because of better understanding through open communication.

Secondly, to be a truly good team, it goes beyond showing professional commitment. Since, we’re essentially human beings, we all come with emotional baggage. We all have needs to feel included, appreciated and respected. We don’t just value ourselves as a worker, but also a human being, deserving of respectful and dignified treatment.

Bamyan is one of the coldest districts in Afghanistan. During winter, the temperature often drops to minus 30 degrees celcius. Again, being new, I was unable to adapt to such harsh condition and subsequently fell ill with mild pneumonia. My colleagues quickly took to the task of nursing me back to health.

During this time, my health condition had been brought to the attention of those working in the headquarters. In order not to further jeopardise my health, decisions were quickly made to offer me a transfer to a warmer district in the East of Afghanistan. Resisting the tempting offer, I decided to stay on in Bamyan and it was the right decision I made.

I would eventually brave winter together with a group of colleagues whom by then had become friends. We would huddle together, all wrapped up in thick fleece jackets, scarves and mittens, sharing a simple meal while being fuelled by a solitary burner situated in the middle of a poorly equipped kitchen. Everything else was frozen in the kitchen but our spirits were kept sizzling hot by the solidarity we had for each other.

Last but not least, when the going gets really tough, good team members support each other despite the adversities and risks they have to take, even if it means compromising themselves.

After about six months in Bamyan, we had a shocking but pleasant surprise. A Japanese colleague of ours brought her baby boy from Japan to Bamyan. The whole adventure of how she managed to bring her baby there was a different story altogether. Suffice to say that her act was in breach of the United Nations’ employment contract. As an unaccompanied duty station, all staff were not allowed to bring their partners or children to Afghanistan, unless they were being employed by the UN or other organisations, in the case of their partners.

Being a single mother and combined with other undisclosed reasons, she had to bring her child there. We knew that it was not the best decision made, bringing a child to a war-zone country. However, we understood that whatever reason that had prompted her to do so must had been difficult and perhaps necessary.

In the end, what we did was to support her. We welcomed her baby into our humble home and treated him as if he was a part of the family. We were fully aware that if the baby was discovered by the UN authorities, we would all risk disciplinary action and our Japanese colleague, her job.

It hit upon us that it was difficult trying to conceal a baby in a small district like Bamyan. Eventually, our colleague had to pack her bag and leave the country but the memory of that moment we shared together will continue to stay with all of us for the rest of our lives.

Perhaps I would never get to experience such surreal circumstances again but I am fortunate enough to relive the joy of working in a team where all of us grow together and feed on each other’s enthusiasm, strength and encouragement to cross that finishing line.

The writer would like to dedicate this article to those working on the MyConstitution Campaign, as well as those who have been supportive and understanding of her during her moments of zombification and kelam-kabutness.

This article was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 15 November 2009 under the same title.

The best of Phuket Island

For reasons that I can no longer recall, this piece was never submitted for publication. It was written after I took my solo trip to Phuket circa April 2015. 

Providing great customer service in Thailand seems second nature. Understandably so since it receives more than twenty-six million visitors per annum, compared to neighbouring Cambodia at only four million.

My experiences of guided tours in Phuket had been wonderful, probably the best I have ever had. Mostly men, the guides were extremely respectful, polite, attentive and charming. Mr. Yew was one of them.

Not unlike many Thais, Mr. Yew is small in size but big in heart. With his sun-bleached hair, weather-beaten skin and boyish face, it was hard to tell how old he was until he revealed having a twenty-three year old son and a baby on the way.

The Hong by Starlight Kayaking Tour run by the John Gray Kayak Company is at the top of my must-do list when you’re in Phuket. Forget about Phi Phi Island with dozens of boisterous tourists attached permanently to their monstrous selfie polls, Phang Nga offers a breathtakingly scenic view in a quiet, serene and spiritual ambience, all thanks to the hardworking team of guides such as Mr. Yew.

Departing from Ao Po jetty on a twin-engine escort boat to the protected Ao Phang Nga National Park at around 2pm, the team led by Mr. Yew, Farook and Nik aka Morgan Freeman for his uncanny resemblance to the Hollywood actor, not only in appearance but also voice, quickly got into work and everything flowed like clockwork for the next eight to nine hours.

Guests were ushered to the upper deck where a light lunch of crispy spring rolls, tasty stir-fry egg noodles and fresh fruits were served with unlimited serving of water, iced tea and strawberry cordial. While we enjoyed the meal a la buffet style, about five or more staff worked behind the scene on the lower deck to ensure that tea and dinner would be ready as scheduled. All meals were freshly prepared on the boat.

Mr. Yew wasted no time briefing us on what to do and not to do during the trip. Since this is a protected national park, there shall be no smoking, littering and touching of anything that belongs to the wild while on the kayak.

“Please do not touch the oyster shells covering the bottom of the limestone sea caves. They are razor sharp and they will cut you, right?” Mr. Yew cautioned. “When we start to get on the kayak, please remain quiet at all time. At the caves, your voice will echo and this will frighten the animals, right? Remember, we are the tourists coming to see the wild animals, not the other way round. When they are frightened, they will run away and you will not see them, right?”

You would have noticed by now how Mr. Yew has a habit of ending most sentences with a “right” followed by a question mark. Oddly enough, Farook had the same habit too.

As we got closer to the limestone caves or hongs as the Thais call them, there was utter silence as we soaked in the splendour of the view before us. Erected between a sea of emerald green water, the hongs reminded us of how we were all just visitors in a world where they have been standing tall for over millions of years.

A guide, served also as a personal kayak driver for the entire tour, was assigned to each group of guests. Each kayak can take about two to three people depending on the size of the passenger.

Since I was alone, I got Mr. Yew and a kayak entirely to myself. This would mark the beginning of a privileged relationship where I learned much from Mr. Yew, who turned out to be a nature expert.

We started off in single file, slowly and gently outlining the caves for about one to two kilometres before entering the narrow opening of a tunnel leading to a lagoon. I looked up and saw several brown hawks circling from a respectful distance above us. We managed to take refuge from the blistering heat beneath the shadows of massive stalactites formed from calcium and other mineral deposits trickling down from the top of the caves. According to Mr. Yes, it takes about five years to form one centimeter of stalactite.

“Lie flat on your back. We’re entering a cave now. Make sure you don’t lift your hands or feet because the oysters will cut you, right?” Mr. Yew warned before he skilfully manoeuvred the kayak into a dark tunnel. I was nervous when I saw how narrow the opening was and felt almost certain that we were going to hit a shell-covered rock which would puncture the kayak and left us to die.  It didn’t of course, and my fear vanished as we floated gently beneath the tunnel with the ceiling barely an inch above my face. This is definitely not an exercise for those with claustrophobia.

Mr. Yew said he was trained for two weeks on how to manoeuvre a kayak and during that time suffered many cuts on his arms and head. He has been doing this for twelve years. Before that he was a bird watcher guide but said he much prefers his current job because the paddling keeps him strong and healthy. His bird-watching days definitely provided him with a wealth of ornithological knowledge as he identified a blue rock thrush, heron and some interesting sounds he claimed made by woodpeckers and hornbills on the island during our trip.

Phang Nga Bay hosts a variety of interesting wildlife such as the long tail macaque which feeds on shell fish and is apparently a good swimmer and the mudskipper, an amphibious fish that can walk on land with their pectoral fins. With their earth-tone scales, they camouflage well in between mangrove roots making them difficult to spot for the untrained eyes.

We saw small fiddler crabs, just about two inches in size, easily identified by their distinctive asymmetrical yellow claw, one much bigger than the other only for the male, scampering nervously on the sandy bank of a lagoon.

As Mr. Yew was about to paddle away from the bank, the guide on the kayak next to ours leaned forward to get a closer look at something that had obviously caught his attention. He scanned the bank frantically and started whispering excitedly to Mr. Yew.

The two men soon embarked in a brief and almost silent exchange in Thai; the other pointing out something while Mr. Yew strained to follow his lead. I was left confused but desperately curious. Finally, both men ended their conversation, looking triumphant.

“He saw a crab that has its bigger claw on the left side, very unusual for a fiddler male crab which often has the bigger claw on the right,” Mr. Yew translated. “He has very sharp eyes,” he added. I couldn’t help but sensed a slight tinge of regret and envy in his voice. After knowing Mr. Yew a little bit more, I would not be surprise if he wished he had been the first guide who had spotted the special fiddler crap so that he could show me because by doing that, he would have succeeded in making me the most special guest in the entire tour group.

“So what do you do in Malaysia, Ka Ea?” Mr. Yew asked me all of a sudden. I explained that I work for a human rights non-governmental organisation. He nodded in approval and I took the opportunity to ask him what he thought of Thailand’s notorious lèse majesté law which threatens to imprison anyone who is critical of the King.

“You know, I have nothing to compare our King with because I have not lived in other country with a King, right? The law says we must be loyal and obey the King and so we must do as the law says, right?” He said. “But I think our King is good. He successfully brokered a deal with the nomadic hill tribes from Laos and Burma who had entered and destroyed much of Thailand’s forests to grow opium by granting them nationality and making healthcare, education and public services accessible to them.”

“So they stopped growing opium and the problem was solved?” I asked in amazement.

“Yes, but now we have a problem with amphetamine,” Mr. Yew answered ruefully.

According to Mr. Yew, many men he knows succumbed to amphetamine addiction. Such addiction has been responsible for the ruin of many family units where hard-earned income generated by family members are spent on feeding the addiction, exacerbated by corrupted enforcement officers.

“These men lose their jobs because they are unable to work under the influence of amphetamine,” he said and then added, “As long as the enforcement officers are corrupted, this problem will remain.”

Perhaps one of the highlights of the trip was the recreation of the Loy Krathong festival, celebrated only in November. Together with their guides, guests built the krathong made out of banana stem, leaves, orchids, marigolds, incense and candles.

We shared a light moment when Mr. Yew and his colleagues teased each other as they raced to make the most beautiful and intricate krathong and because each guide is encouraged to express their inner creativity, each krathong was unique from one to the other.

“Yours is going to be the most beautiful because you go to a lady boy school, right?” Mr. Yew taunted his colleague who was assembling a rather intricate design as everyone burst out laughing.

I watched in amazement as Mr. Yew skilfully fashioned two birds out of orchid buds with just a pair of scissors and the back of an incense stick. He then impaled the birds gently with incense sticks and placed them delicately on the banana stem, each facing the other with their mouths touching.

“One for you and one for your husband. For good luck,” he said. I blushed and at that point felt a sudden desire to give him a bear hug. The Thais are romantics indeed and the Loy Krathong is known to be the most romantic of all festivals in Thailand.

Once the krathongs were assembled and lined up on the buffet table, I smiled with pride seeing mine, the only one where the orchid birds were kissing, while the rest had theirs in less intimate positions.

All the guests were asked to take their seats as Nik began a briefing on the significance of the exercise.

“We do this for two reasons. One, to give thanks to the Water God for his blessings to the sea and two, to apologise for the bad things we have done. What bad things you asked?” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing, “Did anyone of you do a number one or two when you were in the water just now?”

His question obviously mortified everyone on the boat as they gasped in silence. If anyone was going to make a confession then, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Come on! I did it. When I go down from my kayak and pretend I am cooling myself in the water, pointing up at the blue sky to distract your attention, yellow stuff is flowing down,” he said unashamedly.

I burst out laughing especially at the horrified looks on most of the foreigners at Nik’s graphic illustration of his clandestine bladder movement.

“And that is why we apologise for doing dirty things to the water,” he finished calmly as if what he said earlier had no impact whatsoever on anyone.

Nik said that we would bring back the krathongs after the ritual because it is their policy not to leave anything behind. John Gray’s motto has been, “Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, kill nothing but time.”

When the sun had fully descended, we set off with our krathongs on the kayak to make our final journey to the cave. It was total darkness except for the candles that were lighted. I made three wishes before releasing the krathong made lovingly by Mr. Yew and I. It was a moment of utter silence and respect as I reflected on the entire journey.

Before leaving, Mr. Yew and I exchanged our final farewell. I pressed my palms together, bowed and said, “Khob koon ka” to my master that day.

I left Thailand with a profound respect for the men who have worked hard so that I can see the other side of Thailand.

The beauty and the beast of Harar - Part II

Due to negative stereotypes of hyenas conjured by cartoons and movies, I always thought that they were nasty and ugly-looking beasts. Surprisingly, they looked cute and adorable, especially their ears. They were round, fluffy and I assumed soft to the touch, not unlike the pandas’. Their spotted hairy coats looked clean and resembled those of tortoise-shell cats.

Balai and Solomon returned but they were not alone. They were followed by a pack of bigger hyenas. The hyenas were surprisingly a somber lot as none of them cackled as I thought they would. I guess feeding is serious business when it comes to the hyenas that have come to depend on the locals to fill their stomachs every day.

Solomon then took a weaved basket filled with long strips of raw red meat and sat cross-legged in the middle of the feeding site. The hyenas definitely knew the feeding protocol as none of them came rushing after the basket.

Solomon carefully balanced a strip of meat on a stick, called out a name and then handed it out. One hyena approached him cautiously and then as quick as lightning, snapped the meat away and chowed it down. He repeated this with the other hyenas until all of them were being fed. Sometimes, things would get a little bit out of control as one or two alpha hyenas turned greedy and tried to steal meat from the basket, only to be promptly chastised by Solomon with a loud spank on their haunches.

I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the image of a man spanking a hyena like a misbehaving child. I must say that such taming technique is by far more endearing than a whip used by circus folks.

It is also times like this when the cynicism in me vanished as I see the interaction and harmony between men and beasts.

Solomon then tried to spice up the feeding spectacle by feeding the hyenas directly from his mouth. This pleased the tourists a lot as they gaped and awed over it. The tourists were encouraged to do the same, guided carefully by Solomon. While only a few managed to brave it, others changed their minds at the very last second.

I personally didn’t try it, not because of fear. I was simply savouring the moment and for some reason, I was completely engrossed with my own thoughts to even notice how close I was to the hyenas and two had in fact brushed against my legs.

It was a chilling experience, sometimes I would wonder whether the hyenas might go on a wild rampage, but most of the time, just touched by the thought that human beings and wild animals can co-exist in harmony together, just the way nature has intended. I had tears brimming in my eyes.

The tears didn’t last long because unfortunately, this practice is now very much tourist-orientated.

Once every last strip of meat had been devoured by the hyenas, an overweight bald man stepped in to replace Solomon. For added value, the man gave several performances to demonstrate his chivalry and dominance over the hyenas, much to my disgust although to the delight of many other. He was forcing one of the hyenas to lie on the floor so that he could sit on it. In my mind, I thought there was no chivalry at all since the hyenas were all fed by then.

Adding salt to injury, in the middle of his performance, his mobile phone in his pocket went off and he answered it with a great sense of importance. For me, it just ruined the whole thing because then, it just proves how men will always want to dominate things. It also made a mockery out of the whole ritual by disturbing the elements of what had supposed to be a traditional practice in tune with nature. The co-existence and co-dependency between human beings and animals are being tossed out in the name of power and greed.

We left the site before the “show” ended in protest, believing that as tourists, we all have some level of responsibility. There are times when we should encourage the co-dependency and interaction between human beings and animals in order to preserve the latter’s existence. There are others when we shouldn’t and it was clear to me that the act of dominance and manipulation of animals by man just for the sheer pleasure of it is not one of them.

In the end, although disappointed by how the feeding had ended, I went home with a comforting thought. It is not often when we are touched by the act of human beings but sometimes that rare moments do come and it did come for me. When it comes, savour it and take the moment to see, listen and feel it with your heart. I didn’t even take any photos but what I saw that night will remain with me for as long as I live.

The author spent one year in Ethiopia and hated it in the beginning. She eventually learned to appreciate the country despite initial culture shocks and daily struggle to fan off stares by both men and women.

* The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the columnist.

- See more at: http://www.themalaysianoutsider.com/opinion/lim-ka-ea/article/The-beauty-and-the-beasts-of-Harar-Part-2-#sthash.iFyP32pC.dpuf

The beauty and the beast of Harar - Part I

As the sky bids farewell to the descending sun and welcomes the moonlight, Butar, Rajoo, Mimi, Kamer, Tika, Shimay, Deeish and the rest slowly appear out of nowhere. Like vampires, they only emerge when darkness falls upon the ancient city of Harar. It isn’t eerie but in fact, simply magical. They are hyenas, part of the local inhabitants that have roamed the city of Harar for centuries.

Like any other night, these hyenas make their way from the wild to the Fallana Gate, one of the designated feeding sites situated in the old city. At the site, they crouch and wait patiently to be fed by Hyena Men; Balai and Solomon, two brothers entrusted with the revered role of feeding the hyenas every night without fail.

Local legend has it that during the 19th century, a great famine hit the city of Harar. In order to make sure that the hyenas would not attack the local population and their valuable livestocks, continuous feeding of the hyenas during good times was thought to appease them. After more than 200 years, this tradition still exists today even though it may not be for the same purpose.

I’ve heard and read about the attractions and uniqueness of Harar many times and surprisingly, the daily ritual of hyena feeding was placed in a lower priority when compared to visiting the ancient walls of the old city of Harar, chat and coffee. I’ve been there, seen and tried them all but ultimately, hyena feeding was the one thing I will remember the most.

While doing some research about hyena feeding, I’ve noticed that most articles written about it failed to mention what made my own experience so magical and unforgettable; the calling of the hyenas. Unfortunately (or rather fortunately), most people who visit Harar to see the hyena being fed are never told about the enticing foreplay which leads up to the feast.

Before our visit to the feeding site that day, my photographer friend, Irada and I, walked around the old city; flapping our elbows around like mad women in an attempt to drive away the ubiquitous flies which would have otherwise congregated happily on the sight of any bare skin. What could be worse than the omnipresent stench of bodily wastes which seemed to permeate the air from all corners of the ancient wall? It took a lot of mind power to conquer the scent of the old city of Harar and it was definitely not for the faint-hearted.

One thing which I still appreciate about this Unesco World Heritage Site is how unashamedly primitive the city is; the Hararis still hang on to their traditional ways of life; including the method of waste disposal. It is dirty, smelly, crowded, noisy and completely devoid of any pretentious “tourist glitters”.

We were the first ones to arrive at Fallana Gate and our car was parked right at the front of the feeding site. I was delighted to see that the site was nothing more than any other regular residential area in Harar; simple and natural with the added value of a garbage dumpster by the side. I was a little apprehensive that the whole area would be “dolled up” to accommodate tourists.

While waiting, we also had the opportunity to interact with the local scruffy-looking children and their friendly mongrel pet, Sina, who was obviously excited from the looks of its wagging tail nineteen a dozen despite being used to the flocks of tourists arriving every year.

While sitting in our car waiting patiently for sundown, Balai came to greet us on his way to the cliff to start his faithful “courtship” with the hyenas. He was a surprisingly   young man in his twenties and all the time we thought that in order to earn the title of Hyena Man, one has to be elderly and distinguished. However, he did exude a certain calmness and maturity for someone that age.

After a very brief conversation with our driver, Balai walked away. Out of sheer curiosity and also boredom, Irada and I got off the car and followed him. After walking for about less than 100 meters, what appeared, but most importantly, what was heard before us truly tugged at the strings of our hearts.

First of all, the image was astounding. Balai and his younger brother, Solomon, both stood on two rock formations, which towered above what seemed to be a foliage of trees and corn plantations beneath. There were some small houses along the path leading deep into the forest. The sun was slowly setting and there was complete silence apart from the occasional indecipherable rhythmic calling of the hyenas. Balai and Solomon took turns to call for up to twenty names; apparently that was the size of the pack. We stood there, in a trance, listening to their voices.

Balai and Solomon ignored us but continued to perform this sacred ritual with full dedication and commitment. We became brazen by their oblivion towards us and took the liberty to get closer to them and subsequently climbed on top of the rocks. The view was simply breathtaking and the lighting from dusk had created a sense of romanticism which made the whole experience none other than a simple a love story between men and beasts.

After getting used to the sound of the hyena names, we couldn’t wait to see them. Being a cynic, I was waiting to witness whether any of these hyenas would actually answer to their names. We were told that the hyenas would travel a distance from as far as 10km! Occassionally, I saw a few locals walking unassumingly along the narrow path leading to the houses, completely oblivious to the sound of the men and unperturbed by the arrival of the hyenas at any time soon.

We waited with abated breath and after about 15 minutes, Solomon whispered to Balai and from his gentle gestures but urgent tone of voice, we knew they were coming. My heart started to throb with more frequency and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for something extraordinary to happen.

By then, Irada had left us by galloping down the hill towards the corn plantation, trying her luck to catch a close up photo of approaching hyenas. Only then, did Balai and Solomon become slightly agitated. In my heart, I thought, “Gosh, will it take only two stupid foreigners to mess up this ancient practice?”

As soon as I spotted a hyena slowly approaching from the corn plantation, I abandoned my thought immediately. I was so engrossed with seeing one in its natural surrounding, I had forgotten completely about the potential danger my friend faced! Then, another one appeared from a different direction as it slowly made its way to the top of the hill.

By then, Solomon quickly signalled Irada to come back. Soon enough, the sky was close to being dark and we were both asked to leave the site immediately. They had come and it was time for us to go.

We obediently left and waited by the side of our car. Other tourists were already gathered with their cameras ready for feeding time. As soon as it became dark, the headlights of our car were turned on to illuminate the site. Only then did I notice four sets of luminous eyes close by. They belonged to two hyena cubs crouching patiently not too far away, waiting quietly for the rest to arrive.

* The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the columnist.

- See more at: http://www.themalaysianoutsider.com/opinion/lim-ka-ea/article/The-beauty-and-the-beasts-of-Harar-Part-1#sthash.MABXUpzY.dpuf

Humanising Photography

This was written on 2 July 2008 but was never published. Since then, I've tweaked it. 

When you look at a beautiful portrait of a woman taken by a reputable photographer, what do you see? Do you see the woman and ask yourself who she is? Or do you see it as a work of art by someone whom you have great admiration for? Now that I've seen a photographer in action, I tend to see the subject rather than the creator and ask myself the question, at what price?

I am not a photographer but I think I know how to appreciate a good photograph when I see one. I could be wrong of course, but anyway, that's not the point of this article. I have tremendous respect for photographers because they seem to have that ability to make the things we wouldn't normally even pay attention to become visible and pronounced. And what about photojournalists? Taking pictures in conflict zones is by no way a small feat especially when one’s life is at risk but they do it anyway and that’s what I call true passion and love for the craft they do. 

Recently, I had a chance to travel with a photographer. We were doing a small project together on traditional tribes in Ethiopia. I must confess that it finally dawned on me the sort of challenges faced by a photographer. At the same time, I am completely in awe by how powerful a camera can be. Just imagine its ability to immortalise images, and therefore, I suppose part of the reasons why many human beings tend to change their natural state of being, by either pulling a funny face or just a mere sterile smile, whenever they are confronted by a camera. I believe it is a way to shield our vulnerability and nakedness. Hence, part of the challenges a photographer has to face is to try to capture portraits of people when they are completely oblivious of his or her presence. I could tell it wasn’t easy especially when a photographer is using a 24-70mm zooming lens.

While the photographer and I were passing by a village, we saw a young woman walking unassumingly along the street while balancing a basket on top of her head. This time, the photographer seized the moment. She yelled out to our driver frantically and ordered him to stop the car and she rushed out to her. As soon as the young woman saw her with a camera, she became nervous and agitated. She didn’t want to be photographed and protested profusely.

After some time of coaxing and an offer of payment, she finally relented albeit being utterly uncomfortable. The photographer then took to her task by instructing her to make several poses. By then, they were attracting attention from other villagers who had gathered to watch the whole fiasco, much to the woman’s mortification. I could see she was very shy and timid and I guess she didn't expect to be made a spectacle that day.

I remained in the car with the driver who was still recovering from the shock of being yelled at suddenly. While I appreciated the photographer’s passion and artistic vision, I couldn’t help but feel the objectification of a human being, all in the name of photography. It felt ugly and I didn’t like it.

Then there were occasions when the photographer had singled out a girl who is blessed with better looks than the rest of her group in order to make some aesthetic portraits. The looks of rejection and disappointment on the other girls were apparent but much to the oblivion of the photographer. For this part, I understood that the photographer had to pick the most appropriate subject according to her artistic vision, but perhaps it could have been done in a more sensitive manner; i.e. take photos of the other girls as well to make them feel appreciated and included.

One day, I decided to share my feelings with the photographer, much to her disappointment. She defended her actions by explaining to me that it is part of the profession. "If you want a take a good picture, you cannot afford to compromise your instinct", she said. Her justification was, she didn't become a good photographer by being polite or nice, but by submitting herself to her photographic instinct.

I argued that there is a difference between being a good photographer and one with social intelligence, quoting the example of Clint Eastwood and Stanley Kubricks’ directing methods which I have read from Karl Albrecht’s book called Social Intelligence: The New Science of Success. According to Albrecht, while both directors are extremely talented, Eastwood adopts a more humane approach by being respectful to his casts while Kubrick preferred to instill fear by screaming and maintaining a constant state of anxiety in them. The difference? Well, Eastwood’s staffs and casts are happier which makes production time shorter while Kubrick to the contrary.

In the end, the photographer and I agreed to disagree on the basis that we both have our justifications from two different perspectives; hers from an artistic point of view while mine, from a human angle. The good thing was, she was humble enough to admit that her behaviour towards the driver was uncalled for and subsequently apologised to him. For this, I have huge respect for her but how many other photographers though are willing to admit their own shortcomings?

As I read David Turton’s article entitled “Lip-Plates and the People Who Take Photographs” in Anthropology Today Vol. 20, I was hit with another disconcerting revelation about photography.

In his article, he wrote,

“On the one hand, then, the lip-plate is prized by Mursi men and women as a mark of their cultural identity and political autonomy. On the other hand, they recognize that outsiders see it as a mark of their backwardness, which must be abandoned if they are to gain the benefits of ‘development’. This ambivalence is heightened by another and, at first sight, contradictory message about the lip-plate which has been reaching the Mursi in recent years, through the activities of tourists. For, while tourists are presumed to share the general disdain for, not to say disgust at, the practice shown by outsiders, they nevertheless come great distances mainly, it seems, in order to photograph this symbol of Mursi backwardness.”

In his article, he also quoted an interview with three Mursi men shown in a television documentary made in 1991. When asked why they thought tourists were taking their photographs, they answered that they didn't know since most tourists just came, took their photographs and left without saying anything. While they were often perceived as uncivilised thieves, one of the men commented that the failure of tourists to pay what the Mursi regarded as a fair price for photographs, were in fact thieves themselves.

To what extent a photographer needs to go in order to defend his or her artistic integrity? What about the dignity of human beings? Can there ever be a compromise?

Perhaps I have been quick to generalise photographers based on one experience and if so, I do apologise. However, I do stand by my conviction that what defines an intelligent and talented photographer from simply a talented one is the one who manages to defend his artistic integrity without compromising the dignity of others. One who puts his subjects and those around him as the core essence of his artistic achievements.

Without the people, there won’t be a subject.

I think it is time for photographers and viewers to see portraits of people as the main subject and not just an object.

Nine reasons why you should travel solo

When Mom knew I was travelling solo to Phuket for two weeks, she immediately thought my marriage was on the rocks. She gave me a bewildered look when I reassured her that I just wanted some time on my own. After about a minute of silence, she finally said, “I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

I rolled my eyes and gave her the something-your-generation-would-never-understand look, and hoped she would leave it at that. Luckily, knowing too well her disapproval has often escaped me, she didn’t pursue further.

Mom wasn’t the only one who found it odd that someone should choose to travel alone. While in Phuket, I received puzzled looks from the hotel receptionist to the taxi driver, when they discovered I was alone.

A tour guide felt sorry for me when I had to take a photo imposed by the tour company, while everyone else was accompanied by their spouses, children or friends, that he kindly offered to stand by my side despite my polite protest. I now possess an over-priced photo of me and a stranger.

Travelling solo can make you feel extremely self-conscious, because you are convinced that everyone else thinks you’re a loser. I am not sure that is quite true anymore.  There was a woman who spent five minutes cajoling her two infant daughters, who had decided to throw a tantrum of epic proportion into silence, while I looked at them with amusement. Embarrassed, she turned to me and said, “Look what I have to put up with.”  Another man grudgingly complained about his teenage children, who apparently love leaving things behind, for him to pick up at every single holiday destination.

My friend, Lim, spent three years backpacking solo across the world. She recalled a life-changing incident, while hitch-hiking in Sivas, a city in central Turkey. Determined not to spend any money on transportation and accommodation, she fashioned a tent out of cardboard at a community garden during nightfall. What was presumably an illegal act had inevitably caught the attention of onlookers. But after finding out that she had no money and was leaving first thing in the morning, they left her.  Minutes later, a family came and offered her shelter in their home.

Just as they were leaving the garden, the police came after being tipped off by a local. The family stopped her from being arrested, by claiming responsibility for her. They fed her and took her to a wedding the next day.

When asked what the best thing about travelling solo was, Lim answered, “Restoring my faith in humanity.”

Not many of us will be lucky enough to experience what Lim had in Sivas, but for me, travelling solo has forced me to become a better version of myself.

Here are nine achievable reasons why you should travel solo. You’ll see that many of the reasons are inter-connected but for the purpose of clarity, I have separated them.

1.            You learn to swallow more than just salt water at the beach

If you are arrogant about your independence and ability doing to do things on your own, travelling solo can teach you a thing or two about humility. There are times when you are forced to acknowledge that you can’t do it all, you’ll need help from others and this makes it a humbling experience.

When I was on a tour to Phi Phi Island, I learned to swallow my pride by asking a couple to allow me to park my bag beside theirs, as I didn’t want my valuables to be left unattended. Although the request was simple enough, it was difficult for me to ask because I felt like a total loser.

By doing this, I acknowledged I am not invincible and accepted that there will come a time, when I will be at the mercy of a stranger’s kindness and that would be perfectly fine.

2.            You discover that the only comfort zone you’re in is your cotton knickers

I have been quite happy with a stable job, a few close friends, a husband and two cats but it has made me lazy. Making conversations and exchanging pleasantries with anyone outside that niche, is an insurmountable task. I may be an introvert but I’ve also discovered that I have missed out on some potentially meaningful social opportunities out of sheer laziness.

Of course, it is easy and effortless to socialise with your close friends because they already know you and understand all the nuances that come from your single grunt, sigh or silence. But when it comes to new acquaintances, it is a different ball game. The longer I shun away from socialising with new people, the more my social skills have suffered.

When you travel solo, you’re forced to get out of your comfort zone. You find yourself having conversations with strangers because let’s face it, being alone in silence for a whole day can get pretty boring, no matter how much you love to be alone.

I had an enjoyable time chatting with a guy from Hong Kong on a scuba-diving trip, and my Thai canoe paddler when I was in Phuket recently. I must admit that it was a little difficult in the beginning, as I struggled to piece together a decent conversation but it got better once I got used to it. 

3.            You learn to economise and discover that money doesn’t buy you the best experience

Travelling solo can be expensive because there is no one to split the cost of your hotel room, transportation and food with. If you run out of money, you’re on your own.

On my fourth day in Phuket, I discovered that my cash was depleting dangerously fast and I still have ten more days to go. I quickly learned to economise by taking the local bus to get around instead of a taxi or “tuk-tuk”. Travelling like the locals also means I was subsequently forced to adopt the local temperament – patience, lots of it.

One day, I waited for close to an hour for a bus to Phuket town. While waiting, I had the pleasure of talking to a Scottish woman, who has been commuting between Glasgow and Phuket to visit his son in Phuket. I gained so much information about Phuket within that hour and in the end, when the bus arrived, I enjoyed another delightful hour of riding through interesting roads which I would have never experienced if I had taken a taxi.

4.            You slow down and enjoy being in the moment

Because you are alone, you are not answerable to anyone. You’re free to go wherever you want, and at whatever time you want. You don’t have a child who needs to rush to the restroom, in the middle of a cultural performance. You don’t have to leave the beach early because your husband is not fainting from the heat. Your best friend who gets cranky when everything is off-schedule, is left at home cursing you every single day you’re on holiday.

I really took the time exploring Phuket and it was such a welcoming change, from the hectic life in Kuala Lumpur. It was one of the most liberating moments I have felt in a long time.

5.            You welcome your inner-voice and wave goodbye to the gossiper in you

Working in a team and living with someone, can only mean you’re constantly surrounded by noises. There had been times when I felt there were too many noises in my life, which were clouding my thoughts and ability to listen to my inner-self. Travelling solo allows you to get rid of those noises, leaving you completely alone with your thoughts.

When I am with my girlfriends, we tend to gossip or make fun of strangers together. When I travel alone, I am forced to resist the temptation of saying something nasty about someone, else because there was no one there listening.

6.            You are amazed by the courage you never knew you had

Lim said that one of the best things about travelling solo is doing the things she would not normally do, when she is travelling with someone else. It is all about stretching that courage bank and crossing boundaries. She has been couch-surfing, hitch-hiking and camping throughout her journey, and she wouldn’t have done it if she were to travel with someone else.

7.            You find out whether being truly single is your thing

Spending two weeks alone can really give you a perspective, of how it feels like to be truly single. There’s no one to share that breath-taking sunset you saw at Phang Nga Bay, or the best tom yam goong you had.  You have no one to depend on when you’re sick, or rub sun block on your back.

If this is something you can live with when you’re fifty, and all your friends are too busy celebrating life with their families, you’re set to go. If not, you might want to re-evaluate that relationship phobia you always have.

8.            You realise your family and friends mean more to you than you care to admit

Travelling solo makes you appreciate your family and friends more. You never thought you would miss them until you’re without them. By my second week in Phuket, I began to wonder why I had felt the sudden urge, to get away from the people I love. Of course, I would never regret my decision to take that trip alone, because I wouldn’t have come to that realisation otherwise.

I know there will come a time when I will feel that urge again, and I will likely succumb to another solo trip because I know it’ll bring me to my final reason.

9.            It brings you closer to home. – April 23, 2015.

This article was first published here.