Camera Barrier

African children swarmed around me, there faces white with the dust from the aircraft. We descended into their midst, only to rise again and leave. This was a fuel stop, yet I felt like we were taking more than their fuel. Some cultures believed that taking a picture meant you stole their soul. Was this one of those?

I took pictures of the Sudanese refilling the UN plane. Maybe I’d catch some of the background action in my candid shots. The children kept staring at me, the only white visitor; hardly an invited guest. I smiled, lifting my hand slightly in a timid wave. Their heads cracked open in brilliant white smiles. How could such a gesture of pleasure be so universal?

One of them pointed at the device in my hand, then motioned to his chest, held prominent. I said, “Picha?” He nodded in eager agreement, immediately posing like Mohammed Ali. Soon I was mobbed like the famous boxer, trading time snapping shots and showing them to the kids. They grabbed and pointed, laughed and shrieked, seeing themselves perhaps for the very first time. Many of them would point at the picture on the screen and indicate to a friend that it was him/her.

I looked up to see the pilot waiting for me. “Tuko tayari?” I asked, at the same realizing that everyone else was already on the plane and ready to go. He nodded. I had to pry away from the kids, then a guy my age cracked a couple of them on the head to send them scattering. I hopped onto the plane, waving goodbye like a celebrity who didn’t have enough time to sign autographs for his fans. Crammed back in my seat, I stared out the window, wondering what world I had just woken from.

Rubbing my nose, dirt fell from my hand and into my lap. I brought out the hand-sanitizer, squirting a big glob onto my hands. Cradling my hands together, no surface area was left uncovered with the goop before it miraculously evaporated. Would my memories just as easily disappear? I hope not. I hope they are incorporated into my being, becoming a part of who I am and who I want to be. Only then will I never forget.