When you meet Anne-Sophie Rettel on the street, you would expect her to be just a normal 23-year-old woman from Leipzig, Germany. She likes partying, she works as a travel agent, she’s single and she raises funds for an orphanage in Nairobi, Kenya. “All started back in 2009 when I went to Kenya with a social organization looking for working volunteers all over the world”, Anne-Sophie explains. What started as a good thing to put on for her C.V. soon became an important part of her life. She spent four months in an orphanage in Africa, working as a social worker and teacher.

When she came back to Germany in December 2009 she started a tour of schools and told students about the lives of the children in the Watoto Wema Center, an orphanage in the Kayole neighbourhood in Nairobi, the capital the East-African state. Most of the 70+ children there lost their parents to diseases like tuberculosis or HIV, some died in car accidents – and even some are so-called social orphans. Their parents just don’t have enough money to take care of their siblings, they put them in the bus, they throw them on the waste dump – or just light them up in fire. These kids are deeply traumatized – and some of them wet their beds each and every night. That’s why they have to dry their mattresses on the roofs of the buildings, next to the drying clothes.

The people Anne-Sophie was talking to about the circumstances in the orphanage were deeply moved, students from schools started to collect toys and sanitary goods along with money to help the kids in the Watoto Wema center. Over the years the blonde woman from Leipzig traveled back several times to keep an eye on what was happening to the money she raised.
Together with some other organizations she could celebrate a new chapter in the track of the Watoto Wema Center. The management of the Center bought land in Ruai, a rural area at the edge of the city, with less pollution, less crime – and most important: no rent to pay. During the Christmas holidays 2011/12 the complete orphanage moved to the newly build area. The cooking stove and the beds had been paid for by the German woman.

For Anne-Sophie Rettel this is not the end of the story. She continues to raise funds, she wants to buy some animals for the center. “A couple of cows or some goats would be great, then they don’t have to buy the milk anymore”. She hopes to move the orphanage to a more to a self-sufficient model. To help “her” children move out of Kayole to the new center in Ruai was the best Christmas gift the children could imagine.

All images copyright © Alexander Baumbach
View Contributor Profile: Alexander Baumbach

For decades, the xenophobic, Burmese military junta has refused to recognize the Rohingya as a distinct Muslim ethnic minority living in western Burma. Internationally, their story is under reported. The Rohingya are probably the most voiceless and stateless refugee community in the world.

Since early 2009, I have been photographing exiled Rohingya in Bangladesh, inside the refugee camps. With the support of the Magnum Foundation Emergency Fund, I documented resettled Rohingya refugees in Bradford, England, as they make a foreign land their new home. With the support of UNHCR, a small number of Rohingya people are able to leave their temporary homes in refugee camps to resettle permanently in other countries including Australia, Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, Norway, Sweden, United Kingdom, and United States.

The next chapter of my project, will take me from Bangladesh to Malaysia. The Rohingya have been fleeing Burma to Malaysia for decades to seek better lives. But when the Rohingya reach Malaysia, they live in limbo. Most do not have permission to be in Malaysia, but they cannot return to Burma. In Malaysia, the Rohingya are often not permitted to attend school and many are denied health care. They are also at constant risk of arrest. Even those persons the UNHCR has recognized as refugees are detained and deported on a regular basis.

When the project is complete, I will work with UNHCR to distribute the photographs through publications and public exhibitions. I hope that my work will bring greater visibility to the Rohingya people and the enormous challenges they face to gain the most basic human rights.

All images copyright © Saiful Huq Omi
View Contributor Profile: Saiful Huq Omi

By 1970 only two remained, whereas eye witnesses report that they have seen 20 boats in the harbour of Inis Mór, the biggest of the three Árainn Islands and 35 boats sailing out of Conamara.

Conamara is a coastal region in the north west of Galway bay which is situated on the West Coast of Ireland. The Workhorse of the West, the Galway Hooker, was nearly extinct in the early seventies. Once boats built for the local waters of the Galway Bay and Conamara, when transport on roads was too slow or cumbersome and railway transport did not exist.

The bád mór, as the locals call it (big boat) got its name “Galway Hooker” more likely from the Spanish that traded into Galway harbour previous to the year 1588, which at that time was not deep enough to accommodate the bigger Spanish vessels. The Spaniards used smaller boats to clear their freight into the harbour.

Due to early publications, the bád mór as we know it, able to carry 14 tons of cargo, evolved from 1790 onwards from a much smaller 4-6 ton boat, that the locals and the early seafarers used. Turf was transported, along with seaweed, limestone, goods, building materials and consignments of poitín (illicit whiskey) between Conamara, the offshore islands and Galway. The boats where also used for line or net fishing, from which the theory evolved that the word “Hooker” originated in Holland (Dutch hoeker) – wherever it evolved, the local Irish speaking people never use it.

The revival of the characteristic vessel, with its red sails, its short foredeck and the open, tarred hull was initiated just before it very nearly became extinct. In 1966 a 47-foot Hooker called Morning Star was sold to Dublin, Ireland’s east coast. Built in Kinvara about 1890, (rebuilt in Dublin before it went back to the St Macdara Festival in Carna in 1976) in a traditional way and only returned to Conamara for the St Macdara festival at Carna July 1976.

A further factor in the revival then was the first new built boat in probably 40 years: a 23 foot Gleoiteog. A Gleoiteog has the same form as a bád mór but is smaller, it was the main work horse in the nineteenth century as the boatmen could not afford the bigger boat. The third class of the Galway Hooker is the púcán, yet again smaller, still sharing the same form, but a completely open hull and this boat can also be rowed. Púcáns were commonly used for seaweed harvesting.

1978 the Galway Hooker Association was founded with the task of placing the fleet on an organized footing. From there on numerous regattas were initiated and the number in the Hooker fleet steadily increased. Since then the commissioning of new boats and restoration of others has gone hand-in-hand with the revival and expansion of regattas.

Historically the bádóir, the boatman, took great pride in his boat and this has not changed to the present day. The bádóir did most of the boat maintenance himself, but also relied on the boat builder, carpenters, blacksmiths and sail makers. With the downturn in numbers of Hookers in the middle of the 20th century all the affiliated trades suffered downturn as well. Traditionally this was an important part of employment in Conamara. Nowadays young craftsmen like Patrick Connolly from Inverin, who learnt his trade as a traditional boat builder try to keep the Hooker literally afloat and alive.

The current fleet of báid mhóra consists of 25 boats. They are Conamara – Conamara is them. Hooker country is, of course a place but it is much more, it is a way of life, casual and friendly, reserved towards the stranger until credentials are well established.

All images copyright © Dr. Jürgen Bodamer
View Contributor Profile: Jürgen Bodamer

In November of 2010, my father and I travelled into the bush of Tanzania to live with three remote tribes: the Maasai, the Barbaig and the Iraq. This was a journey of not only self discovery, but one of education and learning, as we went to locate the roots of tribal music in ancient cultures. The aim was to travel to cultures largely untouched by western civilization and communicate with them primarily through song, not words. This has never been done before and hopefully will lead on to more of these studies in the future.

The African people have always been in my mind as a proud and beautiful race that have endured not only the harsh conditions of their surroundings, but the ever changing influence of the world around them. I wanted to document the journey to show the indigenous tribal people as I saw them: a wonderfully rich and wise people, full of pride and determination to preserve their way of life.

They truly are a most beautiful people, who welcomed us with open arms into their society and allowed us to be part of their day to day lives.

These images show a small selection of the amazing people I met in my journey and are part of a large collection of images that show the tribes of Tanzania as I saw them.

Tanzania is undergoing big shifts in their political, education and social infrastructure and these changes are affecting the remaining indigenous tribes of the country.

Before the traditional ways of these tribes are lost, we wanted to visit them to learn from their traditions and how they live their lives. One of the goals of the project was to create a set of photographs that could be used to show how these remote tribes live, and to raise awareness of the work that the Livingstone Tanzania Trust does to help these people adapt to the new world.

Click here to view the photographer profile
More details of this and other projects by James Stone can be found at www.jamesoliverstone.co.uk

Mali, and the village of Bamba in the north of Dogon country, where, since the beginning, that is to say since the Dogon arrived in this magic land in Mali long ago, a sacred fishing ritual is practiced, known as “Antogo”. A small yet very powerful lake rests just beneath Bamba. Antogo is celebrated only once a year, and only on this day is fishing allowed on the lake, it is strictly prohibited on any other day of the year.

Saturday, market day in Bamba. It’s 15:00 p.m, on May 2nd. The temperature is nudging 50 degrees, the sun burning in the sky. To coincide with the sixth month of the dry season the council of wise men of Bamba get together in order to fix the exact date of the Antogo ritual; for the first three market days of the month large wooden sticks are placed in the middle of the lake, signalling that the ritual is getting closer. The 3 sticks function as a signal for the whole region, warning that the date is coming soon.

In the past the whole area of Bamba was covered with green forests and bush, and the lake, the water of which was considered sacred and populated by good spirits, offered tons of fish, which contributed to local food requirements. The passage of time, climate change and parallel processes, including the massive desertification of the region, has meant that the area has transformed itself from a green zone into an arid, dry, eroded, infertile, rocky area, characterized today by huge problems in terms of water access and availability. This small yet eternal lake, apparently capable of resisting climate evolutions, represents a precious resource still today, above all from an identity and cultural point of view.

The ritual seems to contradict one of the distinguishing aspects of the Dogon culture, that is, the antipathy towards water, which they prefer to avoid when they can, confining and structuring their living around rocks, hills and semi-deserted areas, far away from the feared river Niger.

On the day of Antogo hundreds of Dogon come from all parts of the country to Bamba’s lake. Around the lake we notice 3 bigger groups of people, formed by the most respected and ancient families of various Dogon villages. The largest group is the one of Bamba, which includes people from 13 smaller villages around. Each of these groups, in a collective mystical silence, pronounce ritualistic formulas, together with the names of the most important families; finally, the word comes to the wise of Bamba, who, when done speaking, mark the beginning of the ritual itself.

A silent black frame gets drawn all around the lake, made of little kids, young and old men, carrying hand made tools to catch the fish. Women cannot participate to the ritual, getting close to the lake is strictly prohibited; in fact, in line with other aspects of the complex Dogon culture, which prohibits women from taking part in any of the ritualistic elements of life. Women are considered impure by definition, because of the menstrual cycle.

All of a sudden hundreds of Dogon jump wildly into the lake, in order to capture as many fish as possible in any way they can. Fish are then placed in a leather bag that they communally carry. The dance continues happily albeit chaotically, with everyone covered in mud is used to draw on the faces and bodies of the participants, the intensity of the moment is immense, overwhelming.

Just about 30 minutes later a gunshot marks the end of the ritual. All fish captured will be put together and given to the oldest man of Bamba, who will ensure proper distribution among all villages.

Antogo – embedded in mystery and magic – symbolises peace and cohesion among Dogon villages, absence of conflict and the sharing of the gifts coming from a common good.

More details and further images can be seen at www.matteobertolino.com

At over 600 feet, Solsbury hill affords spectacular views of the city of Bath and surrounding countryside. At the top there is an iron age hill fort dating back to 300bc. The hill and nearby springs have connections with the Celtic goddess Sulis and King Bladud. The sense of history and spirituality is palpable, inspiring Peter Gabriel to write the song ‘Solsbury Hill’.

In the valley below there are equally beautiful water meadows. The whole area falls within a designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. It was hardly surprising that there was local and national anger at the decision to build three miles of road through it all. Having spent over a year in East Africa photographing nomadic herders living precariously in a fragile and endangered ecosystem, returning to grey John Major Tory Britain was particularly uninspiring. I had focused on environmental photography for most of my working life to this point. It seemed to me that the never ending cycles of famines and wars were fueled by a craving to over consume. No one appeared to care.

But on my first visit to Solsbury hill in March 1994 it was refreshing to find passionate, committed people prepared to make a stand. Conversations were hostile to consumer culture, savvy and cynical about the media, and driven by a will to save the planet.  Their attitudes were optimistic and constructive, and they expressed themselves with humour and creativity. At times it felt as though the land was gripped by a second civil war.  Conspirators huddled round fires united in their belief in the cause.  The authorities responded in a way that heralded our current surveillance culture. I remember going to the Bath police station on one occasion to report some act of security guard violence that I had photographed. On the wall of the police station there was a “have you seen this person?” poster of many faces from the Welling riots in October 1993 which stemmed from a demonstration organised by Militant and the Anti-Nazi League against BNP skinheads. But the faces depicted on the police poster were not those of skinheads. Quite clearly the police had their antennae out, suspecting the anti-roads movement to be part of some Militant conspiracy.

A lot of the action initially started on the ground but as the road moved on up the hill the protest fell back to the trees at Whitecroft this would be the final stand and the main focus of my book. Climbing around in the trees 80 ft.  up on polypropylene ropes was another world. It was no mean feat and for the first few weeks adrenalin coursed through the body. The climbing harnesses that were worn (often home made) became such a mark of respect that they were worn as fashion accessories in Bristol night clubs by people who had only heard stories of the protest. I took these pictures on a battered manual rangefinder camera using mainly one lens and carrying pocket loads of film.

This was the only method that could withstand the rain and constant climbing around in the trees, where you needed to be light and not bulky.  By comparison digital cameras in 1994 were expensive and massive with short battery lives, producing files of only 1.4 megapixels. The World Wide Web had only been live for a year and mobile phones were expensive and the size of a house brick. On one occasion a national newspaper ran a story on security guard violence using my pictures. I had to drive the negatives down to London and at a petrol station pay desk I was stared at. Until that point I was oblivious to the fact that I was covered in mud and algae from the trees, and stank of wood smoke and sweat having been in the same clothes for over a week.  It felt like I’d left my tribe and I owed it to them to get the message out.  Fifteen years on the message which I hope to convey in the subsequent pages seems more relevant than ever.

An exhibition of these and many more images is running at The Jam Factory in Oxford form the 1st to the 29th of November 2010.

A book is also available featuring the images.

More details can be found at www.solsburyhill.org.uk

An honest, revealing and at times disturbing portrayal of the war photographer Robert King. Shot over a 15 year period the film documents the career of Robert from his first assignments through to the present day.

Shooting Robert King explores the complex web of motivations that drive someone to extremes: the insecurities and aspirations, the striving for excellence and acknowledgment and the seemingly conflicting need to be at peace and yet near danger. Over 15 years and three wars – from naivety to cynicism and finally achieving the recognition he sought, this film addresses the two questions that are always asked of those who report wars: Why do you do it? How does it affect you?

Highly recommended and available from the 27th of September.

More details at http://www.shootingrobertking.com

The population of South America is a composite of ancestries, ethnic groups, and races, making the region one of the most diverse in the world.

Almost twice the size of Europe, the continent takes in an enormous geographic and cultural diversity, combining a compelling intermingling of traditional indigenous and modern urban cultures. While five centuries of Spanish and Portuguese colonial rule have left their mark on South America’s language, religion and architecture, this European influence is essentially no more than a thin veneer masking the indigenous cultural traditions that stretch back long before the conquest.

This is an on-going series of photographs that explores this diversity, and delves into the daily lives of some of the continent’s inhabitants. From Argentina’s vibrant and sophisticated capital Buenos Aires, to the small communities of Peru where native life has changed little in the last four centuries, this is South America, as the condor flies.

More pictures and further details can be found at www.kristianleven.com

All images copyright © Kristian Leven
View Contributor Profile: Kristian Leven

The “Oil” Niger Delta region is a region filled with history. It’s also a region filled with conflict.

Ages ago, small kingdoms and tribes fought over control of the slave and palm oil trade giving rise to the name “Oil Niger”. More recent inter-ethnic clashes have been about a different kind of oil, Crude oil. The consequences of crude oil exploration and exploitation have severed the inter-ethnic harmony and old grudges have resurfaced, with often deadly results.

In the midst of all these, life still goes on, growing up in the Niger-Delta means learning to live with and adapt to daily changes in relationships with friends and neighbours. However, children still find time to do what children all over the world do, simply play.

Sicily is a place where modern life and age old traditions coexist, where often, unfortunately, clichés abound, preventing people from seeing the true essence.

In cities and especially in small towns, modern life has not erased the predominant role left to the sacred. Each city or town in Sicily stops at least once a year to pay tribute to “his” Holy, an event that always follows a tradition but also finds new ways to innovate. All the inhabitants of the town are involved and feel intimately that the event, which is not only a matter of faith but a way to affirm once again the identity of a country and its history.

Traditionally the coming out of the Saint from the church is often accompanied by the launch of ‘nzareddi (strips of colored paper) with the flags opening the procession. The “fercolo” (on which the Saint is carried) is followed by the faithful that hold votive candles,  purchased with the request of a pardon. It’s amazing how many people get involved in the event, regardless of age or social class; children and old people take part in the celebration of a ritual which is handed down through the generations.

Many festivities are marked by the participation of fraternities, whose members are proud to pass the importance of participation from father to son. The presence in the procession of the fraternity gives a magical and mysterious taste to the celebration, suggesting but not revealing ancient rituals.

Behind all the colour and folklore, it is the emotional involvement of faith that remains primary. In front of the holy picture lines of faithful bow down to ask a favour or simply go to say a prayer or kiss the sacred effigy.

It is common to offer of cash to the saint, often through the hand of a child, who stretches his arm to extend the money. However it is rare that the funds collected go to charity, indeed the money offered is almost always contracted to pay the expenses for organizing the event.

In some towns, courtyards or balconies of the houses are adorned with finely embroidered towels, small altars, a sign of pride of the family who live there that want to greet all with the honors the saint. Families huddle on the balconies to watch the procession wearing their “good” clothes, the head of the family is often in a suit and tie because that is the feast day for excellence.

Sicily is a land of color, faith and folklore, a land that refuses common opinions and uses these moments to find its own spirituality.