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Killing Time in Kuajok

These kids’ day was not much more exciting than mine.

We’re in the administrative capital of the state and I can’t walk more than maybe a kilometer without somebody suspiciously asking who I am, why I’m here, and, often, asking to see some I.D. And that’s without my camera. It’s been suggested I leave it in the room if I don’t want it confiscated and I don’t want to risk possible arrest, so I went for a few strolls and meanders with just my little point and shoot.

I got the usual stares and whispers/shouts of “Kuaja!” (white/Western fellow). A couple of dialogues. Somebody asked me how I was and if I am a lady. Saw a man taking a nap in a wheelbarrow beside two boys pumping water into portable petrol jugs. Got a shout of “Hey white man! How are you?”

The rest of the day I lay in bed or sat in the heat and read. Hum dee dum.

Wee people love to get very close to cameras. I do not know why.

One Comment

  1. Fitz

    Hey Keith. I was worried about you. I imagined you disappearing in Sudan. Let me know what it’s going to take to get a whole series of portraits of kids in some of the war zones – if they still call it that – to use in a display at the US Institute of Peace. I’ve taken a full time job with them and am interested in doing a little exhibit tentatively titled “The Faces of War and Peace.” I’m sure that’ll change. Lemme know. Fitz

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