Travel photographers make it look so easy. I spent years admiring photos from Africa, dreaming of one day making my own there. I went, blindly, young, green, backpack full of seemingly important things, camera cocked and ready. I was quickly shot down. Quickly reminded of how naive I was. How so very uneasy this whole experience was going to be. My camera seemed to make people angry. Made people yell and demand money. I thought dying my long blonde hair a deep chocolate brown would help me blend in. Help me stay unnoticed as I tried to capture all the beauty around me. I was wrong. I was still a “mzungu”, Swahili for white person. An outsider, an intruder. Men would hiss that word at me, it would haunt my dreams. I became frustrated, disheartened and confused until I took a 24 hour train ride from the coast of Tanzania to the Zambian boarder. Aboard the train I could become invisible. I could photograph all the wonderful things that blurred past my eyes. Stealing photos, capturing moments, trying to preserve my memories. This is what I saw.
