Every Picture Tells A Story
or Every Picture SHOULD Tell a Story.
So what is the story here? We came to Zambia not knowing what to expect but suspected that there was poverty and hungry children nearby. I wasn't certain I would be able to handle seeing such reality but we braced ourselves and have ventured out to see how we could help.
Here is a classic photo I anticipated I might be able to take during the two years in Zambia, and like a good painting not everything is defined. It is far from perfect but it has many of the essential elements. There is movement, color, light, and interesting composition, and the human element.
With all those factors in place you must fill in the blanks about those little outstretched black hands and the large white ones portioning out the food.
Some hands are very intense, pleading for what clearly is not enough to satisfy all. Who is going to get the last? How would you choose? Would you choose the prettiest? The one that reminded you of a grandchild? The one holding back but looking so sad and more needy? Maybe the one most polite, or the one with a younger brother or sister in hand? Maybe it is the one who caught your eye earlier and you have the beginnings of a fleeting bond since he told you his name. Who is the hungriest? Who ate most recently? Where do they live? What is their home like? Can they go to school? Where are their parents?
So the story is there, somewhere. What details are the least disturbing so sleep will come easier for me?
Is it really that different here than some parts of Appalachia or East Oakland or Concord, California by the freeway or even at times in the creek behind my house in Clayton?
Who gets the food?
What do I do when there is no more and the hands are still outstretched?