March 8, 2001- Pablo Sexto, Ecuador

 
I was scheduled to go into the jungle to visit a Shuar Indian community. Somehow, wires got crossed and our guide did not show up. At the last minute, our host was able to arrange a visit to a not so primitive community nearby. 
Although it was not the former headshrinking Shuar Indians as planned, it was nonetheless, a cultural exchange that I will not soon forget.

The small community is accessible by very limited bus service on a badly maintained road. The winter rains often render it inaccessible to motor vehicles. The community has only two phone lines but does enjoy full time electricity. As an Eco-tour volunteer I taught a class in, believe it or not, Internet technology and digital photography. They ate it up.

During one of my three sessions I spoke to each and every grade school student.  
It was fascinating to watch little light bulbs go on. From the questions they asked it was obvious that that many of them were right there with me.

The Internet will not be coming to town in the immediate future, but it may not be too long. The school administration has an under-utilized computer and some of the students have video games so there is some exposure to technology. As a relative novice myself, I was able to share my enthusiasm on a level that they were able to grasp:  “Here’s you, here’s a computer, here’s a phone, here’s a network of computers that goes around the globe, here’s a new friend on the other side of the world!”

While in front of the class, I had the distinct intuitive experience that this was something I was meant to do. I have had the same experience a couple times before in my life and both times it has proved to be significant. I have no immediate plans to become a teacher, but the thought of sharing or spreading Internet technology in under-served areas is exciting.
The more basic education going on in Pablo is agricultural. They have very involved programs in animal husbandry and horticulture. Hands on training every afternoon. 

They wanted to know all about our lives back home and they bent over backwards to include us in theirs. From their evening sports activities to preparing guinea pig for dinner, we were very much involved.

March 5, 2001-Probably from Somewhere in California
Article by Dana Smith

The first time I met Mark McMahon was by way of my mouth. I had an accident and I needed to see a Dentist in the worst way. As life would have it one thing leads to another and I learn that he is also a juggler, performs stand-up comedy at clubs around San Francisco, and is shuttling back and forth to Tucson where he is practicing cosmetic dentistry.

Mark is a student. He was studying photography, learning how to write and deliver jokes, and traveling to the far corners of the globe always believing that there was some other piece to the puzzle to add to the mosaic of his life.

 
Mark wanders both near and far. It is as if his ship is both inbound from the sea of his life to a safe harbor, and at the same time outbound to uncharted water. His photographs and prose are always sent back from the deep far flung jungles of the world. They are a kind of report on the state of how things really are on this earth right now.

The frogs, the bars, tribes, friends, food, water, bugs and thrills and spills of this and that all soon whirl and twist then fall into place. It is as much about the landscape as it is about the terrain of his mind. It is as much about the family of man as it is about this particular man. Those fingers that probed my gums are the same gentle fingers aiming that camera and writing this journal!

Why is Mark doing this? Digital camera, laptop computer, 4X4 Toyota pick-up truck and most of all desire. You have to want to do something right now. To do it along the way. To take this moment and catch it with camera, describe it with words, and then post it on your web site, because now you can.

So, read the journals, look at the photographs, and then draw your own conclusions. I believe Mark McMahon is telling us something about the condition of his heart. He is telling us something about desire, curiosity and a kind of players love for the game of life. Some of us just have to take ourselves off the bench and put ourselves into this game.

The more I visit my friend here on his web site, the more evidence I find through these images and stories, these fragments of the here and now, posted in pixels, at the speed of digital virtuality, a kind of state of things as they are. I have much admired the poetry of a Jesuit priest by the name of Gerald Manley Hopkins who wrote from Ireland in the last century. He practiced writing every day by simply trying to describe something with no care whatsoever to any other goal. Just take words on paper and capture a thing. Mark’s work is sort of like that. It isn’t for Mark to tell you what all this means. You get to figure it out for yourself.

March 3, 2001 - Otavalo, Ecuador

Otavalo is a tourist center in Ecuador. The indigenous people of the region produce exquisite handicrafts, particularly textiles and clothing. Beautiful stuff that they just about give away, considering the time invested in each piece. 
  
I didn’t have much fun in Otavalo. Even though the people are distinctive in their attire, customs and looks, I didn’t get many good photos. The people don’t want their picture taken; they just want too sell you something. Of course I am generalizing and of course the people outside of town tend to be much friendlier. 

Saturday is Market day in Otavalo when everyone sets up shop on the streets in a certain section of town in anticipation of all the shoppers, tourist and resident. Very early Saturday morning is the animal market just outside of town. The attraction for tourists, me included, is the photo opportunity. The only things for sale there are farm animals and the occasional llama. To find the location I was told to look for someone on the street walking with their pig or cow; that’s where they’d be headed.

More willing subjects

It was an interesting scene, but I felt very separate from it all, with no business there but to gawk and take photos of people who didn’t want their picture taken. It’s not hard to understand how they feel. It’s not much different than celebrities who are hounded by the press and whose privacy is consistently under assault by the eye of a camera lens.

Why am I telling you this? This issue has been heightened for me by some email correspondence with someone writing a guide for photographers. He asked me about laws of regulations governing the photography of indigenous people. I’d never heard of such a thing and I told him so. Apparently something of the sort is happening in other parts of the world. If it is indeed happening, I think it is a good thing. Princess Di deserved respect and privacy, as does Arnold Schwarzenegger. And so too, indigenous people. People in general do not appreciate a camera in their face and not knowing what will become of their image. 
  
 
 
I don’t like taking pictures of people who don’t want them taken. It drains me to try. It is not my nature or personality. It isn’t fun upsetting people and I wouldn’t want someone doing the same to me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I have never taken a picture of an unknowing subject. I have and I do from time to time. But sneaking around and possibly upsetting people isn’t fun. 

The San Blas Indians of Panama are another visually and culturally fascinating group. They have devised a commercially viable policy to deal with the influx of shutterbugs. A buck a click. And they are serious about it. If you took their picture, you OWE them a dollar! The picture sucks because they stood there like a statue earning their fee. But I think they are well within their rights to demand a dollar. More power to ‘em.

What about me and what I do? Would laws protecting the rights of indigenous people prevent me from doing what I like to do? I don’t think so. It’s about rapport and respect. Any such law would not prevent someone from allowing someone to take their picture, but hopefully prevent photos taken against their will. 

There was actually someone in Otavalo who wanted me to take a picture. She was a very sweet older woman who ran the Los Angeles Pension. I liked her little place and she asked me to send my friends. A place with a drab gray entrance that opens up into bright and beautiful murals everywhere.  Friendly, clean and secure. You can’t ask for much more for two dollars a night!