Burning Dreams

By Liz Haggarty

http://www.worldpressphoto.org/index.php?option=com_photogallery&task=view&id=833&Itemid=146&bandwidth=high

When do you give up? If we saw a picture of you standing infront of your worn stone home, capped with the corrugated iron of shanty towns, the glow of an explosion in the distance like the glow of the horizon it would be too early, we would scoff at your lack of drive.

If you stood in the same place and watched your neighbour’s pick through the smoking debris of their home razed by fire we would give you a moment of remorse. But, you have escaped. As well as destruction, hope lies scattered around because you are not alone.

But, at the World Press Photos Exhibition at BCE Place Akintunde Akinkleye of Reuters captures you standing in the corner of the frame. All that we can see around you is in flames, the smoldering aftermath of an exploded Nigerian pipeline that killed 260. We can tell how much you have lost; the remains of wheels, corrugated roofing and the burnt stumps of trees tell us exactly what was once there.

“Hell is our pain we derive from Heaven, that’s our luxury…. Nigeria is the 8th largest producer of crude oil in the world so it is supposed to be our luxury, but it is our hell.” Says Akinkleye in an online video produced for the exhibit. The explosion, whose after effects he captures, was triggered when thieves tapped into a petroleum pipeline. This is common practice in an oil rich country where the majority of people live in poverty. Akinkleye describes on his website how many youth in the Delta region of Nigeria, fueled by feelings of being cheated by those who have amassed great wealth from the countries oil reserves, have turned to violence and crime. “Once a peaceful Delta has turned a shadow of its past. Violence, hostage- taking, high level criminality, insecurity and a host of other fearful vices have spread across the south of the Delta.” He adds.

Back in Akinkleye’s picture of smoldering Hell you look tired, slightly stooped as you wipe soot from your eyes. The colours of your clothes swirl in the smut and the smoke as if in a dream. In this swirling beauty of complete destruction we realize how alone you are. We’d let you give up, but you show us how you haven’t yet as a small stream of water, useless against the fire, flows from your bucket. Your seemingly slowed desire to keep on going stays with us momentarily as we walk away from our frozen dream and your captured reality.