08/04/25

Having already conquered Europe, North America and Asia via rigorous military campaign I now turn my attention to Africa, where I have heard it rumoured that the weather is good; I may as well take advantage of the present global uncertainties. Conducting a short reconnaissance mission with Victoria—before we begin to mount our phalanges—confirmed these rumours, and we were delighted with our environs.

Staying once again at an all-inclusive, I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see the heritage sites and fonts of rich and storied history that lay nearby, and for one day we embarked on a guided tour through Kairouan and El Djem. It meant that Victoria and I had to sacrifice a day of poolside tanning—well, a day of bronzing for her and a day of burning for me would be a more accurate description—but I think it was well worth it. 

Especially at the Amphitheatre of El Jem, the osteal Roman architecture presented these neat, repeating interstices that admitted patterns of hard shadow into its cloistered walkways. Not only did the shade offer respite from the unrelenting sun, but as a photographer this was a dream of an environment to play with, both when shooting and when messing around in Lightroom afterwards. Using these thick, cloaking shadows to draw the detail and shape of the surrounding architecture out was something I’d never really used to my advantage before, and I think it produced some interesting results. 

I brought my a77, my Minotla AF 50mm f/1.4, and my Sigma EX DC HSM 10-20mm with me on the trip. Unfortunately, the 50mm is beginning to grow weary, and there is some significant chromatic aberration when stopped wide open. I may have to look at getting it repaired. The Sigma was wonderful for all the vast architecture at Kairouan. For some interior shots I may have preferred a wide prime with a better maximum aperture in order to reduce the noise from the higher ISO, especially when the interior is white with calligraphic detail as you can see in the slideshow. I usually also bring a telephoto lens with me, and there were a couple moments where I was spying storks and other birds alighting from a pure blue sky onto the edges of these holy edifices, and I really wanted to get in tight on them. However, I was mostly concerned with capturing the vastitude of the buildings we visited so it was not really needed.

There were a few times where I had to reckon with the desire to capture a quick shot of one of the locals without being able to ask, especially in the case of them zooming past on mopeds. In London, I’ve had people politely ask to take a photo of me for their street photography Instagram account—namely when I wore a pink boiler suit and pink mohair Kangol hat on my pilgrimage to Barbenheimer. This is something I’ve always gladly agreed to and it has sometimes resulted in hundreds of people ‘liking’ a photo of me, which is, you know… nice. I’ve also had people under the Leake Street Arches shove their fisheye in my face without asking, return to their huddled group a moment later without even so much as a nod to me, only for another one of them to then immediately say “You’ve just gotta get in there, you just gotta take the photo mate, you know what I mean?”.

I don’t know much French, perhaps enough to say ‘May I?’, though I certainly do not know Arabic, let alone the kind they may speak in Tunisia. But there were moments, in particular one at the amphitheatre where an older, local man in a suit, absorbed in the operation of his Nokia brick’s keypad, was stepping into this glorious bolt of light that fell upon a staircase, the sole source of light amongst a small eddy of enveloping shade. Of course I couldn’t explain why it was such an arresting image—only a photo itself could justify that—but I failed to get the shot off. I hesitated: not being able to ask felt strange. And why would it have been a good photo? Was that notion predicated on something selfish, even an ignorant attitude concerning how I view the local people? But then I instantly regretted my inaction after the window of opportunity had vanished. The man had surmounted the staircase, he was no longer basking in that heaven-sent bolt of light, the earth had rotated so many degrees away from the sun in the seconds that had since elapsed, the world would never present that opportunity again.

It’s something I come up against more often as I grow as a photographer. On the way back to the tour bus I captured a man applying a fresh coat of this glorious orange paint to the façade of a café we stopped at. I didn’t ask him for permission, I didn’t know how, he was too far away besides. But I’m glad I got that photo. It is one of my favourite photos I’ve taken. As we ventured further back to the meeting point for the coach, I peered into a workshop of a mosaic store. The light befell the interior, and the craftsman, in the gentlest and most weightless manner. I pointed to my camera, made a picture-taking motion with a hooked finger, and then put my thumbs up in a dumb, Koko-the-gorilla style inquiry. He seemed to acquiesce. I took a photo, but suddenly he was no longer absorbed in his work and I was not as absorbed in mine. The camera was seen and was no longer just seeing; in turn it lost all of its power.