The side of the road: a photographed trip to the Philippines
Photography by Yuval Caspi
Yuval Caspi reflects on his position as a photographer after a recent trip to the Philippines.
Have you ever heard about someone’s trip to a country you’ve already been to, and realised that your experiences of the same place were completely different? Whether you were jealous, or patronisingly thought that you had a better experience (sometimes rightfully), the question is really about what makes one trip different from another. In my case, photography helped find the answer — the more I understood what makes a great photo, the more I understood what makes a great trip.
Manila, the capital of the Philippines, is one of those cities in which both economic prosperity and extreme poverty live together; a place where Asia’s biggest shopping malls are juxtaposed with its poorest slums. The photos accompanying this article were, evidently, not taken in those malls.
When visiting another country, there is no shame in visiting the well-known sites in which tourists accumulate. Local markets, natural wonders, and incredible monuments are famous for a reason. However, none of my own favourite photos were taken in any of these places. I have always preferred photographing people, and inevitably those I find most interesting are the ones whose lives are furthest from my own. The people who live on the side of the road, under the bridges, and away from the shadow of skyscrapers. It is with them that I find the best photos, and the most transformative moments of my trip.
Smokey Mountain was perhaps the most fascinating place in Manila. Once a landfill consisting of over two million metric tons of waste, the site was turned into public housing for people living in the surrounding slums. At first glance, it is a place where trash is as much an inhabitant as people. Everybody lives in extreme density above what is clearly a mountain of waste. Yet this image distracts from the fact that the people of this neighbourhood were some of the warmest-hearted I met during my time in the country. Everyone is greeted with a smile, everyone is welcomed into a conversation, everyone loves to have their photo taken. I photographed some children jumping into the river, others climbing trees, and one smiling woman who showed me the fish she sells.
On one hand, I could say it is heaven for a photographer – a place demonstrating the horrors of poverty in the world, yet with a welcoming face. On the other hand, it may be heaven only for a photographer – a foreign man whose visit to Smokey Mountain is simply part of a summer trip, right before he returns to university. It was difficult not to feel patronising when I strolled through this neighbourhood with a camera around my neck.
Another place I visited was the small villages on the islands surrounding Siargao, not quite as dark as the slums of Manila. These are small isolated villages surrounded by a ring of coconut trees, white sand, and the ocean. The locals live in small wooden houses shadowed by trees. Children play freely in the sandy streets and no door has a lock. Two girls passed by and showed me a box with a young puppy they had found, and another woman washing her clothes wanted to have a chat. A group of children playing in the sand tried to teach me a game which I still do not understand. The place seemed nostalgic to me, even though it was my first visit.
I liked the photos I took, but not because they engaged in any criticism about social difference. They were interesting because, despite the evident poverty, the village seemed almost inviting to live in. Is the desire to live in a place poorer than one’s own home patronising too? Definitely, and so is the labelling of such a place as “poorer”. I don’t know whether I was more enchanted by the minimalism, the coconut trees or the local people’s happiness, but it was, again, heaven for a photographer.
Just like my fascination as a photographer for the “less fortunate” areas of the world will never vanish, I don’t think I can avoid the condescending feeling that accompanies it. I am fascinated because I am not from there. Be that as it may, my feelings are not the centre of the issue. I have no right to judge or classify another’s home as better or worse than my own. I also don’t have the right to watch a neighbourhood where people are struggling and pretend it might be equal in resources to mine.
This article provides no answers, yet like photography, it makes me think. The photos I take are intended to remind both myself and the people who view my work that our way of life is only one of many, and that a country is not built only from the places shown in an airline commercial. I like my photos that way, and my travels too – evoking yet slapping the condescension out of me.