South Africa: Mourning Mandela
151 images Created 7 Jan 2014
After living and working in South Africa for 3 years I always knew that if I were able I would return and cover the mourning period when Mandela passed. I also knew that covering an event of that magnitude as a freelancer was going to be a challenge. I would need to find a way of doing something different
It was easy to get lost in the sheer scale of the event, the crowds, the numbers of photographers, film crews and journalists. The logistics, early starts, huge distances, traffic jams, parking and Internet connections were a full day's challenge on their own.
I knew I would be up against strong competition, the agencies would have all the official events and VIPs covered. So I concentrated on trying to tell the story of how people felt. In Vilakazi Street outside the President’s former home (now a museum) the mood was celebratory. The restaurants were packed as people danced and paraded in the street singing struggle songs. On the morning of the official memorial I caught the early train to the stadium arriving in the dawn rain. I am glad I did as I think I got some of my strongest pictures of the day.
As Mandela lay in state I followed the queues that snaked round down town Pretoria to the foot of the Union buildings and then up to the temporary mausoleum, from hustle bustle to quiet chatter to respectful silence. On the final day at least 92 thousand people filed past his coffin to pay their respects. As his body was driven away for the last time a crowd of hundreds remained on the top of the hill singing struggle songs with Pretoria below.
Halfway through the week I looked through my pictures and felt that they were about the event more than about the people. So I went out with one light, one lens and a digital recorder. Simple questions - Why are you here? What did Mandela mean to you? I chose the stage, how people stood was up to them.
Thanks to my colleagues at the LRC Eastern Cape office I was able to find a back road to Qunu to photograph the cortege as it passed. After a long drive from Joburg I was worried I would miss it but with minutes to spare I found a spot with few photographers.
On the morning of the funeral I headed to Mandela’s birthplace Mveso where his grandson Mandla is chief. I wanted to make pictures in rural areas to contrast the city folk from Soweto, Joburg and Pretoria. Through the morning mist I made out the large screen where the funeral would be played on the football pitch behind a donkey. The national anthem was blared out at full volume so all in the village and beyond could hear. By mid morning I felt I had enough and headed back to Qunu’s neighbouring village and then into Umtata town stadium.
It was easy to get lost in the sheer scale of the event, the crowds, the numbers of photographers, film crews and journalists. The logistics, early starts, huge distances, traffic jams, parking and Internet connections were a full day's challenge on their own.
I knew I would be up against strong competition, the agencies would have all the official events and VIPs covered. So I concentrated on trying to tell the story of how people felt. In Vilakazi Street outside the President’s former home (now a museum) the mood was celebratory. The restaurants were packed as people danced and paraded in the street singing struggle songs. On the morning of the official memorial I caught the early train to the stadium arriving in the dawn rain. I am glad I did as I think I got some of my strongest pictures of the day.
As Mandela lay in state I followed the queues that snaked round down town Pretoria to the foot of the Union buildings and then up to the temporary mausoleum, from hustle bustle to quiet chatter to respectful silence. On the final day at least 92 thousand people filed past his coffin to pay their respects. As his body was driven away for the last time a crowd of hundreds remained on the top of the hill singing struggle songs with Pretoria below.
Halfway through the week I looked through my pictures and felt that they were about the event more than about the people. So I went out with one light, one lens and a digital recorder. Simple questions - Why are you here? What did Mandela mean to you? I chose the stage, how people stood was up to them.
Thanks to my colleagues at the LRC Eastern Cape office I was able to find a back road to Qunu to photograph the cortege as it passed. After a long drive from Joburg I was worried I would miss it but with minutes to spare I found a spot with few photographers.
On the morning of the funeral I headed to Mandela’s birthplace Mveso where his grandson Mandla is chief. I wanted to make pictures in rural areas to contrast the city folk from Soweto, Joburg and Pretoria. Through the morning mist I made out the large screen where the funeral would be played on the football pitch behind a donkey. The national anthem was blared out at full volume so all in the village and beyond could hear. By mid morning I felt I had enough and headed back to Qunu’s neighbouring village and then into Umtata town stadium.