(4/12) “The online tutorials made photojournalism sound easy:...

(4/12) “The online tutorials made photojournalism sound easy: ‘Quit your job, find the best story, get published.’ But this advice was for Westerners. Nobody quits their job in Ghana. And even if you did, there’s no place to publish your photos. I’d see pictures from Africa, and stories from Africa. But everything was done by foreign journalists. I tried photographing local festivals. I even snuck into a slaughterhouse to document the conditions. But when I pitched these stories to publications, nobody even wrote me back. Every time I read an article, I would email the photographer. I’d ask them: ‘How did you start? How did you do it?’ But I received very few responses. After several months I grew discouraged. I was desperate for some sort of community. Then one morning I saw a Facebook post about a meeting for photographers in the capital city of Accra. I couldn’t believe it: a group of people, just like me. And they were Ghanaians. My own countrymen. I could ask them, face-to-face: ‘How is this possible? In our society?’ The night before the meeting I was too excited to sleep. I woke up at dawn and took the first bus to the capital city. When I arrived at the location there was a woman stationed at the gate. She saw the budget camera hanging from my neck, and she stopped me. ‘This is a meeting for professional photographers,’ she said. ‘Show me your body of work.’ All I had were the pictures on my memory card. They were pictures of my life, and pictures of my daughter. ‘That is not a body of work,’ she told me. Inside I could see the meeting was about to start. The photographers were taking their seats. ‘Fine,’ I told her. ‘I’m not a photographer. But I’m here to learn. So that I can become a qualified person.’ But she wouldn’t listen. She closed the gate. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is a meeting for photographers.’ On the bus ride home I called my mother. She’d been so excited about the meeting. She’d been praying and praying about it. But when she answered the phone I could not speak. From my silence she could tell that I was holding onto my tears. ‘This won’t be the end for you,’ she said. ‘You are an Apostle. You have so much more to write.’”