|
Icrisscrossed Mauritania on its road and tracks, in its bush taxis and trains, in an attempt to get close to the way people really lived. And thus I duscovered Africa for the first time : its hardness, the pitiless sun sometimes obscured by sandstorms, an dits suffering. When independence came, the country embodied the utopian dream of an understanding between its communities, a family-like harmony between « cousins » of Arab or black African origin. This turned out to be a mirage in a country vitiated by centuries of slavery and the folly of a governing clique serving only the interests of its own tribe. I recall a saying that goes, « There’s no racism here, but everyone knows his place. » And when power changes hands the privileges are simply reversed. Etched out of the desert, Mauritania is a synthesis of the problems of African pluralism, the disillusioned stage on which are played out the inter-ethnic power games that ravage the entire continent. A gendarme who has read his La Fontaine murmurs to me, « the argument of the stronger party is always the better. » I see a ghost appear behind a pink veil. Inside a tranquil home women shake hands with each other. And meanwhile a man trying to make his escarpe is huddled on a railcar loaded with iron ore. I had to bring these atmospheres together to get the tone I wanted, to photograph emptiness and make aridity visible. Everything seemed so dark to me. In this sun drenched country I discovered a blinding black light.
|
