jake lyell photography (blog)

Lake Babati is one of dozens of water bodies known as the Rift Valley Lakes that span the eastern side of the African Continent from Mozambique to the Red Sea. The lake is the lifeblood of the town of Babati in Central Tanzania. Here people draw their cooking, cleaning, and even drinking water. Cattle feast along the densely vegetated shorelines beside women from nearby villages washing clothes. The lake is also home to abundant wildlife including fish, prawns, eels, hippos and many species of water bird.

Like the diverse wildlife found in the lake, Babati is a melting pot for Tanzania’s various tribes. On a given day one may find members of the Masai, Barabaig, Iraqw, Irangi and Man’gati tribes laboring along the shores of the lake or harvesting its fruits from within. However, the tranquil balance between man and nature has shifted as overuse of the lake’s resources have begun to affect natural habitats. Overfishing, excessive water drawing, and the destruction of wetlands for firewood and cattle grazing areas are resulting in dwindling numbers of the lake’s inhabitants as well as receding of its waters.

On Monday I had a few hours of time on my own to explore the city of Bamenda, in the North West Highlands of Cameroon. Away from the steamy jungles of the South and Center, the North West has a cooler climate than the rest of the country, which contributed to my desire to get out of my hotel room and explore the city. I came to Cameroon expecting to practice my French each place I went, but found that Pigeon English was more widely spoken in this region than any other language. I never really got a grasp on it.

In the North West, the motor bike is king- the quickest and cheapest form of transportation around the city and a must-have for any young bachelor looking to find a date for the evening. I found a driver with whom I could communicate and we agreed upon a price for him to show me around the city for the afternoon. At the time, I only deemed my ride on the back of the bike, camera in tow, a small risk – one that was worth taking for the exhilaration of riding through the markets and neighborhoods of this dusty, sprawling town. Besides, everyone else was doing it.

At times we’d pause on the street and snap photos, chatting with the subjects. I picked up some new Congolese music for 50 cents a CD and a new pair of Ducci sunglasses. After a couple hours of riding, the chain derailed off our motor bike. We pulled over at the side of a large intersection and got to work on removing the chain’s metal housing.

As my driver, Frankie, was just getting his hands dirty on the greasy chain, we heard a loud crash in the intersection and looked over to see a large cloud of brown dust billowing from the road into the sky. A few seconds later, a man came running from the cloud saying something like “I tink go man die.” The Pigeon English took a second to process.

I raced to the accident. At first it was to see if those involved needed any help, but there was already a crowd surrounding the victims- the drivers of two motor bikes and a taxi cab, their faces bloodied and limbs contorted. The cab had apparently swerved into a bridge after hitting an oncoming motor bike. The driver was knocked from the car and into the river below. Camera already in hand, I continued to shoot as the taxis, which doubled as ambulances, arrived on the scene to transport the victims to the hospital.

Slightly delayed and perhaps not as shaken as I should have been, I made it back to the hotel in time for dinner with the crew. This is Africa, and this is sort of thing is commonplace.

A small nation with a big heart, Armenia has nearly been whittled away by its neighbors over the centuries. Today, most Armenians live outside the country’s borders in diaspora communities throughout the world. Its ancient traditions remain strong and intact, however, despite years of invasion, persecution, occupation and displacement. Even though conflict continues to this day, Armenia’s hospitable and vibrant people have not lost their disposition to live life to the fullest, seemingly oblivious to current and past upheaval.

Armenia has been called a master of geopolitics. Straddling Eastern Europe and Western Asia, and in the peripheral vision of both Tehran and Moscow, it maintains excellent relations with the two while looking more toward the West for its model of government. Above, Leyli learns to walk in Gusangagyugh Village, Shirak Region.

The Caucasus region is no stranger to turmoil. Nearby Georgia experienced the most recent eruption of conflict in the area this summer. The brief Russia-Georgia war was a reminder of the competing spheres of influence in the world, and that this narrow strip of land between the Black and Caspian Seas is still as strategic as it has ever been. Above, Naira Sargsyan (36) feeds her youngest of eight children, Leyli. Large families are common in Armenia, as they are throughout the developing world.

The Capital city of Yerevan is the only bustling metropolis in this small nation of 3.2 million in the Caucasus Mountains. Above, the doorway of an indoor food market in central Yerevan.

Despite Yerevan’s wealth and western feel, conditions outside the capital city are less developed, and the post-Soviet collapse is still evident. Often it feels like stepping back in time. Below, potato harvesters in Saramedj village, Lori Region.


A statue of Mother Armenia stands sword-in-hand looking toward the Turkish border in a Soviet-era plaza in Yerevan. Turkey and Armenia have never experienced normal diplomatic relations with each other since Turkey’s refusal to acknowledge the Armenian Genocide of 1915.

Above, a view of the valley from an earthquake-damaged home in Saramedj village. The great Spitak earthquake of 1988 killed at least 25,000 people in this area and prompted Mikhail Gorbachev to call for foreign aid in the Soviet Union for the first time since World War II.

Twenty years later, residents like Tsaghik Frangulyan (31) and her children still live in “temporary” trailers brought in by the Soviet government’s FEMA equivalent.


My visit to Armenia coincided with harvest time. I’ve never tasted such rich, flavorful produce than in the Caucasus. Much of life outside the capital centers around agriculture and farming. Above, Susanna Karakhanyan harvests vegetables from her organic garden. Below, a bit of her freshly harvested, all-organic vegetables.


A farmer negotiates rush hour in Lori Region.


Above, a view of Berkaber village along the Azerbaijan/Armenia border. The center lake marks the countries’ boundary. The two nations continue to exchange cross border gunfire several times a week in spite of a 1994 ceasefire agreement.
Residents in Berkaber like Mr. Yura Tamrazyan and his wife Siranuysh Mantashyan must remain vigilant. Several villagers have been killed by sniper fire in years past.

At the source of the conflict between the Armenians and Azeris is a portion of land within the borders of Azerbaijan known as the Nagorno-Karabakh, whose population is predominantly ethnic Armenian. This month, Russian president Dmitry Medvedev sat down in Moscow with the presidents of both countries, successfully persuading them to engage in future talks on a political solution to the stalemate.

Wood and dried cow manure are stored for winter fuel in the shell of an old Lada in the village of Gusangagyugh, Shirak Region. Extreme Canadian-like winters last until April or May throughout much of the country.

Hrach Nalbandyan (66) and his wife Zubeida (60), in the village of Gusangagyugh in Shirak Region, with pickled vegetables stored for consumption during the harsh winter ahead.
Yerevan residents attend a jazz concert at the Opera House.

Armenia was the first nation to adopt Christianity as its state religion. It did so in the early 4th century. Since then, the Armenian Apostolic church continues to play an important role in the lives of citizens here. The church made history again this century as the only one in the Soviet Union to operate openly in staunch defiance of Soviet policy. Above, a Sunday service at St. Karapet Church (circa 1227) at Noravank Monastery near Yeghegnadzor.

A tomb from around the turn of the first millennium, Areni Village, Vayots Dzor Region.

New generation: Hripsime Hovhannisyan (5) sits on her living room couch with her grandparents Artavazd (82, left) and Siranuysh (79, right) Karakhanyan, in the village of Areni, Vayots Dzor Region.

Church leaders from around the world tour the Armenian Genocide Memorial and Museum in Yerevan. Karekin II, who is the Catholicos, or head of the Armenian church, walks in the center holding a staff. Below, the eternal flame.

In 1915, the Ottoman Empire began its systematic campaign of destruction against the Armenian people living within its borders. Most Armenian diaspora communities were established as a result of the genocide which ended in the extermination of up to 1.5 million Armenians.

Mount Ararat, the Genesis account’s final resting place of the ark. Even though the mountain was ceded to nearby Turkey in 1923, following the invasion of the Red Army, Mount Ararat continues to be the symbol of Armenia today, keeping its place on the coat of arms and dominating Yerevan’s skyline.

It’s my job to shove my camera in people’s faces. Though I’m usually more tactful and delicate than that, it sometimes feels like I’m intruding beyond my bounds – at times being insensitive. Today was one of those days. I’m in Georgia (the Republic) and I’ve spent the day photographing some of those displaced by the recent war between Georgia and Russia.

It can be distressing to be in the same room with the victims, hearing their stories of how their homes were destroyed, fields burnt, loved ones killed, while I am forced to walk a thin line between having a sympathetic ear and getting the job done.

These people have lost virtually (or almost) everything except their lives. Even if they had homes to which they could return, the political situation in South Ossetia, where most refugees shown here are from, is not welcome to ethnic Georgians and is still occupied today by Russian troops.

“Its very difficult for a Georgian living in Tskhinvali (South Ossetia’s capital); they kill Georgians there,” says Natia Bdziharashvili, 25 (shown above in black). “So why do you want to return?” I ask through my interpreter. “Because I was born there. Every blade of grass and every stone is ours. It is my motherland.”

These photos were taken in the town of Gori, the nearest Georgian town outside of the separatist province of South Ossetia. It is the hometown of Joseph Stalin. Oddly enough, he’s still admired here despite the recent display of Soviet-era aggression by Vladymir Putin. Above, a statue of Stalin stands in Gori’s main square. These days, the Red Cross uses its spacious tarmac to park their distribution trucks.

The Gori area experienced casualties and heavy damage when Russia invaded Georgia proper after pushing the Georgian army out of South Ossetia. Above, a government contractor works to repair the bomb-damaged home of Larama Tlashadze in central Gori.

The small country of Georgia is providing shelter for about 90,000 people left homeless as a result of the recent conflict with Russia and the separatist regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia. Many are living in the Gori area. The Georgian government, in conjunction with NGOs like the Red Cross, has moved efficiently to provide food and shelter for the refugees and to restore damaged homes when possible. Some live in refugee camps like the one shown above located in Gori’s central park. Others live in schools. Below, Valia Baryachvili is an ethnic Russian whose home in a border village was destroyed by Russian troops.
Fearing that most would not be able to return to their homes, the Georgian government immediately began constructing homes outside of South Ossetia for the war-torn region’s former residents. Residents in the refugee camps complain that such housing is sparse compared to the large farm estates where many lived before the war. It is the goal of Heifer International, with whom I am now on assignment, to begin agricultural and sustainable farming projects with refugees once they move out of temporary housing.

These projects will help the refugees establish themselves in the area and begin earning an income. Below, a woman shows me an image captured on her mobile phone of the shell of her war-damaged home.

The compensation for my discomfort regarding these photographs came from the subjects themselves. Many were eager to tell their story. Many welcomed me into their quarters with whatever they could offer: a chair, some chocolate, a cup of coffee. I hope in turn I will have had some small part in the process of returning their lives to a state of normalcy.

Parts of Haiti are under 16 feet of water this week. Over the past month the country has been inundated with heavy rains brought by four storms: Fay, Gustave, Hanna and Ike. Caribbean nations are often the first to bear the brunt of these powerful storms that form in the Atlantic.

Last December I photographed for ten days in Haiti. Most of the time was spent in the Northern port city of Gonaives, where these photos were taken. Today Gonaives is the scene of some of the most widespread devastation wrought by recent storms in this developing nation that sits just a stone’s throw away from the Florida coast.

Gonaives occupies a low plain between the bay to the west and the mountains to the north and east. Haiti is known for its extensive deforestation, and the mountains around this city are representatives of this trend. When rains come, the surrounding hills become quickly saturated, soon flooding the town below. A witness in Gonaives during the recent tropical storm Hanna described this scenario as a “river of mud” flowing off the hills and into the town.

Above, this is what Gonaives looks like on a good day: trash piled up around pools of standing water. Even when rains have long since passed, flooding is a problem in this city. Most of Gonaives has no organized trash collection, nor any structured drainage system. The water crested this week at 16 feet and has now gone down to about chest level.

This is a busy city of 300,000 to 500,000 depending on how much of the surrounding area one takes into account. If you can look past the garbage and sewage in the street, it has a bit of an old world charm. Most of the activity centers around the lively port and market which are in close proximity to one another.

Back in December I discovered that the Haitian government had commissioned a French private contractor to build drainage canals throughout the city in order to channel water from the hills outside town to the bay. These canals were begun, but very early in the process the funding disappeared and the project was never completed.

In addition to a terrible eye sore, these canals became a dumping ground for the city’s waste and a breeding pool for disease carrying mosquitoes. Now that these cesspools throughout the city have flooded, the humanitarian catastrophe will surely be compounded. For more on these canals see my post from last December.

It’s difficult to asses the full scale of the disaster in Haiti as flood waters have yet to fully recede and some areas still remain inaccessible. Higher estimates put the death toll in the 700s. Gonaives remains largely deserted as people continue to stay in shelters outside town. Those that remained were forced to stay on the rooftops of their houses in order to fend off looters.

Though the recent storms in Haiti have proved disastrous, the destruction they leave behind is still not on the scale of the worst hurricane in recent memory: Hurricane Jeanne. In 2004 Jeanne pounded Haiti’s northern mountains with rain before it came sweeping into Gonaives killing 2800 of the city’s residents.

After all this it is clear that Gonaives’ finest asset is its people. They are patient, tenacious, and most of all, resilient. In this the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, most have no choice but to return to town and attempt to rebuild lives with whatever the storms capriciously left intact.

Rusty ghost ships linger in the city’s harbor, left over from the days of François Duvalier and his son Jean-Claude, who ruled the country from 1957 to 1986. Despite it being common knowledge that these presidents looted tens of millions of dollars from Haiti’s coffers, there is a longing for the return of the old leadership. The New York Times recently reported growing frustration by Haiti’s poorest who have seen security lapse, food grow scarce and garbage pile up in their streets. Life was more stable under the rule of harsh dictators. Reforms introduced by current president Rene Préval have been slow to take effect.

The national government has such little power here, it cannot coordinate disaster preparedness or response in such emergency situations as were experienced in the past month. It is forced to rely on humanitarian efforts of the UN and other NGOs for relief efforts. Such is life in a fledgling democracy that seems to take more orders from the wind and the rain than from the people themselves.

CARE is contributing to the relief effort in Gonaives.
Words & Images Copyright 2008 Jake Lyell Photography

Peru’s capital is a teeming megalopolis of street vendors, exhaust fumes, cathedrals and bright lights. Following my most recent assignment with Heifer, I spent four days photographing some of Lima’s 8 million residents. I’ve divvied up the following photographs into what became four dominate themes: work, devotion, transit and leisure. From the wealthy suburbs of Miraflores to the up-and-coming pueblo joven of Villa Maria, Lima enjoys a stronger economy than the rest of this developing country. For this reason, many leave their homes elsewhere to make new lives in this boomtown on the Pacific.

Work…








Devotion…










Transit…











Leisure…















All photos Copyright 2008 Jake Lyell Photography