Hey Jimmy have you heard....A thousand words

There was this particular folk-acoustic song that used to send chills down my spine, goose bumps up my arm and thaw my heart into a messy puddle of molten butter at my feet. It was called, ‘nothing to say ‘by an Andrew Peterson (or was it Peter Anderson?). Goooossh that song! Well there was the verse always started with ‘hey jimmy,’ (it’s as though he is having a light yet thoughtful conversation with a friend or cabman called ‘jimmy,’ about what he sees through the window, as they drive by) and the second verse was

‘Hey jimmy,
Have you heard?
A picture paints a thousand words
That photographs don’t tell at all’

I took that as gospel truth for sometime till I saw photography that rendered Andrew Peterson’s (or Peter Anderson’s) lyrics null and void.
While my sisters and step mom answered to the call of estrogen by responding to my pap’s ‘Santa Claus’ statements, of what-can-I –get- u- this- holiday-when –I- am- in-town.’ With cheery answers of ‘perfume, gold jewelry, shoes, etc,’
Mine, (I always viewed myself as some future travelling photographer) was-most times when I could decide- ‘a camera, a lap top, driving lessons. Okay a car! (Lol, I never got there.)
Anyway so my very first camera (that I still own) was my best kept possession, my sis used to laugh and tease me on how I had everything in my room and life so disorganized except that camera. My love for art and forever dabbling in pieces, sketching people in my class, at restaurants, in taxis…was a passion; still is…propelled me to that point where I believed I could defy Andrew Peterson(Peter Anderson)… And have my photos say a thousand things. Besides, I had been totally smitten by a book on campus on award winning photos in Reuters and various journalists of the year for pictures that to me spoke volumes! I got obsessed with sepia and black and white forms of picture but I had to deal with the limitations of my own camera and make the best of it.
I took pictures of landscapes wherever I went. There was one I thought I liked; while taking my usual evening strolls in the neighbourhood, I came to this flat grassy ‘scape that usually fascinated me with the serenity it emanated. And within its silent peaceful moment, a beautiful exotic cat strayed right to the middle of the field. Along with the breeze that caressed the grass as in humble obeisance willing to be swept away- the cat, seemingly sensing the air, sat back on its hunches taking it all in. And we all as one drunk in the only thing that that moment communicated. PEACE.
And CLICK went my camera, capturing and saving an unforgettable period.
But not long after I found another captivating picture.
My tourism class traveled every semester break and this particular time we were heading to Queen Elizabeth National Park. We stopped in kasese, it was terribly hot and we were all dying to step out for a leak, stretch, some food, water, or just to stop. I always sat at the front next to the window and I kept in, staring at the buildings, dilapidated, old colonial structures lay scattered about. I can’t remember what exact town it was, but it was easy to tell that a large population was Indian. I was enamored by the dirty poles once white, the dome shaped roofs and archways, the wind and dust as they swirled against the heat and the feet of the residents. It was all too picturesque. But what totally took my breath away and truly redefined that ‘a picture says a thousand words …’ phrase was a few feet from me… a huge once white pole stood some way off from the bus. It was still jagged with orient designs that disappeared into its pealing plaster but quite visible and two children played round it, trying to catch each other as they raced round and round that pole; a 7 or 8 year old Indian girl and boy both about the same age, prolly her friend kept abreast with her in their little game of ‘chase’. She soon grew weary and leaned back against the pole her shoulder length dark disheveled hair blown haphazardly by the wind, her little worn orange floral dress in curious orange hues, clung loosely to her little frame and her black eyes gazed far far out like in some blank reverie; oblivious to us, foreigners and everyone else. The little boy hardly tired out, came up behind the pole and started pulling lightly, teasingly at her windblown strands, tapping her playfully on the arm, nudging a bit roughly and she wakes from her daydream and returns his pokes but unenthusiastically before returning to her position and almost in a non irritated way shoving her head away occasionally as he played with her strands, leaning out onto one side of the pole. Then he stopped bored I guess, or sensing his playmate’s mood and stared out as she did, leaning out to her against the pole behind her.
Click!
The story in that was volumes for me and I needed it on camera, I saw ‘innocence,’ friendship beyond colour and culture,’ and well, at a an advance level, ‘a love story in 10 years,’
I never kept the film, I procrastinated developing it and watched in horror as it got destroyed by some leakage on to it…that killed me!
But I hope my words described my most captivating moments of camera ever.