Commons:Wiki Loves Africa 2023/photo essay

Wiki Loves Africa 2023

2023 Photo Essays

For Wiki Loves Africa 2023, we want photographers to be able to tell the whole story. Not to just capture one or two images, but a series of images that encapsulate their interpretation of the theme.

Photo essays allow for the photographer, and (through their photographs) the viewer, to explore the full range of activities, ideas, and concepts encapsulated in one subject. In this context, and taking into account the Wiki Loves Africa 2023 theme of Climate & Weather – a photo essay could be a series of photos that capture different weather events across the same landscape or the same weather as it moves across different locations.

There is an Africa Environment prize specifically for the best group of photographs by one photographer that captures the impact of climate change.

How to enter

Step 1: Upload your photos!
When uploading your photos to the Wiki Loves Africa competition using the Upload Wizard, please make sure that the photos are numbered sequentially - for example:

Kisra Maker, Sudan Photo 01
Kisra Maker, Sudan Photo 02
Kisra Maker, Sudan Photo 03, etc.

Please note: You have to upload the individual images as .jpgs or .gifs. Using google slides and some other presentation methods are not compatible with the licences that Commons use.

Step 2: Have you uploaded all of your images?
If you are ready to upload your images and arrange them as a photo essay, click on this button:

Enter Your Photo Essay

What is a photo essay?

A photo-essay is a set or series of photographs that are made to create series of emotions in the viewer. A photo essay will often show pictures in deep emotional stages. Photo essays range from purely photographic works to photographs with captions or small comments to full text essays illustrated with photographs.

Examples of photo essays include:

An article in a publication, sometimes a full page or a two-page spread
A book or other complete publication.
A web page or portion of a web site.
A single montage or collage of photographic images, with text or other additions, intended to be viewed both as a whole and as individual photographs. Such a work may also fall in the category of mixed media.
An art show which is staged at a particular time and location. Some such shows also fall into other categories category.
In fashion publishing especially, a photo-editorial – an editorial-style article dominated by or entirely consisting of a series of thematic photographs

What are we looking for

Within the theme of Climate & Weather ... a photo essay could be:

a series of people doing a task (say, taking climate readings or data) but in different contexts – example: women in meteorology, or
a montage of images that explores the ravages of a climate event on a certain sector, their community or country –example: climate change is a women's issue; example: floods, Mozambique 2019 or
a montage of images that explores one kind of element's impact on the landscape – example: floods, Mozambique 2019; example: Sahara painted white with snow or
a montage of images that explores how people endure, work with or adapt to weather events – example: Shelter, example: finding water or
a series of images with people being caught up in a weather event – example: Somalia drought or example: Impact South Sudan.

The photo essay could be either

a collection of photos with brief but descriptive legend for each photo – example;
a more wordy narrative with illustrative photos – example 1; example 2

We are aware that a photo-essay requires a significant amount of time and energy and have included the photo essay organiser below to assist. We believe this approach is a wonderful communication tool on the above listed topics. The photo-essay could be hosted not only in a Commons page, as a WikiStory, or posted on a news site (such as, DIFF or Wiki In Africa blog).
If you are interested in submitting a photo-essay, and are not sure of the process, do not hesitate to get in touch with us.

Wiki Loves Africa photo essay examples

Zanzibar seaweeds

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	Zamzibar seaweeds by user:Rachelclarareed Zanzibar's seaweed growers face a changing climate. Here, a farmer tends to her farm in Paje, on the southeast coast of the island. Mwanaisha Makame and Mashavu Rum, who have been farming seaweed on beautiful Zanzibar island for 20 years, wade through the low tide to their farm. The seaweed grows underwater for 45 days. When it reaches one kilogram, the women pick it and dry it, then pack it in bags to be exported to countries like China, Korea and Vietnam. There, it's used in medicines and shampoos. The farmers have a lot of problems due to climate change. Two decades ago, 450 seaweed farmers roamed Paje. Now, only about 150 farmers remain. Mwanaisha holds up a healthy clump of seaweed. Then she holds up seaweed the farmers won't be able to use. A hard white substance grows on it - ice-ice disease, caused by higher ocean temperatures and intense sunlight. The seaweed farmers learned how to make soap from their seaweed at the Zanzibar Seaweed Center, a business that started as an NGO in 2009. At their homes, they mix water, ground seaweed powder, coconut oil, caustic soda and essential oils in a large plastic tub. Later in the week, the seaweed farmers will sell their finished soaps in Zanzibar town or to regular local customers. As seaweed levels decline, they have found a way to increase the value of their work. The finished product - a bar of seaweed soap.

Zamzibar seaweeds by user:Rachelclarareed

Zanzibar's seaweed growers face a changing climate. Here, a farmer tends to her farm in Paje, on the southeast coast of the island.
Mwanaisha Makame and Mashavu Rum, who have been farming seaweed on beautiful Zanzibar island for 20 years, wade through the low tide to their farm.
The seaweed grows underwater for 45 days. When it reaches one kilogram, the women pick it and dry it, then pack it in bags to be exported to countries like China, Korea and Vietnam. There, it's used in medicines and shampoos.
The farmers have a lot of problems due to climate change. Two decades ago, 450 seaweed farmers roamed Paje. Now, only about 150 farmers remain.
Mwanaisha holds up a healthy clump of seaweed. Then she holds up seaweed the farmers won't be able to use. A hard white substance grows on it - ice-ice disease, caused by higher ocean temperatures and intense sunlight.
The seaweed farmers learned how to make soap from their seaweed at the Zanzibar Seaweed Center, a business that started as an NGO in 2009. At their homes, they mix water, ground seaweed powder, coconut oil, caustic soda and essential oils in a large plastic tub.
Later in the week, the seaweed farmers will sell their finished soaps in Zanzibar town or to regular local customers. As seaweed levels decline, they have found a way to increase the value of their work.
The finished product - a bar of seaweed soap.

The making of thatch

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	The Making of Thatch by User:Eric Atie The creativity that comes with mud housing in rural areas is majorly in the art of it's roofing, of crafting thatch. With the continuous movement of development reaching far into these area, newer ways of doing things have been discovered, faster, reliable, more durable ways. Houses are now being raised with modern materials, and even the ones standing still in traditional clay and thatch are being refurbished with the fashionable cement blocks/metal roofing sheets. This progression has no doubt brought about a decline to the practice of traditional crafts such as thatching. Mr. Bassey Ekpenyong, an indegene of Ito community in Cross-River state, Nigeria, calls me his friend in that manner that, as a stranger serving in his community under the National Youth Service Corp, makes me feel safe. He invites me to his shop at evening hours, and as he offers me roasted nuts, he makes a new promise to take me on his bike to the beach when the rains have stopped and the roads are accessible again. It is on my return to Ito after a couple of weeks away that I first see him sitted in the shade outside of his shop, palm leaves littered all over. He sees the excitement register on my face a top the moving bike and signals that I return, as if to say "I have been waiting for you". And truly, he has. He is making a new roof for his shop, he tells me. He wants me to make pictures. There are palm leaves all over, some tied up in a bunch, some lying underneath the sun, others thatched already and staked up in a pile. On his hands are two long,thinly carved sticks that would function as the skeletal frame for a pair of thatch. He begins a new pair and laughs as he talk; a satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that he is creating for me yet another experience to take home when service is over. He makes a joke of it. He folds a leaf in half neatly across both sticks. He does same for another leaf, lapping it with the previous, and then, with another thiny stick which he breaks afterwards, pins the the leaves in place, firm. The process continues until the length of the sticks are fully covered in green palm leaves. He completes a pair of thatch in what takes minutes and begins another. Mr. Bassey is a converser. He talks about the need for this change, a practice he does every five years as this is the durability period for the thatch. "Nfok nkaya" He says in Efik pointing to his shop behind, mud house with mat(thatch). He points to other houses around, including the ones made of clay but with metal roofing sheets and calls them "Ikanga" zinc dey up. On other days, Mr Bassey is joined by his friends. They sit for long hours underneath the tree on their return from their various farms. They chat as they thatch, switching on occasion from Efik to English. They craft at the same pace, with the same measure of skill, but what intrigues me the most is their fellowship in that shared space, a communion of banter and silence. How this silence descends on them as they craft only for it to be broken yet again with a thought, a story, a sigh - childhood friends who had all grown up in this same space and carried within themselves different experiences as they each sorted life out; some leaving only to return yet again. Childhood friends thatching through time, memories into their palms, pinning them into that place of recollection, of regret, of conquests. Pinning them with the same laughter and voices that survived time. When asked how and when they had learnt thatching, the story is the same for everyone. They throw back to a time when they were just kids, when Ito was only made of the traditional mud houses. As kids, they had been taken along with other kids by The Contractor, an older member of the community who dealt in a sales of thatch, to the beach. There, they had, each person assigned to a bunch of palm leaves, made dozens of thatch. This contractor, in return had provide their meal for the day and bought them treats. He had, later, on completion of their work, also paid for their services to their mothers; money meant for their upkeep. "We just sabi" Mr. Bassey tells me, explaining to me how he couldn't really pinpoint exactly how he had learnt. How, before then, in a society where almost everything used where hand-crafted, most of these skills children grew into, got used to just by seeing it being done on a daily basis, just by being a part of the home/society. "Those wen no sabi wen we go beach go just sidon look those wen sabi, or, watch contractor do am and dem go sabi. To Mr. Bassey this is more. It carries sentiments enough for him to brag about the metal roofing sheets he's kept lying waste in his house for years, enough sentiments for him to, in a time when the few thatched houses left are been broken down and then raised up in modern fashion, sit outside of his shop underneath the tree every five years, matting green leaves into thatch. His shop, once his home, carries for him memories of events: of childhood adventures; of leaving and returning; of his late wife, of loss. Memories that make him. And thatching, this craft, this practice of maintenance is, in a fast paced world, for him the very means through which he holds time in his hands. The very means to which he laps these memories into a place of remembrance. The very means in which he shelters them.

The Making of Thatch by User:Eric Atie

The creativity that comes with mud housing in rural areas is majorly in the art of it's roofing, of crafting thatch. With the continuous movement of development reaching far into these area, newer ways of doing things have been discovered, faster, reliable, more durable ways. Houses are now being raised with modern materials, and even the ones standing still in traditional clay and thatch are being refurbished with the fashionable cement blocks/metal roofing sheets. This progression has no doubt brought about a decline to the practice of traditional crafts such as thatching.
Mr. Bassey Ekpenyong, an indegene of Ito community in Cross-River state, Nigeria, calls me his friend in that manner that, as a stranger serving in his community under the National Youth Service Corp, makes me feel safe. He invites me to his shop at evening hours, and as he offers me roasted nuts, he makes a new promise to take me on his bike to the beach when the rains have stopped and the roads are accessible again.
It is on my return to Ito after a couple of weeks away that I first see him sitted in the shade outside of his shop, palm leaves littered all over. He sees the excitement register on my face a top the moving bike and signals that I return, as if to say "I have been waiting for you". And truly, he has.
He is making a new roof for his shop, he tells me. He wants me to make pictures. There are palm leaves all over, some tied up in a bunch, some lying underneath the sun, others thatched already and staked up in a pile. On his hands are two long,thinly carved sticks that would function as the skeletal frame for a pair of thatch.
He begins a new pair and laughs as he talk; a satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that he is creating for me yet another experience to take home when service is over. He makes a joke of it.
He folds a leaf in half neatly across both sticks. He does same for another leaf, lapping it with the previous, and then, with another thiny stick which he breaks afterwards, pins the the leaves in place, firm.
The process continues until the length of the sticks are fully covered in green palm leaves. He completes a pair of thatch in what takes minutes and begins another.
Mr. Bassey is a converser. He talks about the need for this change, a practice he does every five years as this is the durability period for the thatch. "Nfok nkaya" He says in Efik pointing to his shop behind, mud house with mat(thatch). He points to other houses around, including the ones made of clay but with metal roofing sheets and calls them "Ikanga" zinc dey up.
On other days, Mr Bassey is joined by his friends. They sit for long hours underneath the tree on their return from their various farms. They chat as they thatch, switching on occasion from Efik to English.
They craft at the same pace, with the same measure of skill, but what intrigues me the most is their fellowship in that shared space, a communion of banter and silence. How this silence descends on them as they craft only for it to be broken yet again with a thought, a story, a sigh - childhood friends who had all grown up in this same space and carried within themselves different experiences as they each sorted life out; some leaving only to return yet again.
Childhood friends thatching through time, memories into their palms, pinning them into that place of recollection, of regret, of conquests. Pinning them with the same laughter and voices that survived time.
When asked how and when they had learnt thatching, the story is the same for everyone. They throw back to a time when they were just kids, when Ito was only made of the traditional mud houses.
As kids, they had been taken along with other kids by The Contractor, an older member of the community who dealt in a sales of thatch, to the beach. There, they had, each person assigned to a bunch of palm leaves, made dozens of thatch. This contractor, in return had provide their meal for the day and bought them treats. He had, later, on completion of their work, also paid for their services to their mothers; money meant for their upkeep.
"We just sabi" Mr. Bassey tells me, explaining to me how he couldn't really pinpoint exactly how he had learnt. How, before then, in a society where almost everything used where hand-crafted, most of these skills children grew into, got used to just by seeing it being done on a daily basis, just by being a part of the home/society.
"Those wen no sabi wen we go beach go just sidon look those wen sabi, or, watch contractor do am and dem go sabi.
To Mr. Bassey this is more. It carries sentiments enough for him to brag about the metal roofing sheets he's kept lying waste in his house for years, enough sentiments for him to, in a time when the few thatched houses left are been broken down and then raised up in modern fashion, sit outside of his shop underneath the tree every five years, matting green leaves into thatch.
His shop, once his home, carries for him memories of events: of childhood adventures; of leaving and returning; of his late wife, of loss. Memories that make him. And thatching, this craft, this practice of maintenance is, in a fast paced world, for him the very means through which he holds time in his hands. The very means to which he laps these memories into a place of remembrance. The very means in which he shelters them.