The Forgotten Cowboys
Thanks to Hollywood, the word "cowboy" conjures up images of tough, independent men: solitary, weather-beaten and...white. But many of the Old West cowboys were African-American.
Advertising, Documentary, Photography
- THE FORGOTTEN COWBOYS
The Black Cowboy
- As a ten year old boy playing Cowboys with friends at my junior school in England, I was never allowed to be a cowboy, I could only be a native American Indian. I was told "Black boys were never cowboys", "Have you ever seen a black cowboy!" I had to admit that I hadn't seen a single black Cowboy. The only one's I saw were your white archetypal, squared jawed, all American gunslinging heroes. Even thirty years later I still didn't know black Cowboys ever existed. The Lone Ranger, John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Roy Rogers, Clint Eastwood, right up to The Marlboro Man, the list is endless, but not one single black cowboy amongst them. But, actually some of the first Cowboys were black. Black men born into slavery found they experienced less open discrimination and a better life on the open range. Even the name 'Cowboy' came from slavery days. From the Cabin boy to the House boy, field boy, Kitchen boy to Cow boy. After the American civil war many experienced black cowboys enlisted in the Army Calvary and were known as Buffalo Soldiers. Black cowboys where brilliant horseman, and many went on to become ranch foremen and managers, while others were hired as federal peace officers in the Indian Territories. It is estimated that as many as one-third of all cowboys contracted to drive cattle to markets across America were either Black or Mexican. African American cowboys, however, had to survive discrimination, bigotry, and prejudice. The lives of these cowhands tell a story of skill and grit, as they did what was necessary to gain the trust and respect of those who controlled their destiny. That meant being the best at roping, bronc busting, taming mustangs, calling the brands, controlling the remuda, or topping off horses. Hollywood also played a big part in keeping the Cowboy myth alive. We all grew up watching Wild West Tv series and Cowboy films, but how many films can you remember that feature black cowboys,...not too many. So I went in search of the forgotten cowboys and to my great surprise found a large and thriving African American cowboy community. From New Mexico to Texas and as far up as the San Francisco Bay Area, many African Americans can trace their lineage right back to the old South. There are many reasons why the history books fail to mention the contribution of the black cowboys. But one reason I've heard mention is that history is nearly always written by the winners, in any case, I wanted to discover more about some of the amazing characters and meet some 21st century black cowboys working on the many ranches dotted around the South. I also intend to document the lives those Cowboy's who compete in the hundreds' of rodeo events across the country.
I hope to go back to the States again in the very near future as this is an ongoing multimedia project, subject to funding. My aim is to achieve a wide cultural and educational exposure for this captivating and vastly unexplored subject matter globally.
A 24 year old student Daula from Bangladesh, who currently studying economics at the University of East London, looking after a disused steel & metal foundry factory in Suffolk.Advertising, Photography, Photojournalism2013
A day in life of Great Britain's 'Super Cop".Photography, Photojournalism2012
The growing pains of South Sudan, the world youngest country, one year one from Liberation.Journalism, Photography, Photojournalism2012
On a recent visit to County Kerry in the South West of Ireland, we came across the small town of Killorglin, the local residents were all gearing up for the annual summer 'Puck Fair' festival. The Festival lasts three days and is held without fail on 10th to 13th of August with the first day taken over by one of Ireland's longest running horse fairs. The Fair gets his name from the 'King Puck' an heroic goat that warned the town of Oliver Cromwell's marauding soldiers heading for their town. The he-goat or "puck" broke away from his herd and alerted the inhabitants of the approaching 'Roundheads', and they immediately set about protecting themselves and their stock.
I don't think the fair has change very much over the last fifty years or so. The same field, the same old families, the same breed of strong Irish hunters and working horses, right down to the weather, which was chucking it down! The main gripe from the traders this year was the lack of available funds for the horses. Last year horses were trading at €6,000 & €7,000, this year you'd be lucky to get €3,000 for your horse.
But not even the lack of money or the persistent rain could dampen the sprits and resolve of the horse traders, the farmers or anyone involved in the fair. I loved it!
From the cheeky little persistent 8 year old Eamon who followed my around all day trying to sell me his pony, 'It's only €5,000 mate', to the endless amount of horse poo stuck to my boots.
What I really enjoyed though was the empathy, the pride and shared joy of these people getting together again, parading their merchandise. It made for a wonderful day watching an annual event that as lasted over a hundred years.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011
Independent Moses Spina arrived into the world at the stroke of midnight – the same moment his country was born.
As car horns, gunshots and whistles heralded the birth of the new Republic of South Sudan, he blinked his way into life, touching his new face with tiny hands.
Outside, the capital of Africa’s newest nation was gridlocked with celebrations, flags flying from trees and cars, drums banging, crowds of people dancing and swaying down unlit roads.
“I am so happy,”says his mother, Josephine Spina, 24. “He was born at exactly midnight. Now, because of his birth, perhaps he can become a President like Salva Kiir.”
As a symbol of hope, Independent Moses’ birth in the early hours of Saturday morning could barely be more potent. His mother is a former child soldier who fought with the Sudan People’s Liberation Army from the age of 14 until she was 19.
“My brother and my sister were killed in the war,” Josephine says. “I had nothing to lose by fighting.”
Now, her little son has been born into a peace this nation has barely known in generations. “I am happy for him,” she says. “He will not fight. He will go to school and become a great man.”
This has been a weekend of hope for South Sudan, a once unimaginable moment finally realised.Two million people – several of Josephine’s family among them – have died for freedom.
Below are just a few of the images I shot during my recent visit covering various projects and initiatives for the charity UNICEF.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011
Albinism is a rare genetically inherited condition, which results in a reduction of complete lack of pigment (colour) in the skin, hair and eyes. This can result in pale skin that burns easily in the sun, virtually white hair, very severe short sight and photophobia (severe sensitivity to light). Apart from the physical challenges of albinism it also brings social and cultural challenges. They face discrimination, violence, ridicule and even dangerously superstitious legends that cost human lives.
Hollywood has also played its part in helping to portray albinism in a negative and misrepresentative way. From “The Mole people” filmed in 1956 right up to the ‘The Da Vinci code’ in 2006, albinos have been portrayed as villains, murders, hideous monsters, a product of incest, merciless and violent. There is also a misconception that all albinos’ are scary, mentally challenged, and a freak of nature.
Albinism affects every race and creed, from Australasia, to Europe, Africa, North & South America and China. Indeed in some African societies the killing of Albinos' has been taken to new extremes, where people have been murdered for their body parts as ingredients in rituals for magic potions.
Typically all those photographed for this project have their own very personal intriguing and sometimes traumatic stories, which will feature along with their portrait.
This project aims to highlight as to how living with albinism really is, it also aims to enlighten and educate the viewer. Not enough is known about the condition or about the every day circumstances affecting these peoples lives.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011
Black Britannia, an Inspiration for the next generation.
The aim of this exhibition is celebrate the contributions and achievements to UK culture and public life that black people have made over the last few decades.
The 55 people in this exhibition have all succeeded in their chosen professions because of their of ambition and unflinching determination to reach their full potential. Their success should act as an inspiration for all young people. Their perseverance in dealing with the challenges, the stereotypes and the obstacles that have hindered young people, black or white should act as an example to young people every where. Went I first entered the media world that was ‘fleet Street’ back in the 1980s, I arrived wide-eyed and excited, my dream was to see my pictures printed in some of the nations well known newspapers & magazines. I still enjoy the buzz and elation each time my work is published today. But this didn’t happen over night, like my fellow black contemporaries I had to deal with the prejudices and the disappointments. I came to a decision that I would never allow the prejudices of that period to deter my efforts and distract me from my goal of becoming a photographer.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011
'Com them if you think you're hard enough'
Words and Pictures by John Ferguson
“No biting, No spitting, No chewing gum” announces a large sign across the door. It seems an unusual introduction to this otherwise innocuous building, just another gym in a rundown council estate in South East London. I push open the doors, and am immediately assaulted by an unmistakable smell, a heady melange of stale sweat and damp clothes.
Dave O’ Donald appears at once, introducing himself. I shake his hand, unexpectedly intimidated by this bald man in his 50’s. He can’t be much more than 5”6. Dave has run a cage-fighting club in this part of South London for 5 years now, and has seen his beloved sport grow in popularity every year. I glance around the gym, where twenty or so men and a solitary woman grapple with each other on crash mats. The men are various shapes and sizes, some small, some overweight, others very large and frankly frightening. One man, especially tall and quite literally rippling with muscles can be seen shadowboxing beside the gym’s large windows. I watch him, transfixed, and try to imagine facing him in a caged ring. The thought is chilling. I turn my attention to the only female in the gym. She is dressed all in black, and stands at about 5-ft 10. Her brown hair is tied behind her head in an incongruously pretty bow. Suddenly, she launches herself at her training opponent, a 6 ft male who takes evasive action to protect himself.
‘Fancy a go then?’ Dave asks me, smiling. I decline his offer, steering him back to his fighters.
“Some of the lads will be fighting next week at Caesar’s in Streatham at the Cage Rage night,” he tells me, and points out a few of the men who will be on the card.
Cage fighting in the UK has seen a steady increase in popularly over the past three years, with a
proliferation of new clubs opening throughout the country, and more and more fans drawn in by
its ferocious, almost brutal contests. Originally from the States, it’s essentially a mixture of
martial arts, boxing, kickboxing and wrestling. The only moves not allowed are biting, head
butting, eye gouging and attacks to the groin area. The best cage fighters come from Russia,
America and Brazil. In Japan, where the sport is also immensely popular, fighters can earn vast
sums of money for championship fights, and some have become household names. Amongst
Japanese school children, some Cage fighters now achieve a degree of popularity rivaling that of
traditional sports stars. Furthermore, Sumo wrestling, once dominant in Japan, is now seeing its position eroded by this new and violent sporting interloper from the west.
Championship contests in Tokyo, regularly attract crowds of up 50,000, and when TV and other
media outlets are factored in as well; you really do begin to get a sense of the sport’s popularity.
The cage is designed with high-ridged netting, surrounding an octagonal canvas area. If the
sport lacks finesse, it definitely makes up for it as a spectacle. The fighters wear fingerless
leather padded gloves, and their own designed shorts, emblazed with there fight names.
One of Dave’s fighters is 29-year-old IT specialist Ed Smith from Sydenham in South East London. Ed stands at around 5-ft 10 inches and weighs in at 200 pounds. He’s been coming to the gym for 3 years now and loves everything about the sport. He will be fighting at the Streatham Cage-Rage night next week, so he’s in full training for his big fight.
‘This will be my second cage fight. I used to do boxing, but then got into the cage-fighting thing. ‘I’ve been fighting since I was 13-14; started off boxing, then moved to Thai boxing, and everything in between. At the moment I’m in full training for the contenders’ fight night in May at Caesar’s Palace. I just like fighting, and I’ll fight anyone. With cage fighting, there’s no bullshit, just fighting. You’re on your own, one-to-one with a stranger, I get to test myself.’ I ask Ed whether he ever gets frightened. ‘No, a little nervous, but the nerves makes you stronger. It’s not very nice when you see your mate get knocked out in 9 seconds in the fight before mine, but that just makes me doubly sure that I don’t go the same way. The fighting’s bit brutal and it’s really hard on your body. My last fight I threw a punch at my opponent and dislocated my thumb, I had to flick it back into place during the fight. So every time I threw a right my fist got worse and worse. But then the adrenaline kicks in and you forget about the pain until after the fight.’
It’s Sunday afternoon backstage in Caesar’s Palace on the Streatham High Road. Dave arrives at the dressing room downstairs, an area designed to comfortably accommodate two people, but now taken over by some ten fighters preparing for their bouts as well as a number of miscellaneous friends and hangers-on. Some of the fighters sit quietly in the corner applying tape to their hands, some shadow boxing to the thumping drum and bass in the other corner, whilst others practice fight moves with their trainers on the floor, oblivious to the people milling around them.
I greet Ed with a thin smile, but he scarcely acknowledges me, just nods before finding a bit of space to put his kit down. There’s a definite sense of pre-fight nerves. I can see he’s already in ‘the zone’, that intense mental state which many sportsmen seem to enter before an important event. I toy briefly with the idea of asking him how he feels, or what is going through his mind at this moment, but I don’t. Something tells me just to leave him be.
Forty fighters from across Southern England are here tonight, from lightweights to heavyweights, each with a gaggle of faithful followers in tow. The noise and atmosphere builds steadily. A group of young men, sitting at a table near to the ring are checking out another group of guys a few tables away. I watch for a minute, sensing the possibility of some secondary action outside the ring. No action, though, just a little beer-fueled bravado. I had expected a crowd akin to boxing, but this seems to be a much younger set, and the room is peppered with a surprising number of young women.
Backstage and downstairs in the complex warren of small changing rooms, the music has become louder, the number of fighters and trainers has multiplied, testosterone and the tension of the evening are all colliding together. It is a heady cocktail. I search out Ed; three different people appear to be advising him simultaneously. I stand in a neutral corner and wait, leaving him alone with his friends. It’s half an hour before his fight is due to start.
“You got to remember Ed, this guy ain’t your mate, he don’t like you, you’re gonna have to kill the bastard. No fear Ed, No fear, do you ‘ear”.
Ed nods his head is silent agreement, while pumping the air with his fists.
I make my way down to the cage area. The crowd are in full voice now, the previous fight lasted a couple of seconds as Ed’s training mate was knocked out after only one punch. I arrive to see the fighter lying semi-conscious on the canvas and having an oxygen mask being fitted to his mouth by one of the medics.
I ask the guy next to me if he saw the fight,
“ell of punch” the man replied, “the guy never saw it coming, right on the chin it was”.
The medics help the fighter to his feet. He still has the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. One of the medics holds up three fingers in the front of the fighters face, he stares vacantly back and is then helped out of the Cage and back to the dressing room. Ed is still warming up in the shadows behind the stage.
“ Ed Smith, you alright?’ asked a voice, ‘You’re up next’.
Ed nods in agreement, and punches the air faster. The music starts again to welcome the fighters to the ring. Simply the best by Tina Turner welcomes Ed to the top ramp above the stage. He raises his arms and dances on the spot for a couple of seconds as the crowd chants his name. He dances his way down to the cage and enters, all the while shadow boxing to the music and the sound of his name. Ed looks good under the ring lights, almost as if he’s grown a few inches.
Then without warning the lights move back to the ramp and the music changes. The eye of the Tiger, the standard boxing anthem bellows out from the speaker system and the challenger appears. A stocky looking Irish man Dorian O’Malley punches the air with both hands, his fans cheer him down to the cage, and he bounds in looking every inch like a cage fighter should look. The two fighters give cursory glances at each other, and are called together by the referee.
I take a position outside the cage jostling with a few others for a better view of the big fight. The noise from the crowd rises, as the two fighters are given their last instructions by the referee. The bell goes and the two men rush at each other both trying to get that all important first punch in on their opponent.
Ed uses all the fighting skills he’s learnt over the years on his opponent, from punching and kicking to headlocks, but this opponent’s no pushover. He slams Ed to the ground and begins to beat his head like a drum with fast hard punches. Ed uses his feet to quickly kick his opponent off balance and gets back to his feet. The bell goes for the end of the first round. The crowd cheer with appreciation for the two evenly matched fighters. ‘This fight could go the distance’, says the guy next to me, ‘I still fancy Ed to do him though”.
The bell for the second round goes and this time the two fighters are much more circumspect towards each other. They pace the cage eyeing each other, waiting for the right opening. The wrong move could prove fatal. The heat around me is becoming near unbearable, sweat begins to fall into my eyes and the crowd around me are becoming more and more excitable. A female fan starts screaming for Ed to ‘Fucking kill ’im’. I move away slightly, but am pushed back by the two guys trying to climb the cage above me.
The fight moves in the third and final round. Ed is slightly ahead on points as his corner urged him on for one final effect, “ Go on Ed, get in there first, remember get in first’. Ed lunges at O’Malley and mangers to lock him in a head hold. The fighters are motionless for a few seconds, locked in some sort of deadly embrace. A quick turn of the O’Malley’s body and they tear themselves apart. Ed takes the full force of a kick to his face. Blood begins to pour from a gash to Ed’s forehead into his eyes and drips onto the already bloodstained canvass. The roar of the crowd rises to a crescendo, his corner men rush to the front of the cage, panic etched collectively on their faces. ‘Breath Ed, breath’, shouts one of his corner men. ‘Deep breaths mate’. Ed manages to get ahold of O’Malley’s legs and takes a well-needed rest. His corner issue more instructions on what to do next. The referee steps in and brings the fighters to their feet. The tension outside the ring is tangible, people are standing on chairs some on tables, some hanging from every available vantage spot, so as to see the fight of the night.
Ed throws a right hook which lands plump in O’Malley’s face, the fighter goes down, I notice the fear on his face as Ed rushes in for the kill. The crowd go wild around me, worked up into a capable frenzy; they can see that the end is near for Ed’s opponent. The bell goes for the end of the fight. Both are exhausted, I look stunned at Ed’s battered and bruised face and think my god, and he’s the winner! The cage then suddenly fills up with people from both camps, both trying to get to their man first. Ed raises two tired arms as he is hoisted rather unceremoniously onto the shoulders of his jubilant corner men. Ed fans chant his name, as his followers rush to the cage. Ed savors the crowds applauds, lapping up his fans approval of a decent fight. ‘Ell of a fight’ says the guy next to me. I nod my head in agreement, wondering whether he’s an IT specialist too.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011
More than 13,500 people live on the Kandahar international airbase in Afghanistan. Armed forces from Dutch, British, French, Canadian, US are just some of the twenty or so nationalities that make up the living population of this ever growing town, situated in one of the most dangerous regions of the country.
Life on the airbase can be pretty monotonous, each day being similar to the day before, but the troops from the various different nations stationed here make the most of their lot with a mixture of stoicism and humour.
After focusing on the British army working and fighting in the region and around the base, I found out that my flight had been delayed(for 5 extra days). So I focused my attention on the air base's communal centre called the 'Broadwalk'. A big wooden-planked pedestrian square lined with shops that feature kebabs, French pastries, doughnuts, pizza, burgers and other delicacies. You can eat, shop for rugs or check out the internet , a surreal home-from home environment made to looked very north American. In the square there might be a touch football game or a volley ball game, or even a hockey game which the Canadians seem to have a monopoly on. I joined one of the American regiments, the 95th from Alaska for a game of touch football, and found they played the game with the same amount of energy and vigor that they put into fighting the Taliban.Documentary, Photography, Photojournalism2011