Picture Spark

I stepped out of the studio tired, worried and stressed out, dragging my feet through the busy streets, watching as everyone minded their business and wondering if everyone was like me with dreams completely buried under the weight of bills and the care for sickly, ageing loved ones.

Back in our cramped apartment, the silence screamed louder than the city noise I just left behind. Mom slept breathing shallowly, another gentle reminder of my failed goals. I settled, dropping my gear bag and almost simultaneously bringing out my worn-out laptop. I flipped through my portfolio, each photograph refreshing a memory — memories of rejection. Each memory bore a fresh sting. Life had dealt with me. Strength made way for tears that had welled up.

“This is it, Amina,” I murmured. “This is where you throw in the towel.”

While I tearfully scrolled through the pictures, I came across pictures of Bigzzy, the famous Afrobeat genius. I stared at the images hard and long; a bizarre sense of familiarity washed over me.

It wasn’t just the pictures; it was a conversation that lighted. I had gotten a freelancing gig to be a part of the team to cover photography during his video shoot. While the make-up team were doing their thing. Bigzzy had told us a part of his story that was unknown to many of his fans.

It ignited a spark within me. I grabbed my camera, the familiar weight a comfort in my tired hands. I went back out into the street. The city, once a source of despair, was going to become my canvas.

Like Bigzzy, I wouldn’t be deterred by the failures of yesterday neither would I remain invisible. I know life wouldn’t mysteriously get easier, but I wouldn’t wait for lemonade to fall into my lap. I would squeeze these lemons, and create something out of my struggles.

My dreams may be battered but they are not broken, I still have a story to tell. And this time, I was ready to be in the picture.