Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Located in Mae Sot, on the Thai-Burma border, The Best Friend School was established by Ashin Sopaka, a Saffron Revolution leader, to provide education to refugee and migrant worker children from Burma.
Photography & Words by El-Branden Brazil
For the last few weeks, I have observed, on my way back home, the development of a new hair salon from its initial construction. As someone who clips his own hair, this new enterprise should really be of no interest, but my curiosity was piqued. How would this new business aim to attract customers in Tokyo, a city of thousands upon thousands of barbers, salons and beauty parlours that can be found on almost every street?
Today was the big opening. Gentleman, who I presumed were the owners, dressed in fine suits and chatting on their mobiles, stood outside. The salon, which had been the home to hairy bottom-bearing builders for the past month and a half, was now home to new clientèle, waiting to get their hair snipped, blown, dyed and permed. Certainly, if I had hair myself, I may even have found myself drawn by the hypnotic power of the modern-looking design of the shop. Indeed, the six plasma TVs in the shop window, that unrelentingly played scenes from a movie about skiing, was certainly tempting. However, it occurred to me that I was getting duped by the razzmatazz. Do six beautiful TVs really mean that I would get a better cut than if I went to a salon that does not have these TVs? The answer, of course, is no.
The nature of the modern consumer world we now inhabit, is entirely about image. Certainly, those six flashing screens, mirrored marble walls and neon lights have absolutely no bearing on the skill of the employees within. Whilst the superficial dressing may well entice initial customers, the hairdressers’ ability would be the final indicator on whether they returned or not.
Everywhere you look today, we are bombarded by imagery to invoke certain emotions about a product being offered. The reality is that we are being tricked into believing that one product is better than another through manipulation of colour, smell and design. Brand managers are playing a game of smoke and mirrors, convincing us through dressing that one product is better than another, even though the product may in fact be the same. This brings to mind my stalwart friend at university, Tesco’s Value Beans, which looked and smelled the same as Heinz, but cost 20 pence less. I could live with a less glamorously designed tin, as long as the contents managed to fill my stomach.
Medicines, drinks, news channels, clothes, restaurants, cars… the list goes on and on, all using design to manipulate us into thinking that the product is something we need. We are told that some products can even make us “cool”, whatever that adjective actually means. I have always been baffled at the promise that drinking a red can of fizzy fruit and vegetable extract can somehow make me become a “cooler dude” than I already am. Or, that a pair of denim pants embroidered with a familiar brand name are any more helpful in enhancing my life than that of another cheaper company. It’s all smoke and mirrors.
Sadly, we now live in a world where the game of politics has, more so than ever, become a game of image and deception; where policy must be packaged to become palatable and even fashionable, however despicable it may be. The build up to the Iraq war, with all the spin and falsehoods that led us there, is perhaps the saddest example.
We have become Alice in a Wonderland, trying desperately to discern what is genuine, good and necessary. Many of us can’t help but to follow the trends and brands that pummel our minds incessantly. And like the zombies in George A. Romero’s Dawn Of The Dead, some of us spend countless hours wandering banally through malls in search of products we have been told we need.
There are some though, who have awakened to the bombardment and are asking, ‘Why?’
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
As much as I love life in Japan, the pristine orderliness and routine often leaves my soul craving for the vibrancy and spontaneity of chaos found in other places. For myself, India is the perfect antidote. Every visit to this extraordinary land, has been an experience that touches a myriad of emotions, in a way that challenges an individual like nowhere else.
India has a diverse population of one billion, that consists of both a massive rapidly growing bourgeois, as well as people living in poverty on a scale that is hard to match anywhere else. Out from these contrasting ways of life is a society that simultaneously exists in a multitude of realities. With such extraordinary variance, it is surprising that any kind of semblance of order can be achieved. And yet, India functions as it has always done, through local ingenuity.
Perhaps, the most pervading aspect of the country is the religiosity of life there. The majority of Indians are adherents to Hinduism, but other religions, such as Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism and Islam, have a wide following. For the most part, members of the various faiths have tended to live together peacefully, but occasionally, tensions do flare between the different communities.
India has always been attractive to those fond of spiritual exploration. Of course, everywhere are the symbols and temples of devotion that one would expect to find. Yet, India’s powerful invocation of the mystical, comes not from these, but rather from the contrasts that are to be found, such as extremes in beauty and ugliness, poverty and wealth, vibrancy and starkness. On every street that is walked, we are forced to accommodate stimuli that are both pleasing and disturbing.
It is often said that 50% of travellers hate India, whilst 50% love it. For myself, I very much fall into the latter group. That is not to say that I do not sympathise with the other group’s sense of discomfort, but rather I find the “discomfort” to be part of the wonderful challenge that India presents.
India is a unique gift to us all, and should be experienced at least once. When you return back to your home countries, you will be forever changed, and you will never forget the magic of Mother India.
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Summers in Tokyo are extremely hot and humid. To the surprise of people outside of Japan, the temperatures here, match those in Bangkok and other tropical capitals. Japanese people often complain about the heat, but for me it beats the hell out of the British summer weather, and certainly I can live with the humidity over Winter’s chilly grip.
Unfortunately, Summer is now retreating, and the sound of the insects will also fade away shortly. The trees will change into their glorious red, orange and yellow spectacle, and then Winter will once again bring its misery upon me.
I wish that I could embrace Winter’s charms like other people, but I cannot: Skiing? Most definitely not. Christmas tackiness? Oh, God no! Snuggling up by a fire? Nah, I would prefer to be in the tropics. Spring cannot come soon enough.
You cough, you breathe and then you sigh… That is life.
Photography & Words by El-Branden Brazil
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
A few years later, on a return trip to Burma, I tracked down these people, so that I could give them copies of this photo, as I always do with many I take photos of in the country. It is my way of showing appreciation.
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
Photography by El-Branden Brazil
There, Mount Everest stood, nobly towering above the many, many white ridges and peaks of the Himalaya. Our small plane crawled along the seemingly endless wall of mountains that suddenly jut, without impromptu, from the low hills and plains of the Nepalese landscape.
Jason and I had spent an exhausting, but rewarding week trekking in the Annapurna region. On our return to Kathmandu, the call of Everest enchanted us. Due to a lack of time, it was impossible to trek to the base camp on this trip. Instead, we decided to take up the opportunity of flying with Royal Nepal Airlines, for a thirty-minute glimpse of the giant mountain.
At the time, the Maoist insurgency was causing some difficulties in the country. On several occasions while we were there, they enforced national strikes, which meant that public transport, shops and other facilities were forced to close for business, out of fear of violent retribution from the rebels.
On the day of our flight, all taxis were brought to a stand still, making it very difficult to predict whether we could get to the airport from the Kathmandu Guesthouse, downtown. Luckily, a bus organised by the airline, came to pick us up. The alternative was to pay high prices for an unscrupulous gangster to drive us there.
We waited for a while at the airport, surrounded by the usual ragbag of tourists. One Englishman sat in a corner, with his much younger Filipino wife coddling him like a baby. Finally, we boarded our small propeller aircraft. As our plane climbed altitude, we could see the wonderful, timeless roofs and spires of Kathmandu and its many temples.
Human structures quickly gave way to the brown, grassy hills of the upper plains, and then the unforgettable entrance of the majestic Himalaya range. Nothing can prepare you for the scale and magnificence of the sight. No photo or beautifully written prose can capture the almost mystical rapture that can be engaged by looking upon the spectacle with one’s own eyes. There is nothing like it anywhere else I have been.
The airplane bobbed up and down upon the varying air currents outside. Soon, Everest came into view, with a wisp of cloud wrapped around its peak. Unfortunately, the windows in the passengers’ cabin were tinted brown, so the natural colour of the surroundings were hard to perceive. However, the captain allowed us to file into the cockpit individually, where we were permitted to take photographs through clear glass.
To the inhabitants of the region, Everest is called by the much more beautiful-sounding name, Chomolungma – Goddess Mother of the World. As tantalising as our view of her was, she seemed drowned among the many other high peaks. There was a certain dissatisfaction in the glimpse we were given, perhaps due to the ease in which we were allowed to view her. I felt like a cheat, undeserving of seeing her full glory. It was as if the mountains around, shielded her from our arrogance for dare looking down on her, as we cruised by in the comfort of our airplane.
I had not felt like this in the Annapurna, where a long, arduous trek had humbled me like a rite of initiation, permitting me to the overwhelming sight of that splendid mountain range’s sheer, white walls. Like Everest, the Annapurna’s magic would have been diminished if observed from the air. Only from the ground can humans tap into their primeval faculty of mind, where the mountain connects as it has always done for millennia. It is by no accident that mountains have been the inspiration for so much spiritual faith.
As I gazed out towards Everest, I made a promise that next time, I would trek to the base camp, where I will be forced to prostrate and look up upon her beauty. Only then, when I am made aware of my own insignificance, can true appreciation and gratitude be appropriately graced upon her.
El-Branden Brazil 