Often in our job as photographers we are totally dependent on drivers. Back in 2004, I was on assignment in Kabul, Afghanistan for the first time and came to appreciate just how important a good driver can be, especially in a place like that where your life can depend on it.

The driver in question was Omar Sobhani, one of the Reuters drivers in our Afghanistan operation.

When I first met him, this good, solid, bearded man with lively eyes, was fluent in Russian, Urdu, Hindi, Pashtun but no English whatsoever; as I had no idea of Russian, Urdu, Hindi and Pastun our conversations were limited and hilarious to anyone else listening, but somehow despite this,  right from the very first moment, we understood each other.

On my first trip to Afghanistan when we stopped the car to take pictures Omar was always calm but alert in an almost imperceptible way. The stops would be very short, with minimum interaction with the locals and none of the usual hanging around or loitering photographers like to do in order to get pictures. In Afghanistan this is just not sensible. The opportunity for misunderstanding in such circumstances is considerable. They may never have seen a camera and will be curious, but they may mistrust it and you and be wondering what you and it are doing in their ‘hood’, whatever the motives crowds gather quickly so at the slightest sign of unwanted attention With one flash of Omar’s quick, electric eyes we would be out of there - quickly. All it took was a look.

We had long conversations in our imaginary language and I admired his skills as a driver; how he drove securely to suicide bombing sites without drama, got us past security barriers, dealt with foreign and Afghan forces, always very edgy particularly immediately after an attack; took unimaginable shortcuts and managed to coax all the power out of the vehicle when it was needed; drove through the Hindu Kush mountain range on the worst roads I had seen anywhere in the world, and all in a very calm and professional manner, without a hitch.

Omar was very used to driving text, pictures and TV journalists in his country and was always curious about what we did. Back at the office when his part was done, Omar would usually peer over our shoulders and watch when we were doing as we edited and transmitted our material.

One day in 2005 during the holy month of Ramadan we were driving in the hills surrounding Kabul and as we came round a corner, I noticed a slight decrease in the acceleration of the vehicle and saw him Omar look ahead, then at me, and then at my camera with a 70/200 mounted on it. There, in front of us was a nice picture of a man praying on the roof of a house on the side of a hill. Omar had not only spotted it but also knew which lens to use to shoot it. I looked at him and asked “good pickchaar ?” he said yes, “good pickchaar” so I told him, “you take the pickchaar”. He looked at me in confusion. I passed him the camera with its 70-200mm lens and he made the picture through his open window.

Later on we sat together in the office and sent his first picture to the Reuters wire. He was happy and proud, and so was I.

Omar had the quick eyes, the attitude and approach a photographer needs. While he lacked English and a knowledge  of cameras and computer technology, he had the fundamental attributes and everything else could be learned. And so it has proved. Thanks in no small part to the guidance and tutelage of Reuters senior photographer in Afghanistan, Ahmad Masood, my friend Omar is now a Reuters photographer and a very good one indeed. He speaks a lot more English than just “pickchaar” these days, confidently uses computers and satellite communications and has done amazing top class work in one of the most difficult operating environments any photographer could work in - and he hasn’t forgotten how to drive !!

I was at the airport shooting pictures to illustrate a Singapore Airlines story when the office rang to say there was an opportunity, if we could move quickly enough, to embed with the U.S. Naval relief operation heading to cyclone hit Myanmar.

Early the next morning I was aboard a U.S. Navy supply ship heading up the Malacca Strait. There were 8 journalists on board - writers, a BBC tv reporter and cameramen, and 3 photographers. It was a 2 day trip up to the USS Essex, and with little else to do on board, I photographed the crew preparing supplies which would be transferred when we arrived. With only experience of ferries to go on I’d feared getting horribly seasick - but was holding up okay, and excited about what we’d find when we got to the Navy ships.

We transferred to the Essex by helicopter. I quickly learned to use the word “helo” - pronounced “heelow” - as no one seemed to understand me when I said “chopper”. The supply ship had been crewed by ex-navy “civilian mariners”, but I’d been warned that things would be “different” on the real Navy ship. And they were.

If there’s one thing this experience has given me it is an indelible association between US Navy ships and disinfectant. Where the supply ship had been pretty crusty, the interiors of the Essex were sparkling clean - floors, walls, celings, everything - spotless. Every time I descended a set of stairs or a ladder (of which there were many) and my nose reached the same level as the deck, I’d get a heady whiff of disinfectant. A few days ago I visited the lavatories in a Singapore shopping centre and the smell took me right back to the Essex - I guess they were both using the same floor cleaner!

On the Essex and later on the Harpers Ferry, we were always “escorted” by either Navy or Marine media liasons. Although we were ”free to move about the ship,” the reality was slightly different. This was good in some ways - on occasions when I managed to evade my escorts, I got lost in the labyrinth of corridors and hallways on each deck and it took me forever to find my way. Hunt-for-Red-October lighting at night and a flashlight strapped to my head, I’d wander around in circles.

Then there was the food. The man from the Wall Street Journal got lost and asked a passing Marine for the ”mess hall” to which he got the barked response, ”YOU MEAN THE CHOW HALL!!!” before being politely escorted to the right place on the right deck.

The “chow hall” resembled a high school cafetaria, complete  with cliques of cool and not-so-cool kids (I was later told that majority of the crew of the Essex and some 90% of the crew on the Harpers Ferry were under 21). You had to be quick when you got in line - there were dozens of hungry sailors and marines behind you, and neither they nor the chow hall folks had time for a sense of humour. If you didn’t know what you wanted, you got either dirty looks or something you really didn’t want. I became good at barking out my meal preferences in seconds: “Meatlof! Potatoes! Gravy!” It was true American cooking - and at meal times you could just smell your way to the chow hall.  I had to reset my body clock  to the ship’s meal times - breakfast at 6am, lunch at 11am and dinner at 4.30pm.

My first time in line as I got to the top of the queue, I took a plate from the stack but seeing that the cook already had a plate for me, was about to return mine to the stack when the Marine behind me behind me muttered, “You touch it, You take it!”, so I spent the next 20 minutes pretending it was perfectly normal to be carrying two plates about. 

The bunks were cramped - 4 to a tiny room, shared showers with everyone else staying in “officers county”. Our Marine escorts remarked on how luxurious this was. They were living in “trees” the next deck down, 3-stacks of bunks on either side of a two-foot corridor. I wondered how sailors and marines manage it - at sea for months at a time, no privacy and no space, on a metal hulk rocking in the waves.

Trying to tell the story of the aftermath of the cyclone from the Essex was limiting - there was only so much I could do without making landfall. We photographed the navy preparing drinking water for delivery, helicopters shackled to the decks not going anywhere, and resupply trips between ships. You could feel the frustration among the crew - everyone I talked to spoke of feeling helpless, even angry, that here was a ship loaded with clean water, food and shelter only 50 nautical miles from the disaster area, yet the stubborness of the Myanmar junta was preventing its use. 

The Navy had been prepared to let media on board in the event of an aid mission, but when it became clear that just wasn’t going to happen, we were transferred back to the crusty supply ship for the slow 2 and a half day trip back to Singapore.

On the return journey there was none of the anticipation of the journey out. Most of us felt frustrated being stuck on a ship with nothing to do and no story to tell. We resigned ourselves to the trip and found ways to keep ourselves busy. What do journalists do on a slow boat back to Singapore? They play the American version of Trivial Pursuit against one another, they play ping pong against the crew, they count down the hours until the next chow time, they read books while trying not to look at the clock too often.

The hardest thing of all was once back on terra firma, trying to drop off in a stationary bed, with no rocking of the boat or groan of the engines to lull you asleep.

GOZ-BEIDA, Chad - Harsh light and shifting shadows in the windblown desert of eastern Chad can conjure strange images, but this was no mirage. Lurking in the shade of a thorn tree was the dark outline of a pick-up truck carrying a dozen men brandishing weapons. Ruled by the gun, this lawless corner of Africa borders Sudan and has inherited the violent power struggles from neighbouring Darfur. The shapes under the tree spelled trouble. I quickly ordered the driver of our battered Suzuki Samurai to U-turn, but as we accelerated away, kicking up sand, the sharp “crack-crack-crack” of gunshots split the air

We stopped and seconds later hordes of sweaty gunmen swathed in turbans and “magical” leather amulets swarmed us, shouting and shoving their weapons in our faces, pulling us roughly from the car while banging their fists on the roof. Grabbing our driver’s mobile phone, documents and cigarettes, and a satellite phone belonging to my travelling partner, an American human rights researcher, the gunmen ordered us to follow them back into the desert.

We’d set out from town that morning to interview far-flung civilians displaced by years of conflict stemming from Darfur and now destabilising both Chad and Sudan. The two oil-producing rivals accuse each other of backing rebels trying to topple their respective governments. There are 250,000 Sudanese refugees in a dozen camps in eastern Chad and 180,000 displaced Chadians, the U.N. says.

Rampant banditry plus ethnic and tribal animosity fuelled by competition for scarce water and arable land mean few can return home.

Most depend on aid handouts, but some 80 aid vehicles have been stolen at gunpoint in the area. In May a French aid worker was shot and killed at the roadside by unknown assailants.

Many raids are blamed on “Janjaweed,” Arab militiamen who roam the borderlands on horseback, raping and pillaging.

These gunmen were too many and too heavily armed to be Janjaweed. They rode 100 or so “technicals”, mud-smeared Toyota pick-ups lacking windscreens, their roofs cut off and replaced by heavy machine guns, anti-aircraft weapons and artillery.

Each battle wagon carried up to a dozen rag-tag fighters armed with AK-47s or Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) launchers.

THIRSTY WORK

Fingers on triggers and itching for a fight, this was one of the feared rebel columns that for several days had roamed Chad’s eastern wilds, threatening to ride westward on the capital N’Djamena, 700 km (450 miles) away.

The rebels made such a lighting strike in February. They besieged Chadian President Idriss Deby’s palace during days of heavy street battles, but they failed to topple the government.

Now they were launching a series of destabilising raids before the rains swelled rivers and blocked their movements.

Fearing imprisonment or worse, I said I was a journalist, held up my cameras and gestured I wanted to take their picture.

Even a dust-covered rebel knows the value of good publicity. The hostility evaporated and rebels posed with their weapons.

Then the battle cry went out and the cheering rebels roared off to attack the nearby town where we were based.

Within minutes, we heard explosions and heavy gunfire and black smoke rose above Goz Beida, a sandy town ringed by hills and camps housing tens of thousands of refugees.

Terrified aid workers hid inside their compounds as rebels smashed down doors and stormed over walls.

At Concern, rebels burst in, hijacked several vehicles, looted personal belongings — and raided the fridge.

One wild-eyed rebel burst into a room where aid workers were cowering. He clutched a beer in one hand and a stolen electric iron in the other, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

He handed over the iron, saying it was no use in the desert, apologized for interrupting their game of Scrabble and politely asked for a can of Coke from the table, saying: “I’m thirsty”.

The rebels ransacked the town. Two people, a civilian and a government soldier, were killed and dozens were injured by stray bullets and shrapnel during two hours of fighting. At the Oxfam compound where we were staying an RPG blew a hole through an office wall.

Irish European Union troops deployed to protect a nearby refugee camp, but came under fire and shot back. Four unexploded RPGs landed inside the camp, including one in a school.

After the rebels left town with their loot, we began inching back there through the bush, until EU troops sent word that angry Chadian warplanes were looking for targets to bomb.

We abandoned the car and set off on foot, nervously scanning the sky. Taking shelter in a riverbed, we waited for EU troops to pick us up using GPS coordinates sent by satellite phone.

Fighting shifted for another week from one remote outpost to another before the rebels slipped back across the border.

On my last night in eastern Chad, shooting erupted outside the house and continued for 30 minutes. A stray bullet crashed
through the ceiling and landed a few feet away.

In the morning, a kitchen worker was asked if the shooting had scared her. She just laughed.

“C’est la musique Chadienne” — It’s Chadian music, the local soundtrack by which people too often live their lives.

“Der Ball ist rund und das Spiel dauert 90 Minuten” - the ball is round and the match lasts 90 minutes - words of wisdom from Sepp Herberger, known as the ’Miracle from Berne’, most famous as German national coach of the team which won the 1954 World Cup. 

The other night we had something like a miracle from Vienna - Michael Ballack struck a thunderbolt free kick to send an unconvincing Germany through to the quarter-finals of the European Soccer Championshop 2008 with a 1-0 win over co-hosts Austria. Ballack’s free kick, right-footed into the top corner and clocked at 121 kilometres an hour by a German TV station exactly describes, what acording to another German saying, is the whole point of the game, “das Runde muss ins Eckige - the round thing must go in the rectangular thing.

So that is easy enough - isnt it??

  
1. Germany’s Michael Ballack (4thL) scores from a free kick during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Kai Pfaffenbach.  2.  Austria’s goal keeper Juergen Macho fails to save a free kick by Germany’s Michael Ballack during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Christian Charisius

Here a some good examples picturewise as well as from a German fan’s standpoint, taken with a remote camera behind the goal - Germany’s Podolski scores past Poland’s goalkeeper Boruc during Group B Euro 2008 match in Klagenfurt. Well done and well shot! - you remember: das Runde muss ins Eckige

Germany’s Lukas Podolski (top) scores past Poland’s goalkeeper Artur Boruc (bottom) during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match at the Woerthersee Stadium in Klagenfurt June 8, 2008.   REUTERS/Michael Dalder

Same idea, same plan, but this time not what a German soccer fan wants to happen - Croatia’s Srna shoots to score during their Euro 2008 soccer match against Germany in Klagenfurt
    
1. Croatia’s Darijo Srna (L) shoots to score past Germany’s Marcell Jansen (C) and goalkeeper Jens Lehmann during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match at the Woerthersee Stadium in Klagenfurt, June 12, 2008.     REUTERS/Miro Kuzmanovic
2 and 3. Croatia’s Darijo Srna (R) scores past Germany’s goalkeeper Jens Lehmann during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match at the Woerthersee Stadium in Klagenfurt, June 12, 2008.     REUTERS/Michael Dalder

Germany lost 2-1 to Croatia - which leads me to another shaft of wit and wisdom, again from a German. Greece’s head coach Otto Rehagel once said, ”mal verliert man und mal gewinnen die anderen” - believe it or not - sometimes you lose, sometimes the others win… right! Too bad Rehagel’s team was eliminated after consecutive defeats by Russia and Sweden, ending their hopes of defending the title they won four years ago in Portugal. As the man said, ”sometimes you lose…”.

But back to the German match in question. Big hopes, emotions, tabloid headlines created an exciting atmosphere long before the match. German Chancellor Angela Merkel arrived with her Defence Minister Franz Josef Jung to attend the match - it is good to know you are well protected and that “the force is with you” when travelling to Austria.

 
German Defence Minister Franz Josef Jung (L), German Chancellor Angela Merkel (C) and Austrian Chancellor Alfred Gusenbauer wait before the Group B Euro 2008 soccer match between Germany and Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna June 16, 2008.  REUTERS/Kai Pfaffenbach

Later on Merkel may well have had some extra lessons in tactic and strategy, when German coach Joachim Loew (as well as Austrias coach Josef Hickersberger) were sent off the pitch by Spanish referee Manuale Mejuto and had to watch the rest of the game from the stands. The double dismissal, which Loew said was due to a dispute with the fourth official, was greeted by jeers from both sets of fans in the capacity 50,000 crowd at Ernst Happel stadium.

1.Match referee Manuel Mejuto of Spain (L) speaks to Germany’s coach Joachim Loew (R) and Austria’s coach Josef Hickersberger (C) during the Group B Euro 2008 soccer match between Austria and Germany at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Christian Charisius
2. Germany’s coach Joachim Loew (C) speaks with German Chancellor Angela Merkel after he and Austria’s coach Josef Hickersberger (not pictured) were sent to the stands by match referee Manuel Mejuto of Spain during the first half of the Group B Euro 2008 soccer match between Austria and Germany at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.  REUTERS/Kai Pfaffenbach

But whatever happened on the pitch during the match no one will ever care about the details, what counts is who won, no more and no less. I hope that this time the pictures of Michael Ballack celebrating will last a bit longer. All his power, aggression and relief came out after scoring the crucial goal which put the German team ahead 1 - 0.

Here you can see how Germany’s Ballack celebrates his goal

Germany’s Michael Ballack (2nd L) celebrates his goal with team mates during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Alex Grimm

  
1. Germany’s Michael Ballack (R) celebrates after scoring against Austria as his team mate Clemens Fritz watches during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.    REUTERS/Christian Charisius
2. Germany’s Michael Ballack celebrates his goal during their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008. REUTERS/ Dominic Ebenbichler

The players and the whole teams are not the only ones celebrating victories - there are always fans. They carefully prepare, paint, dress and put all their energy into drive their teams to victory - and sometimes it works…

1. A Germany fan waits before their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Alex Grimm
2. Germany fans sing before their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna June 16, 2008. REUTERS/Alex Grimm
3. A Germany fan cheers before their Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at the Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna June 16, 2008.     REUTERS/Dominic Ebenbichler
4. A Germany fan waits before the Group B Euro 2008 soccer match against Austria at Ernst Happel Stadium in Vienna, June 16, 2008.  REUTERS/Kai Pfaffenbach  

but for the Austrians not this time.

Austrian soccer fans react after Germany scores a goal while they watch the Group B Euro 2008 match in the centre of Klagenfurt June 16, 2008.   REUTERS/Fabrizio Bensch

Emotions run high. Switzerland’s captain Alex Frei, the Borussua Dortmund striker, was devastated when he ruptured a knee ligament at the start of the tournament, ”My dream is destroyed but the team’s dream goes on,” he said. It was a disappointment shared by the team and supporters of co-hosts Switzerland.

  
Switzerland’s Alex Frei reacts as he is escorted off the pitch after a challenge by Czech Republic’s Zdenek Grygera  during their Group A Euro 2008 soccer match at St Jakob Park stadium in Basel June 7, 2008.     REUTERS/Michael Buholzer

Tonight Germany play Turkey - “mal verliert man und mal gewinnen die anderen”!

It was 9 a.m. in Paraguay when I heard on the radio RIOT IN TACUMBU PRISON. It had started at 8.

The visual impact that a picture can cause is fully validated when it comes from a witness, and even more so when it comes from a danger zone. This is what happened on June 20th when the prisoners of the Esperanza ward of the Tacumbu prison took as hostages warden Mario Pairet and a group of guards.

I headed straight for the prison, thinking about how to describe the horrible spectacle that the protagonists, relatives and friends, and all those involved in some way, were enduring. I thought that when I arrived at the prison entrance the situation might be under control, but to my surprise it wasn’t.

I heard screams from the prisoners saying - they abuse us, they torture us, we need clothing, we need food. I saw police, dogs, weapons and frightened faces all around.

When I passed through the gates I knew it was a danger zone. I also knew that my responsibility, professionalism and rationality were being tested by the uncontrolled riot in front of me.

I noticed to one side of me that several inmates were twisting their bodies to make themselves smaller to pass between broken bars and into another ward.

Moments later I found myself facing a locked cell door with five men, some of them hooded, pressing against it. It occurred to me that this was the ward where the hostages were being held. I stood there face to face with the leaders of the uprising and we looked each other in the eyes. They were angry, and I asked myself if my presence as a photographer helps them or hurts them. They only screamed, “Back! Leave the way clear.”

I backed up and watched as prisoners from another ward handed them cigarettes through the bars. I began to calm down in spite of the fact that I found myself in the middle of the tempest.

One inmate asked me for my cap, the cap I brought from Korea during the World Cup 2002 and that I use constantly. I reflected on whether I could give up something so dear that reminded me of that trip, and I couldn’t. But then he pleaded so persistently and he said to me, “I’m cold,” and I relinquished the cap. I asked him his name but he wouldn’t answer, maybe for his own security.

An hour later district attorneys arrived to negotiate with the prisoners, and by 1:30 they announced that the negotiations had ended successfully.

I took some photos when the hostages walked out, and I stopped to read on the watchtower the words ESPERANZA PRISON WARD.

That was where I had left my cap from Korea.

When Ron Mayland's aerial photograph of the flooding in Iowa was sent to You Witness last Friday, I was impressed with the quality and the access, especially as we had seen very few pictures from the affected areas from any of the wires. The picture and Ron's contact details were passed along to our regional chief photographer, who negotiated an arrangement to secure this and additional images for use on the Reuters Pictures Wire service. Ron has continued to provide quality aerial images to Reuters throughout the week.

View this week's You Witness showcase here.

Among my first photo assignments when I moved to London from Rome in 2006 were the most popular horse race meetings of the British summer. The Epsom Festival and Royal Ascot turned out to be High Society galas and a rendevous for betting maniacs rather than just straighforward sporting events. Still today all the funny hats amuse me and make me believe that cultural differences can be a powerful source of inspiration.

In all probability I would never wear one of those huge and colourful hats, but nevertheless I wouldn’t judge them immoral or socially corrupting. Then, yesterday, some pictures from a stringer in Tehran really shook me up and gave me goosebumps.

‘Morality Police’ detain a man with unacceptable hair and clothing styles during a crackdown on “social corruption” in north Tehran. 

Now that for me is a real culture shock.
 

 Six months ago, after eight years working in Spain I began a new stage in my life as a photographer based in Hong Kong. Here are some of my first impressions. 

HK is a cosmopolitan and very modern place with enormous malls full of posh boutiques like Prada, Armani and Chanel; deluxe cars like Ferrari, Porsche, Rolls Royce and Jaguar riding the roads; free WIFI access in the streets… all in stark contrast to the homeless people with cardboard boxes begging for dollars. 

For the lucky ones life in this incredible city is easy. It is safe, has amazing buildings, beaches, exciting nightlife, nice restaurants and very low taxes.

As a former British colony one can communicate in English, something not generally possible elsewhere in China.   

Organizers of events here love credentials - and business cards. Here, if you don’t have a business card, you don’t exist. With a business card it’s possible to gain access to news conference and many other events.   

It is varied work. I can be seated comfortably on a soccer field with the action unfolding before me, or shooting sailing action from an inflatable boat, or pootling round the track on a retro Vespa during a Moto GP championship and then the next minute up to my my waist in flood water or running 17 storeys upstairs to shoot the Olympic Torch Relay from the bathroom of a hotel…  

Through all this there has been an almost continual process of fighting to obtain visas so that I can cover breaking news stories elsewhere in Southeastern Asia, which adds even more spice and variety to the exotic ingredients which make up my new job.    

Shanghai-based photographer Nir Elias tells of his hike with survivors of the Sichuan quake.