The Stories Not Told
Featuring: A Barely In-Focus Photograph; of a Cup of Tea
No one has asked, but many have been told—why I picked the name Ṣàlàyé Chronicles and what it means. It is a remnant from a project I never began, a name and a theme.
Adding my name was an afterthought, something for search engine optimisation.
See, I like to think that if I never had to work for money, I would be a documentary photographer who spends his days preserving memories—one story at a time. Although, I probably wouldn't work at all because I do not dream of labour.
Today’s photo was shot in my big brother’s living room, along with some of the most vulnerable candids of him I own. To the right, just outside the frame, my brother sits sombre and quiet as his tea no longer makes the room warm. No words were exchanged; none were needed. We mourned differently, he & I.
Perhaps it is true that few things bind folks together, like words that should not be said: gossip, swears, and secrets—questions that do not need to be asked, and jokes that could never be explained. It is a privilege to be acquainted with anyone that intimately.
It has been an honour to photograph in those times & spaces where people let themselves be—from the people with towels around their waists to those with hot tears down their faces. I owe them apologies for not giving them my best.
As I reviewed my photographs in preparation for this post, I observed a gross lack of intentionality and direction. It is inevitable, I understand. I have not been decisive about my future with this skill. I see now that a cup of tea has no context.
This photo represents a skill gap of a sweet spot in visual storytelling that I must fill: the ability to tell complete stories in a single image; through fragments of its sum, as Amber Bracken did with her award-winning entry into the 2022 World Press Photo contest. (I suggest you look that up).
Sometimes, I find myself scrolling through the Instagram accounts of Magnum Photos, World Press Photo, The New York Times, and Svenja Krüger, asking if I will be ready when life happens and I am chosen to chronicle those events.
I reflect on the first words my uncle said to me the day he was orphaned: “Tam…, won’t you take a photo of me? My mother just died”, he said. I should have held my camera instead of his gaze.
I am reminded of when I almost submitted my work to No! Wahala Magazine’s Aftermath open call. I was not prepared to tell that story, I believed. Truth is, I will never be.
The moments are infinite, but life is brief. There will always be stories not told, but heaven forbid it is because we never tried.
Last Time: Numbers and Days
A Photograph of a Clock on a Sunday Morning
I think of my siblings and I. I struggle not to dwell on the fact that as the years fly by, their statements starting with “My family & I…” would refer to me less and less. Would I have enough photos of them on my bedside table or in my archives? Would we be posed, or unaware—younger than we thought we were?
I did it! That’s two Sundays down. Now to wrap up the other 114 drafts. Like I mentioned last week, Photo of the day by Tam is becoming a weekly series—same time, every Sunday. If you like my photographs, you should follow them on Instagram (@photoofthedaybytam & @photoofthegreybytam), where I post random favourites from my archives.
I have to go now. Someone is putting dodo near my jollof rice. God no!
Be kind to yourself,
Tam Olobio
"The moments are infinite, but life is brief."
We do the best we can, and leave the rest for the universe to decide.
Well done, Tam. Direction is not something we all get at once, but in moving, as you have done, we often find where not to go, and what needs to be done. Keep it up, brother.