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< Back Opening Night for The Huli 4 Jun 2014 Last night saw the opening of The Huli of Papua New Guineaas part of the Auckland Festival of Photography. Over 80 people attended the opening night to hear about the Huli tribe - their way of life, traditions, culture and history. The exhibition continues on until Saturday 14 June at Allpress Gallery, 8 Drake St, Freemans Bay, Auckland. < Previous Next >

< Back On show in Barcelona 17 Sept 2023 Europe's first showing of The Dani is now live at Barcelona's Fotonostrum Gallery, accompanied by background on the tribe itself. The portraits, taken in the Papuan village of Anemoigi in 2022, are a testament to the tribe's quiet intensity and traditional values. On display until September 29, the collection includes the award-winning image of Lokop Mabel, an elder in the tribe. < Previous Next >

Members of Culinary Local 226 blocked traffic on the Strip in front of the Cosmopolitan hotel to protest stalled contract negotiations with management. At least 104 people were cited for obstructing the roadway during the protest, which closed parts of Las Vegas Boulevard for 50 minutes, Las Vegas police said. PHOTOJOURNALISM Protests Las Vegas, United States Members of Culinary Local 226 blocked traffic on the Strip in front of the Cosmopolitan hotel to protest stalled contract negotiations with management. At least 104 people were cited for obstructing the roadway during the protest, which closed parts of Las Vegas Boulevard for 50 minutes, Las Vegas police said.

< Back Palliser & Pinnacles 22 Mar 2022 Check out the cover story of today's Herald Travel section to read all about New Zealand's only red-and-white striped lighthouse, the country's biggest fur seal colony... Check out the cover story of today's Herald Travel section to read all about New Zealand's only red-and-white striped lighthouse, the country's biggest fur seal colony, rock formations that formed Paths to the Dead, where bulldozers drive boats into the sea, and where Wellington-surfers-in-the-know sneak away for weekends... < Previous Next >

< Back NZ Camera 2023 10 Nov 2023 Lokop Mabel, one of the elders of the Dani tribe in Papua's Anemoigi village, features in NZ Camera 2023. The intimate, relaxed portrait of him has been selected for New Zealand Camera 2023 - a collection of outstanding photographic images from all genres . The hard cover, full colour coffee table book is the Photographic Society of New Zealand's flagship publication and you can purchase a copy here . < Previous Next >

Platform 3, Beijing Railway Station. And there she was - the fabled Trans-Siberian, ready to take me on the longest train journey in the world. A surreal three countries, five time zones and 8300km of steppe, snow and stations lay ahead... but first of all there was Beijing. < Back The Greatest Train Journey in the World The Press 28 Oct 2010 Platform 3, Beijing Railway Station. And there she was - the fabled Trans-Siberian, ready to take me on the longest train journey in the world. A surreal three countries, five time zones and 8300km of steppe, snow and stations lay ahead... but first of all there was Beijing. Had it not been for this trip I doubt China would have been high on my list. But the Forbidden City, where the last emperor was waited on by eunuchs, and the vast Summer Palace with its myriad of bridges, easily proved me wrong. Thankfully I’d made a pact with my alarm to avoid the hordes of flag waving guides and my reward was an aged souvenir map highlighting the Lingering Interest Courtyard and the Realm of the Multitudinous Fragrance. The palace itself was like antiquity on steroids; a make-believe world that was only opened to the public last century. It was hard to comprehend that I had got there via the modern metro built for the 2008 Olympics, at a very cheap 3Yuan flat rate ($0.60c). Of course, while there were the “must sees” for me the best part of Beijing was the unexpected. Not the Great Wall and the fried silkworms (avoid eating at all costs) but rather the old man singing in the Temple of Heaven, the veiled Chinese belly dancer, and the local in Tiananmen Square who kindly advised that if I kept my daypack on during the flag raising ceremony I risked being “spoken too”. Recent history is never too far away in modern China. But now it was time to leave all that behind. For the spotter, the correct title of the train I was about to board was the Trans-Mongolian, one of three lines that make up what is generally referred to as the Trans-Siberian Railway. Contrary to popular belief there is no express train per se that goes all the way, but instead a variety of carriages and engines that get shuntered together and pulled apart at different stations along the journey. Once on board, I met my new roommates in our 4 berth Kupe class cabin: an Aussie, a Belgian and a Colombian. We pooled our goodies – iPod, cards, bad wine, portable DVD, Lonely Planet guides and more cards – before all trying to unpack at the same time. Luckily I had the advice of a previous traveller, “two levels of packing”. I had no idea what that meant until I found my backpack buried under the bottom bunk and my food, toiletries and books keeping my toes warm. Not that they needed to. There must be an edict that says Westerners love heat and at times our carriage was turned up to a stifling 28°. It may sound odd but the clothes I wore the most were t-shirts and shorts – a striking contrast to the frigid view outside. The haunting emptiness of the Gobi Desert somehow made ‘inhospitable’ an understatement. Mongolia had always sounded like one of those exotic far-away places, and Ulaanbataar, its frozen capital, an answer we should know in Trivial Pursuit. At -13° this was the coldest place I had ever been. To have your gloves solidify moments after taking them off gives you an idea of the chill in the air. Luckily, warmth was only a bar away... or so I thought. Unbeknownst to me, we made the mistake of arriving on the 1st of the month which happens to be a date allocated to no selling of alcohol in an effort to cut down on rampant alcoholism. That little idiosyncrasy was just one of the rules and customs that sets this oft-maligned country apart from its larger neighbours. Knowing I wouldn’t be passing this way again I did what any tourist would do – go see Mongolian throat singers, human contortionists and demon mask dancers. With $1 equalling 1000 Mongolian Togrogs I felt I could afford anything, including venturing to Terelj National Park. Opportunity to hold a giant black hawk? Check. Visit the biggest Chinggis Khan statue in the world? Check. Stay overnight in a traditional Mongolian ger tent? Check. Mongolia was far from the backwater I expected.Back on the train and the one thing you need on the Trans-Siberian is patience. The border crossings remain, shall we say, tiresome, although thankfully no more so than the first crossing from China into Mongolia. Because both countries have a different gauge - the width between tracks - our carriage literally had to be lifted off its bogies with a clunk and a half, plonked onto new bogies and then set up ready to go. On top of Customs coming on board, searching belongings, scanning visas, walking off with our passports, coming back on again hours later and handing back passports, the whole episode took over 12 hours. China, Mongolia and Russia all require New Zealanders to get visas and with the Russian one especially there is copious amounts of paperwork. If you say you’re going to be in Russia from a certain date to a certain date – that’s how long your visa will be issued for. In my case, Iceland’s volcanic ash clouds had other ideas so it pays to give yourself some leeway. Mongolia had always sounded like one of those exotic far-away places, and Ulaanbataar, its frozen capital, an answer we should know in Trivial Pursuit. Across the border and moving again, this time with carriages joining us from Vladivostok as we moved closer to our next destination: Irkutsk. Everything you’ve heard about Siberia is right. Cold, desolate, isolated, cheerless. And that’s during spring. The main reason I’d disembarked was to visit the small fishing village of Listvyanka, a short bus ride away on the shores of Lake Baikal. This little known lake contains one fifth of the world’s fresh water and, much to the consternation of my fellow traveller from Bruges, is actually bigger then Belgium. Bruges Boy and I had been set up with a homestay in the village, and despite some initial reservations we knocked on the door. Olga (yes, her real name) greeted us with something close to a bear hug and welcomed us in after stamping the snow in the corridor. She spoke no English and we spoke little Russian but it’s amazing what spasiba (thank you) while rubbing our stomachs can get across. Unlike New Zealand, the kitchen is one of the smallest rooms, with the lounge dominating as the family centre. It was hard to comprehend that our host who was dishing up borsch (a traditional beetroot soup) had lived through Communism, Perestroika and today’s Putin-ish era, yet you got the feeling that nothing had really changed for her. After lunch Olga pointed down to two jet-skiers on the frozen lake, and thinking we had a good chance of having a ride off we wandered. We waved them down. Negotiations followed. Roubles exchanged hands. More roubles exchanged hands. Before we knew it we were zooming along at 40kms an hour skipping over the deepest lake in the world and speeding down the village’s main street – ‘exhilarating’ doesn’t even come close to describing it! After our little adventure it was sad saying dasvidaniya to Olga, but she gave us some korushka (dried fish) for our next train leg... 50 hours from Irkutsk to Ykaterinburg. Zima, Krasnoyarsk, Novosibirsk, Omsk, Tyumen – all mere 10 minute stops as we headed towards the border of Asia and Europe. Enough time to approach the platform babushkas to buy sausage, bread and some odd smelling cheesey things, and then scurry back to our cabin before we got the evils from “she who must be obeyed”: the Provodnista. From what I could gather the Provodnista’s official carriage attendant duties included waking us up, scowling, prodding us when in the way, telling us to pipe down, pointing at the hot water and yelling in Russian, and letting us know how long we had at each stop. Not that we knew what the real time was anyway; the Trans-Siberian runs on Moscow time no matter where it is in the world. All the while we entertained ourselves and some of the local workers on board by practicing words and sharing their vodka until Na zdorovje (to health) turned into a 50 hour blur. Needless to say, when the train finally pulled into Ykaterinburg there was a near stampede to get off. The city itself has a long, blood-stained history. It was here that Tsar Nicholas II and his young family were killed by Bolsheviks under orders from Lenin and these days it’s a magnet for those who consider the family Roman Orthodox saints. Until 1990 Ykaterinburg was entirely off limit to westerners due to “sensitivity” i.e. military bases, yet today it’s a bustling university town full of students who want to tell you where they’d like to travel to. Ykaterinburg also takes the prize for “most quirky”. Wandering the banks of the Plotinka I came across a wedding party on one of the bridges. Not ususual apart from this: the bridge was full of padlocks – heart shaped, square shaped, round-shaped – all locked to the fence. I watched as the bride and groom added a lock of their own to the bridge fence and then kissed the key before throwing it into the river, symbolising the unbreakable union of their marriage. Very far from the dour, unsmiling Russians you read about. If Ykaterinburg challenged my assumptions, then Moscow well and truly smashed them. To stand outside the Gum department store and look across Red Square to Lenin’s Mausoleum, the Kremlin and Ivan The Terrible’s onion domes of St Basils – nothing comes close to saying “this is Russia”. If you can get beyond the Moscow of fur hats, matryoska dolls and communist icons, I highly recommend taking the Metro just to see the grand socialist sculptures, stained glass windows and stunning chandeliers in the underground stations. The overall impression Moscow left me with was unabated style, and I swear they only let supermodels walk around outside. Even the train was sleek and modern as I left on the final 800km of my journey. Last stop, imperialist St Petersburg. It was a little sad getting off the train, leaving behind what had ostensibly been my home for the last three weeks. I felt I should have had some sort of official goodbye. After all, who was going to poke me? How was I going to survive normal airconditioning? The rush of the crowd put paid to that idea. St Petersburg is the most European of all Russian cities, built by Peter the Great in the 1700s to emphasise, well, how great he was. And in the midst of his greatness is now The Church of Our Saviour on Spilled Blood. Built on the site where Tsar Alexander II was assassinated (it doesn’t pay to be a Romanov), it’s almost Disney-like in its reflection in the Kanal Griboedova. Inside is just as impressive and worth every one of the 250 Roubles ($11) entrance fee. Intricate hand-crafted mosaics cover every inch of the walls and ceiling, each telling one small part of a greater biblical story. Only the world famous Hermitage museum could top it off, and as luck would have it Russian soldiers were practicing their marching for an upcoming parade to mark the end of World War II. Generally photos of soldiers are frowned upon but a quick smile and a nod and they let me get away with it. I topped off my last afternoon with a canal tour of the city – with guide, snacks and drinks on board I couldn’t think of a better way to see the “Venice of the North”. And with that my trip finally came to an end; a trip that was as much about the journey as the destinations throughout. The Trans-Siberian Railway with all its notions of romantic isolation, desolate landscapes and culture clashing cities was indeed a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience, against an ever-changing backdrop outside the cabin window. < Previous Next >

< Back Six Tribes donates to Barcelona 23 Apr 2021 Following its inaugural showing at Atelier Güell, a limited number of Six Tribes prints will be on show in Barcelona from April 24 to May 15 at the gallery. The show in the historic Raval area will feature images from Papua New Guinea to Ecuador to Kenya, with proceeds to go to supporting the gallery. < Previous Next >

< Back Someone Else's World 7 Sept 2014 Guy Needham's tips on preparing for overseas photoshoots is part of this month's D-Photo Magazine article on "Someone Else's World". Included in the advice is what's the most important thing to consider when prepping - "You can be forgiven for mangling a word, but if yu eat your food with the wrong hand or are too familiar with the host's family, it's hard to come back from that." < Previous Next >

< Back The Hamar opens in Auckland 5 Aug 2016 The Hamar of Ethiopia opened last night in Auckland with Guy Needham sharing stories about Ethiopia and talking about the concept behind the exhibition. The opening was also covered by D-Photo magazine who reviewed it online < Previous Next >

Deep in the equatorial jungle off the coast of Sumatra, live the indigenous Mentawai people. Considered one of the planet's most ancient tribes, among anthropologists the Mentawai are most notable for their body art and tendency to sharpen their teeth. TRIBES The Mentawai Siberut, Mentawai Islands, Indonesia Deep in the equatorial jungle off the coast of Sumatra, live the indigenous Mentawai people. Considered one of the planet's most ancient tribes, among anthropologists the Mentawai are most notable for their body art and tendency to sharpen their teeth. < Previous Next >

"Um, aren’t we a little low?!” shouted my fellow passenger over the Cessna’s engine. She was right of course, we were only 50 metres above the ground and below us impala were scattering everywhere. “No, of course not,” I reassured her while secretly enjoying a personal ‘Out of Africa’ moment as she gripped the armrest. < Back Kenya's Lion Warriors New Zealand Herald 11 Dec 2018 "Um, aren’t we a little low?!” shouted my fellow passenger over the Cessna’s engine. She was right of course, we were only 50 metres above the ground and below us impala were scattering everywhere. “No, of course not,” I reassured her while secretly enjoying a personal ‘Out of Africa’ moment as she gripped the armrest. We were half an hour out from Samburu airstrip in central Kenya, a wee spot on the map just inches above the equator, and the entry point to Samburu National Reserve. The landing wasn’t pleasant. My fellow passenger gave me a pained smile as she mumbled off the plane. Unlike her, I wasn’t there to go on safari; it was the guardians of the animals who interested me. “Super!” came the crisp New England welcome from behind a beige Land Rover. Strolling towards me was Tina Ramme, a Professor in Biology who tracks nomadic male lions for six months of the year and lectures at Harvard the other six. (I later learned she was actually saying ‘ su pa ’ which is ‘hi’ in Samburu language, as opposed to being really happy to meet me). Strapping myself in, we bumped our way across the east African wilderness, passing through the reserve – an unexpected safari of elephants, giraffes, baboons and ostriches. Exiting the park, a small plaque caught my eye: “In memory of Elsa, who helped safeguard this game reserve”. “You’ve heard of Elsa, right?” Tina asked. Elsa the Lioness was a young orphaned cub, adopted as a pet by game warden George Adamson and his wife Joy in the 1950s. They released her into the wild and their story, Born Free, went on to sell 5 million books and was turned into an Academy Award-winning film. I nodded affirmatively. Years on from Elsa, the presence of lions is still a hot topic. While the park is a guarded national reserve, the massive area around it is untamed land where lions and humans have co-existed for centuries, sometimes not so peacefully. Which is where Tina came in. “No lions have been killed by a Samburu since 2006,” she said proudly. Working with the Lion Conservation Fund for the best part of a decade now, her specialty is lions who are expelled from a pride – when they threaten the leader – and then become nomadic. But researching nomadic lions is, unsurprisingly, no easy thing. She realised early on that she needed the help of the moran (warriors) of the Samburu tribe, known for their tracking abilities. The moran (pron. mo-rahn) are the fearsome face of the Samburu, still traditionally dressed and armed with spears, and now with cell phones. The Lion Warrior project they are part of not only empowers them to track lions, but also helps educate their communities about the wider role conservation has to play in today’s Kenya. “It’s interesting,” she mused, “The moran have so many parallels to nomadic lions. They both are kicked out of families early in life and can’t return for a number of years.” I looked puzzled so she explained. The moran are the second stage of life for the Samburu male – after childhood and before ‘elder’ – that begins when the young male is 12 to 14. At that age they are circumcised (women are still circumcised too) and must leave home and join other moran in fending for themselves. Over the next 15 years they learn to hunt, kill, protect and live in the bush, and only after that period are they allowed to return to their boma (village), having shown that they are responsible enough to marry and raise a family. “You’ll get to meet them soon.” Sure enough, as we arrived at Sabache Eco-Lodge at the foot of the mountain O’Lolokwe, I was introduced to my helper, a young moran named Dickson. The lodge, run by the Samburu community, was far from what I expected. Described as a ‘traditional African bush camp’, my room came complete with hand-crafted furniture, stone ensuite, solar power and sundowners whenever I wanted them. Mornings started with watching elephants rummage in the riverbed below; days were spent chilling on my own private veranda; and in the evenings the campfire beckoned as dinner was shared with other guests – rock climbers, film crews, tourists and families. Over the next 15 years they learn to hunt, kill, protect and live in the bush, and only after that period are they allowed to return to their boma (village). “Do you want to meet the warriors?” asked Dickson with a wry smile.The moran were returning to camp having tracked lions over the previous few days. Once pawprints or other signs are spotted, they can identify the size and age of the animal they’re following. When they see the lions, they keep a healthy distance and report their observations to Tina once back at camp. I took the opportunity to ask them, through Dickson, what their day had involved. Suddenly, these serious young men become animated, pointing and gesturing down the valley towards the mountain. Dickson explained that three of the nomadic lions had banded together and were hunting in a mini-pack. Seeing this sort of activity in person was very rare and the moran were obviously proud. I was invited to join them for a meal. “Ohhhh, a goat! Now that’s something special,” said Tina knowingly, when I told her where I was off to. I arrived just as ‘lunch’ was being unloaded from the back of a motorbike. Held down by four warriors the animal bleated into submission, its body still. One of the moran put a knife to the goat’s throat, slowly, shallowly, slicing down the skin to part its coat under the neck. A quick nick, and then blood started flowing into the pocket of skin that had been created. One by one the moran put their lips to the pool of blood, sucking in the rich redness as the goat slowly died. The sacrifice wasn’t just because of lunch; the moran were contributing to a celebration that was being held that night. The entrails and liver were carefully wrapped and taken to the entrance of the nearby boma. “We are not allowed to eat with our family,” explained Titus, another moran, “so this is the closest we get.” My timing could not have been better. 29 days before I arrived there had been a blood moon eclipse where the moon ‘disappeared’. In the customs of the Samburu, the only way to guarantee its return is sing at it to bring it back. Tonight was the first full moon since the lunar eclipse and I was about to attend “The Moon is Back” party. The colourful Samburu women were gathered in a group in front of me, their bright beads bouncing upwards as they jumped and sang to welcome the Moon back. Nearby, elders drank tea while keeping an eye on the excitable children. Knowing I was a photographer, the women each lined up to have their picture taken. After seeing her portrait, one of them said something in Samburu to the group which got them all laughing. “What did she say?” I asked worryingly. “Don’t worry,” I was told,” She just said that you’d whispered that she was the most beautiful!” The eating started and the celebrations got under way. Taking my leave before it got too late, I crossed the riverbed on the way back to the lodge. Under the trees I could make out the Lion Warriors sitting around a fire, finishing off the remains of the goat. Away from their family, living the traditions that has kept the Samburu strong, and having their last meal before preparing to track the lions one more time. The Moon was indeed back. Details Fly: From Nairobi, depart Wilson Airport on Safari Air / Air Kenya to Samburu Visit: Samburu National Reserve www.samburu.net USD70 entry fee Activities: Samburu safari, village visits, camping, bush walks, rock climbing, birding Stay: Sabache Eco-lodge sabachecamp.com Visa: eVisa required www.evisa.go.ke USD50, valid 3months before travel Travel tip: Check the luggage allowance of any small planes you’re travelling on. Most have a 15kg maximum allowance including hand luggage, all to be in soft bags. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

< Back Splendid Isolation in D-Photo magazine 27 May 2014 Guy Needham was recently interviewed by D:Photo Magazine. Freelance photographer Guy Needham travels to the little seen parts of the globe to document unique cultures, and for this year’s Auckland Festival of Photography he turns his lens of Papua New Guinea’s indigenous Huli. < Previous Next >