The portrait of Kanamutico of the Vatwa tribe will be on the walls of The Glasgow Gallery of Photography in its upcoming Open exhibition, to be held in the UK from 7-31 October < Back Kanamutico goes to Scotland 25 Jun 2026 The portrait of Kanamutico of the Vatwa tribe will be on the walls of The Glasgow Gallery of Photography in its upcoming Open exhibition, to be held in the UK from 7-31 October The photograph of the boy siting inside the opening of a ndjuwo (hut) was taken in southern Angola's Oncocua region as part of a study of the semi-nomadic Vatwa tribe. The Vatwa exhibition has already shown in Melbourne, Australia with a pop-up in Vienna, Austria next. < Previous Next >

Last night Guy Needham spoke at the Auckland Photographic Society about his travel photography experiences and his recent Shades of Otara exhibition. < Back Issues around Permission 23 Oct 2015 Last night Guy Needham spoke at the Auckland Photographic Society about his travel photography experiences and his recent Shades of Otara exhibition. As well as talking about photographic styles, issues around permission, and cultural awareness, Guy took questions on everything from staging an exhibition to low profile street shooting. < Previous Next >

This week Guy Needham went along with thousands of others to watch the first rodeo to be held in the world each year, the Warkworth Rodeo... < Back First Rodeo in the World 3 Jan 2025 This week Guy Needham went along with thousands of others to watch the first rodeo to be held in the world each year, the Warkworth Rodeo... As one of New Zealand's premiere rodeos, it is full of the usual events such as barrel racing, bull riding, saddle bronc riding, steer wrestling and breakaway roping. Interest in the event has only grown over the years, no doubt helped by the global TV phenomenon that is Yellowstone. You can see a sample of the images here < Previous Next >

The sixth instalment of Guy Needham's tribal series opened in Auckland last night to a packed Grey gallery. < Back The Hadzabe opens in Auckland 29 May 2019 The sixth instalment of Guy Needham's tribal series opened in Auckland last night to a packed Grey gallery. You've still got time to see The Hadzabe of Tanzania, on show until June 8, and if you'd like to find out more about this fascinating tribe come along to the Q&A session this Saturday at Noon at 37 Scanlan St, Grey Lynn. < Previous Next >

Portrait Magazine, a digital publication dedicated to portrait photography, has chosen The Hadzabe of Tanzania to be featured in its latest issue amongst six other photographic projects. < Back The Hadzabe in Portrait Magazine 19 Sept 2020 Portrait Magazine, a digital publication dedicated to portrait photography, has chosen The Hadzabe of Tanzania to be featured in its latest issue amongst six other photographic projects. The brainchild of Mexican photojournalist Alex Coghe, the magazine can be purchased here . < Previous Next >

“Why Albania?” “Why not?” “What have they done to us?” “What have they done for us?” “Nothing….” “See, they keep to themselves. Shifty. Untrustable.” < Back Why Albania 4 Jun 2015 “Why Albania?” “Why not?” “What have they done to us?” “What have they done for us?” “Nothing….” “See, they keep to themselves. Shifty. Untrustable.” No, not a weird conversation about where to holiday but a scene from Wag The Dog, where Robert De Niro and Dustin Hoffman are deciding who America should go to war with. Thankfully it never happened, but if it had you can bet Albania would have been ready. Dotted along its coastline are thousands of concrete bunkers to protect it from invasion - the paranoid legacy of communist dictator Enver Hoxha. It had been 20 years since communism had died and I was in Albania to see how much the country had changed. To the outside world Albania is still a mystery; a former Socialist People’s Republic “somewhere near Greece where everyone is poor and backward and ride donkeys and the women have moustaches” (they don’t). Sure, it’s not the most advanced country in the world but that’s what makes it so unique. Where else would you see grass being cut on the main square with a scythe? Or a foreign street named after George W Bush? My quest to discover today’s Albania began in its capital, Tirana. In the 1990s the former mayor - himself an artist - came up with the idea of painting the ubiquitous apartment blocks different colours, to brighten up residents’ lives. As a result the city’s a lot more attractive these days, but it’s never going to win a beauty pageant. No matter, what Tirana lacks in looks it makes up for in character. From the never-ending cacophony of horns as three-wheeled trucks fight with motorbikes navigating Skanderbeg Square, to elderly men warily drinking tea to pass the time of day, the capital of Albania is truly a mish-mash of east meets west with a victor yet to be decided. As the capital, all roads lead to Tirana and you certainly know when you’re on them. “Pot-holed” is an understatement but bouncing up and down in the back of a furgon taxi adds to the sense of adventure. In typical Balkan fashion these shared taxis have no set schedule (nor departure point for that matter); as soon as they’re full, they’re off. I managed to catch an early morning one and only had to wait 15 minutes before the chugging Mercedes starting making its way to my next destination, Berat. After two hours of Albanian viba-train I was relieved to finally arrive. “Somewhere near Greece where everyone is poor and backward and ride donkeys and the women have moustaches” Berat is a charming 2400 year old Ottoman town with houses built one on top of another, earning itself the moniker ‘Town of a Thousand Windows’. I was excitedly met by my host and taken to his ‘welcome room’ for a shot of rakija (a fermented alcoholic drink that’s probably illegal elsewhere). The room itself was magic: traditional curved brick walls, pigeons cooing on the sill, strings of onions hanging from rafters, and the waft of slowly cooking lamb. Another rakija was poured. “Are you going to the Xhiro tonight?” he asked. “It’s Monday so it should be good.” He pointed down to the town. The Xhiro (pronounced ‘giro’), as it turns out, is one of the most curious rituals I have come across. At a time when we might be watching primetime TV the inhabitants of Berat are walking back and forth down a closed off boulevard, dressed to the nines like its 1987. Furtive glances are exchanged as Europop seeps from the cafes. This is dating, Albania-style. In a country where pre-marriage relations are frowned upon and the Western version of ‘going out’ is non-existent, the nightly Xhiro is the one opportunity to size up potential partners. Like someone? Your relatives can talk to their relatives. We joined in – the walking, not the dating – and amongst the fried sweetcorn hawkers and popped collars you could sense the locals enjoying themselves. Berat was also where I saw another sign that times have changed. Mount Shpirag, behind the entrance to the township, once had the name “Enver” (after the former dictator) spelt out in huge letters on the mountainside. Today they’ve been rearranged to spell “N.E.V.E.R” – a very large, defiant statement not to repeat the past. Of course not all of the past was bad. My guide, a Tirana native who had spent much of his life in construction openly opined, “Under communism, we always had a job. No matter how small. Now look around you.” He waved his arm across the square. Men of working age were sitting around doing not much. It was 2:30pm on a weekday. He did admit though that since ‘freedom’ he now had enough money to send his daughter to Germany to study which he would never have been able to do “in the old days”. The final stop on my journey was Shkodra, a town bordering Montenegro. With a castle above and lake below it prides itself as being a little more Balkan-esque than the rest of Albania. Certainly, it has its fair share of al fresco restaurants, tourist-oriented ‘lodges’ and fresh food stalls; Shkodra was a cosmopolitan surprise. One of my favourite moments happened just as I was leaving town and looking to spend the last of my LEK on some meaningful souvenirs. An old woman at the bus stop dangled some woollen socks in my face in the hope that this foreigner would buy them - despite me sweltering in the 35 degree heat. I followed her back to her knitting, and after much hand gesticulation I gave her cash, she gave me some socks, and topped it off with an Albanian ‘smile’. As the bus pulled out I gave her a wee nod, and thought about all the changes she’d seen. After 20 years, capitalism had replaced communism and pester-power had replaced paranoia. The Albania of old was no longer there and yet, as the country was finding itself – with infrastructure and systems still to come – I felt lucky to have seen the Albania of today, knowing that it’s special quality would change again 20 years from now. < Previous Next >

Melbourne's Ladder Art Space will be showing the Vatwa exhibition as part of their 2026 programme, bringing to Australia one of Angola's most intriguing tribes. < Back The Vatwa go to Melbourne 7 Oct 2025 Melbourne's Ladder Art Space will be showing the Vatwa exhibition as part of their 2026 programme, bringing to Australia one of Angola's most intriguing tribes. Regarded as the first indigenous inhabitants of the Angola's Onconcua region, no-one knows exactly where they originally came from, not even their chief. In May next year a curated selection of captivating portraits will be on show in Melbourne accompanied by texts sharing the lifestyle, history and social structures of this semi-nomadic tribe. The Vatwa are the ninth in Guy Needham's Tribal series, which to date has included indigenous peoples in Africa, Asia, the Pacific and South America. < Previous Next >

I was warned about getting shot in Colombia. The balaclava, reflective sunglasses and combat fatigues in the southern city of Pasto were a giveaway. I should have just run. Instead, I'm hit twice - not with bullets but with white foam shooting out of a canister by a 12-year old boy shouting “Viva Pasto!” < Back Colour in the Streets Get Lost Magazine 6 Apr 2018 I was warned about getting shot in Colombia. The balaclava, reflective sunglasses and combat fatigues in the southern city of Pasto were a giveaway. I should have just run. Instead, I'm hit twice - not with bullets but with white foam shooting out of a canister by a 12-year old boy shouting “Viva Pasto!” That gushing “spssstttttttt” was my intro to El Carnaval de Negros y Blancos (Black and Whites' Carnaval), a five day party held in January that just happens to be the world’s biggest foam fight. The Carnaval is the loudest, longest and messiest festival in southern Colombia, and a real celebration of cultures. To be fair, at the time the trigger is pulled I’m distracted by street vendors yelling, “Some goggles for you, senõr ? A sombrero, cheap?”Now I understand why. Of course, in truehorse-bolted fashion, I purchase a ridiculouslyoversized sombrero and a ‘foam-proof’ poncho to protect myself. Post splatter, I sheepishly make my way back to the hotel. The security-conscious manager, Jaime, is waiting behind a locked door. Letting me in with a chuckle, he looks at me with pity. “You got shot on your first day?! Bienvenido a Colombia! ” After cleaning myself up, I cautiously head towards Plaza del Carnaval, the main square of Pasto and the centrepiece of all things Carnaval. My peripheral vision is working overtime – it seems like every second person is armed with a carioca, an aluminium foam canister, cocked at the ready. Squeezing in next to a family, I proudly introduce myself in halting Spanish, adding “ Viva Pasto!” as if it is some sort of protective cloak. We are jostling among the thousands who have gathered to celebrate La Familia Castañeda – a colourful family who, when they arrived in Pasto in 1929, walked smack-bang into the middle of a horse parade and started randomly waving to the crowd. The Castañeda family became so popular they now have a dedicated parade in their honour. The vibe is electric. We cheer on the performers dressed in 1920s attire as they dance and sing their way past the masses, their vibrant costumes lighting up the parade like the hot Colombian sun. The performance is barely finished before I am hit with foam again, but this time it gets me in the mouth. In an attempt to escape, I hurtle down the main street and find myself at a security checkpoint to a concert, being pat down by a member of the policia. What an entry to Colombia I’ve made. I decide to take it all in my festival-stride and finish the night with a chorizo and a few local Poker pale ales. The next morning Jamie intercepts me as I’m leaving to hit the streets on day four of the Carnaval. “Hey, you got Vaseline?” he whispers. It seems like an oddly personal question. “Huh?” I reply. “Your face,” he says, “the Vaseline, to get grease off.” This is his not-so-subtle way of warning me that it is Dia de Negros (Day of the Blacks). This event marks the day African slaves were freed, and it’s now celebrated with partygoers taking to the streets with black paint smeared across their faces as a sign of respect, symbolising the unity between all ethnicities. My peripheral vision is working overtime – it seems like every second person is armed with a carioca Paint decorates the faces of the masses, and before long I realise I should have taken his advice and packed the Vaseline. My own face gets smudged and I’m greeted back to the hotel with a shake of the head and a smile from Jamie sending a telepathic ‘I told you so’. The pinnacle of the Carnaval is the Grand Parade that falls on Dia de Blancos (The Day of the Whites). This is the cause of all the foam, flour bombs and talcum powder, but before the war starts, a spectacular kaleidoscope of floats takes to the streets. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The floats are covered in colourful and intricate details, and showers of confetti and streamers rain down as tiers of performers dance atop the four-storey-high structures. Cumbia rhythms blast from massive speakers and mechanical heads roar and bob about to the beat alongside the larger-than-life costumedcharacters who dance the streets lined with an enthusiastic crowd. I feel a hand close around my arm and I’m pulled towards a woman. It’s La Lloronda , the legendary ghost who steals children, and she is not to be denied. Doing my best not to look uncoordinated, we salsa Cali-style, spinning and twirling throughout the parade to the sound of laughter, cheers and applause from my fellow spectators. After five hours the show finally comes to an end. Looking around, there is now more white stuff on the ground than in any episode of Narcos. The foam battles have already started up again so I’m pretty grateful there is only 200 metres between my hotel room and my location. Not close enough, it would seem. The powder hits me square on the ear, and it’s impossible not to grin from that one to the other. “ Arriba Pasto! ” Details Get there: Qantas flies to Santiago, Chile, and then take connecting flights on Latam or Avianca from Santiago to Bogota to Pasto www.qantas.com . It is best to arrange a transfer in advance from the airport to your hotel, which should cost approximately 40,000 Colombian Pesos ($18) for the 45min ride. Wear a seatbelt. Stay there: The Hotel Boutique Casa Lopez is perfectly placed between the Plaza del Carnaval and Plaza de Narino – a more casual fun square. The hotel is built in the Spanish style, with restaurant on site, free wi-fi throughout, friendly staff and a relaxed atmosphere. www.facebook.com/hotelcasalopezpasto or on www.Booking.com . Four nights cost 858,000 Colombian Pesos ($377 Tour there: Your hotel manager can arrange local guides, and it’s probably the best way to go as they know their reputation depends on it. You don’t need a guide to the festival, and best of all it’s free. Just get there early and buy a plastic stool off the vendors. Get Informed: Check out Off2Colombia as starting point www.off2colombia.com . The best site about the Carnaval has detail of what to expect every day and is… only in Spanish. Get the Google Translate extension for Chrome or Safari and check out www.carnavaldepasto.org Get in the Know Pablo Escobar was arrested in Pasto when he was caught smuggling 18 kilos of cocaine into Colombia from Peru in truck tires The local culinary delicacy is Guinea Pig, ‘cuy’, which tends to be available roasted. Mmmmmmm. Pasto was founded by the Spanish conquistador Sebastián de Belalcázar in 1537 as he plundered his way south Road rules are more a ‘guide’ as taxi drivers play chicken with petrol tankers on the mountain roads 8000 feet above sea level Near Pasto is the spectacular Las Lajas Sanctuary, a gothic bridge-church built on the site of an apparition of the Virgin Mary. Original publication: Get Lost Magazine < Previous Next >

Guy Needham is an international photographer noted for his work with indigenous tribes, who primarily draws on themes of culture, identity and place.

In an exclusive interview with D-Photo magazine Guy Needham talks about the lengths he went to to get the shots for his upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia. < Back The Mentawai in D-Photo Magazine 19 Jul 2017 In an exclusive interview with D-Photo magazine Guy Needham talks about the lengths he went to to get the shots for his upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia. The article reveals what it's really like as a photographer where a contrast in culture is the least of your worries. Read journalist Adrian Hatwell's article here . < Previous Next >

The Vatwa of Angola debuted in Melbourne last night, with Australians seeing and hearing for the first time about this remote indigenous tribe. < Back Opening night in Melbourne 11 Apr 2026 The Vatwa of Angola debuted in Melbourne last night, with Australians seeing and hearing for the first time about this remote indigenous tribe. The opening night of the Vatwa of Angola at Ladder Art Space saw a number of conversations about the Vatwa, their customs, and their culture. Showcasing a select number of portraits taken during the week Guy Needham spent with them, the exhibition is on show until 2 May in Kew. < 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 >