![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/29cfd197d389b7ef4dc5f575ff9951c2.jpg)
Advertisement
Dominic Nahr: I got into photography when my mom gave me a camera. I have a memory so bad that I don’t remember any of my holidays with my parents, which is not good at all. So she told me to photograph things so I wouldn’t forget. I went to university and started to study film, but I didn’t like working with a bunch of people at that time. I wanted to figure out my vision and style on my own. I quit and went into photography.My first assignment was for GQ magazine, France—they called me while I was on my bicycle in Toronto, where I studied, and I almost fell off. Arnaud, the photo editor, was like, "You want to do an assignment in New York?" I said, "I don’t understand—what do you want me to do?" and he’s like, "Do whatever you do." That was the first assignment that I got and a key moment where I was like, OK, cool, this job really exists.
Advertisement
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/fd87581a603bf780b187c9302d94e8ba.jpg)
This is probably the longest relationship that I’ve ever had with anything.I wanted to know how you felt about book projects, like your ongoing Africa one, in contrast to other projects you’ve done, which seem more kind of self-contained, one-off reportage stories. I got the feeling you preferred working on more open-ended projects, but maybe I was wrong?
No, I think it’s a mix—like, the book projects, they come out of smaller projects. I'm not going into this like, I’m a photographer, I have this concept and I'm going to photograph it for six months or a year. Africa isn’t that place—there are so many stories out there. I’ll do small stories and then out of those small stories I pull pictures into my book project. They are all for my book, but my list of all the cool things I want to photograph is super long. It doesn’t end. I live in Nairobi, Kenya, and I can’t leave, because, really, if you're feeling complacent or just bored, sitting in your house, that’s just wrong—there’s a lot of stuff to do. Even if people don’t pay you, it will somehow come back around.
Advertisement
No, it’s a larger thing than that. I grew up in Hong Kong; I’m not Swiss, German, Canadian, or even Chinese—obviously—I’m an expat. So I don’t have this problem with "going home." I'm always searching for my home, but it doesn’t exist. And when I landed for the first time in Africa in 2008, I got out of the plane, my feet touched the ground, and something happened to me. There was a voice in my head that said, "You’re home." And of course this had happened before—in East Timor, all over the place—because I’m searching for my home. But it was never as nuanced as when I arrived in Kigali that first time.And the other thing that my little voice in my head said was, "Whatever happens, don’t take things too seriously," which I really appreciated once I got to the Congo.
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/4553ca0157bcb0b907cd1ea104e5c40a.jpg)
Before Gaza I did East Timor, which was quite relaxed, then I did Gaza and then Congo. I don’t know—I’ve been to Egypt, covered the uprising and all that, but somehow working in Africa as a whole versus the Middle East, it’s just more touching for me. A lot of times I find myself in the middle of nowhere alone or with just a small group of other journalists covering a news story. That’s sort of the opposite of, say, the uprising in Egypt, where there were what seemed like hundreds of journalists. That said, I don’t think of my work as just working in conflict zones, and I really enjoy also working on features set in normal settings without the pressure of a conflict situation.
Advertisement
We weren’t "embedded," but the only way to get a ride was to go with the military. So my Sudan pictures are of when I entered the country "illegally." The only way to do that is by going with the advancing army or by going in with rebels. The picture that won me the World Press photo award… for that we had to go with advancing South Sudanese soldiers into the North. We couldn’t take our own car, they would have shot at us. We needed to look like we were cleared by head command, which is what we did.They then sent us with soldiers. The enemy was dropping bombs on our way into Sudan and toward the front lines, so having a camouflaged truck is slightly more ideal. Although on our way back the little string that held down the hood of the car came loose and it lifted and crashed into the windshield with a huge bang and little pieces of glass flying everywhere. Luckily, the young driver kept his shit together and calmly slowed down without hitting anything.Talking of sneaking into places, you were telling me another time about having to dress up as a nuclear worker or something to get access in Japan after the tsunami. Risks like that—or the risk of being on the front line with planes above your head—how do you weigh all of those? Do you worry about them much or are you clinical in evaluating what you’re going to do?
Well, I’m worried all the time. I’m always paranoid about everything. But that helps me, I think, to identify the problem and look at the situation quite clearly. I’m not blasé about it—I don’t walk in and go, like, "This is what you need to do to get there," and, like, "OK, cool." I really think about it—I assess the danger and probability of detainment or physical harm, and you assess whether that’s going to happen or not happen, and you look at what you’re going to get in pictures and make a decision.
Advertisement
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/de1d5737210b902e5d908a2ad119b8d6.jpg)
Yeah, the work that you saw was very unique in that sense. I really got connected to the Japanese spirit while I was there. It was right after my father died. I had only been home for a few weeks in Hong Kong when the massive tsunami hit the coast of Japan. As per normal, I was on my way to the airport after seeing the first waves hit and take out all the houses. I travelled with my Japanese friend, covering the situation for Time, and at one point we found a temple in the middle of a devastated area.Everything was destroyed except this temple. It was the only place to sleep and many refugees were there as well, so we slept there. It was a wooden temple and it was in winter. It was freezing. People had recently lost loved ones. I had as well, under different circumstances, but at that point it didn’t matter. It was a very spiritual experience and I respected the Japanese process of grieving quietly and defiantly. I think that’s why it was so surprising when I went into the nuclear zone. Suddenly you’re in a place where human life is non-existent and that struck me. It was very powerful.
Advertisement
They have this bell that rings at 5 o’clock to signal the end of the work day, and it’s like a lullaby—it rings out across all the towns and you stop working. It’s this beautiful lullaby, just ringing out across the streets, and you can hear the birds chirping, but there were no cars, no humans, and when it ended there was just silence. I remember that moment so well.Can you tell me again how you got into the exclusion zone—because you weren’t meant to go into the zone at all, were you? Or you had to do it in the company of minders.
Yeah, initially—in the early days—you could just drive in. There were no stops, no blocks, nothing, because they hadn’t figured it all out yet. You could just drive in, do your thing, and come back out, which was cool, but—of course—totally crazy. And then they started putting the roadblocks up and you had to either get passes, which were very hard to get, or just sneak in. You’d sneak in through gates, or sneak in dressed up as a nuclear worker, or on a truck. I hid under a tarp, driving in on a truck one time; you had to do whatever you could do to get in.
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/0809a5a7a2a614a4b545ffc09a89da87.jpg)
I think this year's a lot to do with Africa. I am not going to cover news events outside of the continent, unless something really catches my eye and interest. I haven’t been able to go to real hotspots because family is more important right now. It's good, because it actually makes you focus on the place you know. Which for me at this moment is eastern Africa. I mean, I wish it was west Africa because the music is great and the food is fantastic, but for now it's mostly in the east.
Advertisement
Yeah, it’s like you’re trying to leave, but if there’s a place that keeps moving, it's Africa. Even energy—anything to do with that is really exciting. The biggest wind farm in the world is in Morocco, and Kenya has said now that they’re going to build a bigger one. On tribal land. That’s not going to be good. They’ve just dug for oil in that same region and there were huge problems and that was a small rig. Just imagine 350 wind turbines—that’s not going to go down too well.Click through to see more photography by Dominic Nahr.
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/0a3db4c5131ed8029dd9fdc87b37ed70.jpg)
Advertisement
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/1f1c9df15611b34be6d097f91f355285.jpg)
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/761ecee73ca5034116973e754023f647.jpg)
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/ea6b223c89568f7a60d0005aeb47ae8b.jpg)
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/3cd2fcfa9bfa5284a533f0b032a15dd0.jpg)
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/ac518cd85a9b32bae81e48514c95eb7b.jpg)
![](https://assets.vice.com/content-images/contentimage/no-slug/b6512148b47076b1170e4097e4db402a.jpg)