The Photographs

ByLamin Ceesay

On Easter Monday 2019 I photographed my own hands, because I knew nobody would believe me later. These are those photographs, and the others I kept. The book prints them in black and white. Here they are in colour.

From Between Immigrants and Italians by Lamin Ceesay.

My hands, Monday 22 April 2019, 12:22
I know the time because the telephone knows the time. It is the only part of this book that comes with a timestamp.
My hands a minute later, with the date on the phone
A minute later. The gloves keep tearing, and there is never time to go for another pair.
In the corridor of the camp at Camparada
Camparada, and the washing that never finished drying. I lived in this building for almost three years.
At the three pots in the camp kitchen
The camp kitchen. Three pots, thirteen nations, and two chefs who taught me Italian for nothing.
In chef's blacks in a restaurant kitchen
In chef’s blacks. It was never the kitchen itself that I refused.
Thumbs up in the kitchen
I loved that room. Leaving it was a decision, not an escape.
Squid-ink tagliolini with scampi, and a risotto
A plate of mine: squid-ink tagliolini with scampi, and a risotto. This is the work I walked away from.
The parcel from Shenzhen, with the address covered, and the shoes that came in it
Shenzhen to Camparada. A small business run out of a bunk bed.
Copper pipes in a ceiling
Before the great grey sheds, I served my apprenticeship in the cold.
Refrigerant cylinders, the recovery machine and my bike
The cylinders, the recovery machine, and my bicycle. Everyone says it is the gas. It is almost never the gas.
Working on a street lamp
The head of a street lamp, open. Somebody has to go up to them.
In a suit, in the estate agency years
In the agency. I searched houses all day for other people, and heard the line go quiet at a brother’s name.
Croatia: the port, and the dry dock
Rijeka, and the dry dock. Sixteen hours a day, paid as eight.
Chopotino Deli, in the Gambia
Chopotino Deli, in the Gambia. The same place, before and after we painted it.
Holding the flag of the Gambia
There is a country called the Gambia.

Fifteen photographs. The last one is a flag.
Between Immigrants and Italians