Graveyard ‘paparazzi’

By Solomon Koko

He walks to the matatu stage early in the morning from his Rongai home, joining other Kenyans on a daily mission to build the nation. Smartly dressed and sporting what has become his trademark cap, Peter (not his real name) takes the matatu headed for the big city.

But unlike majority of Nairobi commuters, Peter does not have to endure hours of waiting stuck in traffic jam.

His ‘workplace’ is not at the city centre. He will alight at a bus stage close to Lang’ata police station. From here, he walks a few minutes to the nearby Lang’ata Public Cemetery, Nairobi’s largest.

At the gate of the 117-acre land with tens of thousands of faded gravestones, his colleague David (not his real name) stands waiting with a black leather case. They have worked here together for two years. After quick greetings, the two business partners set out for the day’s workstation – an unmarked cemented grave.

Here, they set up their tools of trade – an old digital camera, a photo printer, special photo papers and car battery. Their small ‘studio’ has to be ready in time for the groups of mourners, who will soon deliver another of Nairobi’s dead to rest in peace with hundreds of thousands of others before them.

4 by 6-inch photos

Peter and David are graveyard ‘paparazzi’. However, these snappers are not after celebrities here. They stalk their key clients – mourners who arrive at the cemetery daily. The grieving Nairobians help the two photographers earn a living by buying their 4 by 6-inch photos to take home after the bodies of their loved ones are lowered six feet – or less in graves that are sometimes reused – under.

“It’s not an occupation that I’d so proudly brag about since we reap from others’ sorrow but someone has to get the job done,” says Peter, a father of two.

Jovial mourners

Everyday, they wait with keen interest for the graveyard ceremonies to begin then they join the families and friends of the man or woman in the coffin. And within minutes, the ‘paparazzis’ will have identified the best positions to capture the ‘final journey’ of a loved one.

“We only make sure we don’t take more than three pictures of the same person so as to ensure they can pay (for the photos) in the few times they have been snapped. We also make sure we target the jovial mourners who are camera-friendly and ask them to pose with the ones who are weeping. That way, you are guaranteed to make a quick sale,” says Peter, who reveals he has made more money at the cemetery than he ever did upcountry where he could be hired to take photos at funerals.

The two friends met at a funeral in their rural home where Peter had been hired to take photos. At the time, David was a waiter in Rongai. At the funeral, David observed Peter taking photos, process them with a borrowed portable printer and hastily display them on a hanging line so mourners could see them.

“I thought to myself that he must have been making a kill from photography,” says David, adding that he earned peanuts as a waiter yet he had a family to look after. David then approached Peter and gave him the idea of starting a photography business together at the public cemetery where mourners flock frequently.

‘Resident photographer’

“Nowadays, most people prefer to bury their loved ones in the city because of the rural-urban migration as well as the high transport costs,” says David.

When they moved to the city and set up base at the cemetery, it was difficult to get their business registered since the city council did not give licences to hawkers or any other traders operating from the public facility.

“The council has a resident photographer so doing business here was going to be illegal. However, the demand is so high that the resident photographer sees us, the graveyard ‘paparazzi’, as a much-needed relief. We wouldn’t display the photos outside (the cemetery) since the business will end up in a loss when I take photos and the mourners don’t get to buy them,” says Peter.

Attempts by The Nairobian to interview the ‘resident photographer’ were futile. City Hall later denied giving a licence to a businessman to take photos at the cemetery.

To get mourners to buy the photos after burials, the two photographers opted to process them instantly and display them on a hanging line near graves so mourners could see them before they leave.

Sh2,000 a day

“Mourners come here for a short period so the more you persuade them to buy the photos, the higher your sales,” says David who is learning how to use their digital camera.

Peter often takes the photos while David prints and hangs them on a clothesline they have made with two long sticks and string. They recently bought a portable photo printer at Sh15,000. The printer is powered by a car battery they often carry around the gravesite to be closer to mourners burying their dead.

They also regularly shop for printing paper. To print 4 by 6-inch photos they need an average of 150 papers to generate 100.

Once printed, they use a sellotape to paste the photos of the mourners on the hanging line. Mourners then identity then pick their photos and buy each at Sh50. On a good day, the two will take home Sh2,000, especially on Thursdays “when most people bury their dead”, according to David.

“I had to quit my other job as this one is proving it can pay much better,” said the former waiter, who has a four-year-old daughter and an expectant wife.

Peter adds: “Most people at the village don’t know I’m a graveyard paparazzi. They know I opened a business in the city that is really thriving.”