Rarely would they object to having their photos taken. I was surprised at the stoicism of most - shattering my image of the weepy or distraught stereotype of a refugee. Some children skipped rope. Down near the river, women washed clothes. People smiled at me and I smiled back.
Life goes on.
The field evolves Several days later, the camp's population had swelled to at least several thousand. At least 50 refugees had died in the camp. In a cemetery less than a mile away from the camp, I photographed an infant's grave that was marked by a simple wooden plank on which dates were scrawled indicating the baby had been born the month before. Several other fresh graves surrounded the baby's tiny grave. The Blace refugee camp was deteriorating.