My path as a photojournalist: three assignments that stayed with me

Malanje, the Sahara and Cairo mark three distinct moments in my career as a photojournalist. When I return to these images, I find the people, decisions and experiences that shaped the way I look at things.

For 22 years, I worked as a photojournalist at Expresso. I covered events in Portugal and abroad, entered realities I knew nothing about, and photographed people whose lives crossed mine for a moment.

An assignment might begin with a subject or a destination, but the story only revealed itself on the ground. You had to observe, understand the rhythm of the place and work out how to get close without taking up too much space.

The photographs in this article come from three bodies of work: an assignment in Malanje, Angola, on hunger; a project in the Sahara for the exhibition Campos Provisórios; and coverage of the protests in Egypt during the Arab Spring, which ended with the fall of Hosni Mubarak's regime.

Malanje, Angola: photographing hunger without erasing people

In 1999, I was in Malanje working on an assignment titled Angola a morrer de fome (Angola starving to death). Being face to face with that reality was very different from knowing it from a distance.

Hunger stopped being an abstract concept. It became visible in bodies, in spaces and, above all, in children.

In one of the photographs, a child is inside an almost dark space, looking straight at me. Behind, the light from an open door turns other people into silhouettes. The contrast organises the frame, but it is the child's gaze that holds the image together.

There is no dramatic gesture. There is a quiet, direct presence. I was close enough for her to be aware of me. In that instant, I was observing, but I was also being observed.

In the second photograph, a child with albinism occupies the foreground. Behind her, other children sit against a wall, with plates and metal containers on the ground. The photograph takes on meaning through the relationship between all these people and the context that brought them to that place.

Faced with extreme situations, there is a risk of reducing someone to hunger, poverty, illness or war. I always tried to avoid that simplification. The people I photographed had an identity, a history that preceded my arrival and a life that would carry on after I left.

These images raise a question central to photojournalism: how do you show suffering without turning it into spectacle? In Malanje, I came to understand that the power of a photograph can come from a gaze or a restrained gesture, without exposing more than is needed to bear witness.

The Sahara and “Campos Provisórios”

The second set of photographs was made in the Sahara for an exhibition titled Campos Provisórios (Provisional Camps).

The title held a contradiction at its heart: what is presented as temporary can stretch out until it organises an entire existence. A provisional camp is also a place where people raise children, establish routines and try to build some normality within uncertainty.

In one of the photographs, a child is inside a Land Rover. The face appears behind the glass, framed by the structure of the vehicle. Outside, the landscape stretches away with almost no points of reference.

The child looks at the camera, but there is a physical barrier between us. The glass brings us together visually and separates us at the same time. The vehicle suggests movement; the child's expression introduces a sense of suspension.

In another photograph, a woman and two men cross an arid landscape. In the distance, a few animals mark the horizon. The woman raises a hand to her face; the men appear partly cut off by the edge of the frame.

The photograph does not explain where that gesture came from. It might have to do with the wind, with tiredness, or with something happening outside the frame. That uncertainty matters: an image can be powerful without giving us licence to invent what we do not know.

This work led me to think about time. The word “provisional” suggests a brief passage. When the waiting stretches out, it starts to shape daily life, relationships and identity.

That tension was what I set out to show: the vastness of the territory, the fragility of the structures and the persistence of people within a condition marked by uncertainty.

Cairo during the Arab Spring

The third moment took place in Egypt, during the Arab Spring protests that ended with the fall of Hosni Mubarak's regime.

Unlike the earlier images, this photograph was made in the middle of a fast, unpredictable situation.

An injured protester is sitting on the ground while several people try to help him. Hands hold him steady, cotton wool is pressed to his head, there is water and blood. In the foreground, a bloodied hand forms the victory sign.

Everything happens at once. There is no room to arrange the scene or calmly choose a position. The framing comes from whatever proximity is possible and from the need to react within a very short window.

The injured man occupies the centre of the photograph, but the image is built out of the various actions converging on him. In the middle of the violence, there is a collective response. The victory sign brings pain, resistance and hope for change together in a single gesture.

Photographing at a protest demands constant attention. The situation can change from one second to the next. The photographer needs to get close in order to document, but that closeness also places him inside the event.

Faced with an injured person, a decision arises: keep photographing or lower the camera. Documenting may be necessary, but no image removes the human responsibility of those who are present.

What photojournalism left in my work

Malanje, the Sahara and Cairo each called for a different way of working: entering a space of great vulnerability, observing a prolonged wait, and reacting at the centre of a constantly changing situation.

The three bodies of work reinforced principles that are still present in my practice: observe before photographing, recognise the limits of the image, and understand that responsibility continues through the selection, the edit, the caption and the way each photograph is presented.

Later, my path led me towards advertising, product, food, portrait and fashion photography. Today I can prepare the light, build a set and plan a production. Even so, the foundation of the way I see is still rooted in reportage.

It is there in the way I observe a person before making a portrait, in the attention to small gestures, and in the ability to react when reality does not match the plan. It is also there in the search for images that are clear, human and made with a definite intent.

Returning to these photographs, I do not simply find a professional archive. I recognise how my way of seeing was built, and the questions that still travel with me.

Circumstances pass. Photographs remain. And they keep asking us to look.