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Black-And-White Photography in Batcham From A Golden Age To Decline 1970 1990
Black-And-White Photography in Batcham From A Golden Age To Decline 1970 1990
Jacob Tatsitsa
To cite this article: Jacob Tatsitsa (2015) Black-and-White Photography in Batcham: From
a Golden Age to Decline (1970–1990), History and Anthropology, 26:4, 458-479, DOI:
10.1080/02757206.2015.1074899
Black-and-White Photography
in Batcham: From a Golden Age
to Decline (1970–1990)
Jacob Tatsitsa
Correspondence to: Jacob Tatsitsa, Department of History, University of Yaoundé 1, Yaoundé, Cameroon. Email:
tatsitsa@yahoo.fr
Asked if he was afraid of being arrested, Gaspard replies in the negative. He notes
that he had already shot events for many newspapers, and that every event deserves
to be recorded. I took enormous risks because it wasn’t easy. It was local newspapers
that published my photos such as Le Patriote and L’Africain magazines. I still have some
copies of Le Patriote, he says.
Tatang regrets that he no longer has any negatives or full prints from the time of the
April 1984 putsch. But even if I don’t have those photos anymore, I do have some contact
sheets from that era. They’re still useable because a journalism image isn’t like a studio
image, where you have to add a bit of powder in order to produce the photo. The goal
of the contact sheet is to reduce waste. We bill it to the client because a lot of clients still
can’t understand that many customers aren’t well-placed to judge a photo, he adds.
When a photo was not as good as it could be, Tatang would not deliver it to his
client. He remembers bickering with his wife over a photograph which she thought
was a waste of paper. I threw away so many photos that I didn’t find beautiful, but
that she thought were beautiful, because I wanted a photo stamped as my work to be …
something special, he says.
Since 1986, Tatang has been conducting research in Egyptology and cultural history.
That same year, Cheikh Anta Diop spent some time in Yaoundé. Tatang describes that
occasion as like a dream, because he wondered if a man like the Cheikh really existed in
History and Anthropology 461
flesh and bone like himself. He was not sure, so he decided to meet the Cheikh. When
he arrived at the Hôtel des Députés, where the Cheikh was staying, he was disappointed
by one thing: the pseudo-intellectuals had already formed a tight inner circle and were full
of themselves. I came in my jeans, my tennis shoes, and my beret, Tatang recalls. He told
the men of his desire to meet the Cheikh, but they were against the idea and dismissed
him as crazy. Yet a few minutes later, he said, he glimpsed the Cheikh who was around
10–20 metres away, and instinctively waved to draw his attention. The Egyptologist
came over and took him by the hand. We went up to his suite in the Hôtel des
462 J. Tatsitsa
Députés. He sat down and said, “My son, what can I do for you?” I told him, “The fact that
you picked me out means that you’ve already given me everything, but, just as my appetite
is strongest when I eat, I would really like to talk more with you.” So he gave me an appoint-
ment at SOFITEL that night, where I was able to photograph him.
I talked with him for a good twenty minutes … among those pseudo-intellectuals, there
were some who watched us and understood nothing of what we said. He really taught me
how to think, and so, in a way, did Martin Luther King: those two Africans carved and
illuminated my path. If, in a single instant, just 20% of Africans could follow that path,
we would no longer be asleep on our backs. Looks at what’s happening in Ivory Coast,
what’s happening in Libya; at the same time as these events, people here drank cham-
pagne, ate rich food, spent the Cameroonian taxpayers’ money, up to billion FCFAs, to
celebrate 50 years of [Cameroonian] independence.
Yet, Tatang, for his part, feels that Cameroon is more dependent now than it was
60 years ago. He asks himself how a country that no longer possesses anything resem-
bling the sovereignty of a modern state can believe itself to be independent. I knew
SONEL (the National Electricity Society) in the past, when we had a say in its operations,
but today, those who own SONEL (AES-SONEL [now American-owned]), can get rid of it
if they want to. It’s their cash drawer that matters, not your mouth …
Tatang has always envisioned the existence of a Pan-African museum of photogra-
phy. He did not know all of the Pan-African leaders, but he went to great lengths to
have their images. He adds that in that era, photography permitted him a decent life-
style. He notes that he made beautiful photos and was much sought-after. According to
him, there were not many photographers who made such beautiful photos or who had
History and Anthropology 463
such demanding clients. As proof, he states that the photo below cost his client 45,000
FCFA: beautiful things merit their price, he remarks.
Tatang stresses that he has many souvenirs. For him, what is interesting is that these
souvenirs are not strictly material. As he explains:
Today, I’ve showed [my portrait of] Cheikh Anta Diop everywhere. There are artists who
are very famous today because of my photos. Take the example of the choreographer
Bartelo, and Ekeme who directed the Olympic Club in Bastos in Yaoundé. The photo
that you saw on the wall there, in the open-air show at the French Cultural Center—I
took that photo. I showed it in at least four countries: in Ivory Coast, in Cameroon, on
the island of Madagascar, and in Senegal. For other countries, the photo went there,
but I didn’t accompany it.
464 J. Tatsitsa
From 1994 to 1998, Tatang participated in several photography and journalism exhi-
bitions, both in Cameroon and abroad. He was one of the artists invited to MASA, the
Marché des Arts Africains (Market of African Arts), which included a photography
exhibition. At least seven countries were represented, and he represented Cameroon.
After the show, he staged another exhibition, and the newspaper Le Jour d’Abidjan pub-
lished his photos of the group Nyamakalas from Guinée Conakry and the group N’dai
N’daï. The extract in Figure 6 shows one of the photos the paper published, entitled
“D’une soirée à l’autre [From one party to another]”.
Tatang also showed his works twice in Dakar. The first time, he was invited to an
international symposium organized to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of
Cheikh Anta Diop’s death. For that event, he mounted an exhibition at the Camer-
oonian Ministry of Information and Culture. He also put on a show at Cheikh Anta
Diop University, and still has pamphlets and workbooks from these exhibitions. He
also remembers the appeals of his fellow photographers who invited him to present
in the Caribbean, and regrets letting himself be distracted from pursuing this.
I was careless, but I can always restart things with them, because I can say, without brag-
ging, that I am the photographer who has the last beautiful images of Cheikh Anta Diop.
In Cameroon, there was the photographer from the Ministry of Information and Culture
who had covered the symposium, and there was the Institute of Human Sciences, but no
History and Anthropology 465
one could take as many photos as I could. I went straight to the interviewer. It’s a shame
that the interview wasn’t published. It wasn’t published because in 1990, with my bad
experience—I call it my bad experience in parentheses because I was lucky to escape
from Chad with my skin; my boss at the time created problems that could have cost
me my life and my money—I put the interview aside. Since that date, I’ve decided …
I’ve put certain photos and documents underneath an embargo, so to speak, to show
that I will only publish them in a paper of which I am the director of publication.
466 J. Tatsitsa
Tatang says that he possesses an official declaration about his work, but laments setting
the bar for publishing his work at what he recognizes is a utopian level—in short, for
setting that bar at very high heights. He believes that had he started at a lower level,
for example, with a “tabloid” pamphlet of twelve pages, he would have had ample
time to scale the art photography ladder. Yet he also feels that it is not too late, and
History and Anthropology 467
that his interview with Cheikh Anta Diop, given its depth and relevance, should be pub-
lished despite that it has been more than twenty years since the interview itself took place.
Nevertheless, he feels that the interview remains relevant, because the warning the
Cheikh sent to African youth is applicable today: “If you youth do nothing”, the
Cheikh said, “you will live in hell in Africa, even though God made Africa to be paradise”.
Explaining the circumstances and reasons as to why he took photos of celebrities,
Tatang declares that:
At the time, it was sufficiently complicated, even for a well-recognized photographer, to
take photos of people of that stature here in Cameroon. Under Ahmadou Ahidjo, you had
to make phone calls [to take photos], and in order to make those calls, you had to submit
an application with a photo and a photocopy of your identity card. So I went to work for a
newspaper, and with that affiliation I had access to people and events. But for the past 15
years, I’ve refused to take such photos for personal reasons. Today, the photos I take are
for my research work (he is working to publish a tourist guide).
He points out that he is a relatively self-taught man (apart from his early correspon-
dence course) and had the privilege of reading the lectures of Cheikh Anta Diop.
Tatang says that photographers today are primarily interested in the profession for
financial reasons. Because they place money before art, Tatang feels that such photo-
graphers are not capable of creating photographs of the same caliber as his. Yet he
does not blame them for acting as they do. When asked if his profession brought
him happiness, he has much to say (Figures 7 and 8):
468 J. Tatsitsa
… there are people for whom happiness is perhaps a little bit of wine that they drink,
there are those for whom happiness primarily consists of money … for me, it’s something
totally relative. When I say that to people, as I often do, they usually reply, “He says that
because he’s penniless.” But by what standard am I poor? Someone who owns lots of
things but has an empty head has nothing … I prefer my photos. I still have faith in
Figure 8. From the Tatang Archive: Batcham development group launch 1980.
photography. I can’t lie to you—I’m slow to attach myself to digital photography, because
it pains me. I’m nostalgic because photography today has become like a free-market: it’s a
free-for-all, everybody nowadays takes photos … if you ask a photographer, talk to him in
technical terms, he’ll be completely lost. He can’t keep up with the conversation. Happily,
I’m currently setting up a museum within the framework of l’Institut Panafricain d’Etude
et de Recherches Appliquées pour la Renaissance Africaine de Batcham (IPERARA-
BATCH [The Pan-African Institute for Study and Applied Research on the African
Renaissance in Batcham]). All the photographic accessories that I’ve purchased over
the years will be housed in this museum. For example, it will house the densitometer
that I’ve had since 1979.
Tatang was not the only photographer working in Batcham. Among the contempor-
aries of Tatang were Photo-Samuel (also known as Major), Edouard Fofou (alias
Photo-Edouard) and Martin Mbou. While Mbou and Major are deceased, Fofou was
still available for interviews in late 2012 and it is to him that we now turn.
Edouard Fofou7 entered photography in 1975, and was trained by Jean Mermoz,
who was from Bangang. The latter had himself learned photography from a Nigerian
who had taken up residence in the Cameroonian town of Melong. Fofou came to pho-
tography through an unusual route: when he was born, his father did not formally reg-
ister his birth. Despite the lack of documentation of his age, Fofou was able to attend
primary school, but in his second year of middle school had to leave for lack of a birth
certificate. His father then suggested that he take up photography, but Fofou, angry at
being expelled, went to various colonial plantations in search of farm work. During this
period, in 1960, his father died.
470 J. Tatsitsa
First he worked for COC in Foumbot where he amassed some small savings at their
bank. It was the death of his father that made Fofou decide to leave the COC8 and travel
to Niabang (Melong), where one of his childhood friends was working. There, he was
recruited to work on a small farm that was part of a larger coffee plantation owned by
the colonialist Gremelor. Armed with some small savings from this work, Fofou
remembered his father’s suggestion and apprenticed himself to a local photographer
from Bangang village known as <Jean Mermoz>.9 The apprenticeship cost him
25,000 FCFA—then the equivalent of thirteen and a half months of work. When his
photography apprenticeship ended, Fofou returned to work at the farm in Niabang.
The money Fofou earned from this farm work permitted him to travel to Douala to
purchase a full set of photographic materials. While there, he also bought a five-year
old Yashica camera for 25,000 FCFA as well as an old enlarger for 30,000 FCFA;
equipped with these, he returned to Batcham to start his own photographic studio.
In addition to his work as a studio photographer, he also worked as an itinerant photo-
grapher. Fofou still has some of the first photos he took, though most of these early
photos are now in his children’s possession (Figures 9–12).
For Fofou, the arrival of colour photography brought about the decline in black-and-
white photography:
We filmed and we were the ones who fostered development and instruction … in short,
we were the ones who did everything. When the color photography cameras came out,
our activity started to decrease. But what really pushed me into quickly abandoning the
profession was that I realized that my eyesight was starting to weaken.10
Fofou attributes the decline in his visual acuity to his profession, in particular to dark
room photographic processing. However, remembering black-and-white photography,
he says:
As I was an orphan, it’s thanks to photography that I built my first house. And this, in
turn, allowed me to gather the dowry for my first wife. After that, I built a take-away
stand next to my photo studio where I sold alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks.
472 J. Tatsitsa
Fofou also notes that in conjunction with the decline in black-and-white photography,
the equipment itself has also aged. I gave my equipment to an acquaintance so that he could
use it to make ends meet, he says, adding that that he knew only one other person, now
deceased, who was interested in black-and-white photography. For Fofou, people
today are not truly interested in photography; instead, they are only attracted to it
because the act of taking a photo has become very easy. The climate of Western Camer-
oon poses conservation difficulties for photographs, and Fofou has seen his negatives
decay in storage. Nevertheless, he still possesses an impressive collection of black-and-
white photos commissioned but never collected by his clients (Figures 13 and 14).
History and Anthropology 473
The third Batcham photographer I consider here is Michel Kenne. He was born
around 1941 in Batcham. His father, Mathias Tsakeng, a former envoy first of the
Germans, then of the Franco-British alliance, chose to send his son to a Western
school. Yet after finding no success in an educational environment, Kenne left the
school in 1963. Gaston Tsakeng, Kenne’s older brother, had already discovered the
advantages of the photographic profession, and suggested to Kenne that he begin an
apprenticeship in the profession. Gaston put his brother in touch with a professional
photographer, Joseph Keino, who was then based in Dschang but had been born in
the village of Baleveng. This was hard work. Kenne struggled particularly with a
474 J. Tatsitsa
technical part of his training: handling the film in the dark room. He had to be very
strict with the development timings else the negatives were either too dark or too
light. However, he succeeded in mastering it and at the end of his apprenticeship in
1970, Kenne opened his first studio in Mbouda, where the photographer Jacques Tous-
sele, (known as Photo Jacques), also worked. In the same year two of Jacques’s pupils
(known as Photo Pascal and Photo K. Etienne; the latter was also trained by Keino),
also began to work that in Mbouda and the neighbouring villages. Kenne received
his materials from Douala and Bafoussam, and sold surplus stock to other photogra-
phers and some amateurs.
History and Anthropology 475
Michel Kenne, following his photographic training, preserved all of his film negatives
and ordered them chronologically. Unfortunately, one conservation difficulty he has
encountered since retiring has been rodents: mice have eaten away a good part of
Conclusions
All three of the photographers considered here have preserved some of their photo-
graphic work, but only Tatang seriously hopes that his work will be archived. Their
example stands as a message for all such photographers, that they need to conserve
their own photographic collections (slides, negatives, videotapes, photographs, news-
papers, letters and rare documents). In order to avoid the physical deterioration that
has already affected much of their collections, the material needs conservation, to be
stored in safe boxes and indexed appropriately. Ideally multiple copies should be
made, some of which should be sent to the Cameroonian National Archives and
local universities as has been done with the Jacques Toussele archives.
In his introduction to this special issue, Zeitlyn (2015b) discusses Paula Amad’s analy-
sis of a French film archive. She summarizes an archive as “a bet against the future” (2010,
1). In effect the archivists are betting that the records stored will be found useful at some
point, for some purpose. The concern here is that the bet may never be laid, and the pro-
cesses for archiving the photographic material that remains after the exigencies of village
storage may never get underway. Although very different from Le Febvre’s discussion
based on research in the Negev in Israel (2015) the final result is the same.
As we have seen these three photographers have had quite different careers, yet at the
outset there was little to distinguish them from one another. Their histories exemplify the
arbitrariness of fame and international success: why do many know of Seidou Keita and
not of Gaspard Tatang? In the article I have concentrated on the careers of these three
photographers, as examples of the creators of potential archives. In the introduction I
mentioned some biographical approaches to history, ranging from Ginzburg’s micro-
history to Herzfeld’s reflections of his conversation and discussions with his friend, the
novelist Andreas Nenedakis. The cases I have considered here allow us to raise the
issue of success since biographies are usually only written about the famously successful
(or infamously criminal). It may be that the photographers I have considered have more
in common with Domenico Scandella (Menocchio) the Sixteenth-Century miller whose
opinions Ginzburg could trace through the chance survival of a heresy trial than with
contemporaries such as Nenedakis. Dilley (2014) explored the archives of family and
state in writing his life of the West African colonial administrator Henri Gaden, but
one wonders how that would read when contrasted with, for example, the (yet to be
written) biography of a somewhat earlier colonial officer Northcote Whitridge
Thomas, (1868–1936) who having served in the British Colonial Service in Nigeria
and Sierra Leone in the early years of the twentieth century left under a cloud during
the first world war, and whose subsequent career is unclear. Success or its lack has no offi-
cial place in historical methodology except when it is implicit: we study people who
achieve prominence, which is usually a synonym for success. Even in subaltern studies
and studies of “the everyday” which ostensibly are about those who are not successful
478 J. Tatsitsa
in worldly terms, we still tend to study the leaders and not the followers. The studies of
protest and revolutionary movements, my own included, tend to focus on the leaders and
opinion shapers for these are the individuals who leave archival traces. In terms of the
contrasts used in Papua New Guinea the focus continues to be on the “Big Men”
(with archival traces) not the “Rubbish Men” (without archival traces) for all that the
bulk of the human population falls into the latter category. Be that as it may, to return
to the immediate theme of this paper, the cases I have presented are examples of potential
archives, the “roads not taken” that could have led to archiving, the penumbra of possi-
bility which archival studies should acknowledge: for every document included there are
many that have not made it across the portal, that have not been accessioned.
Finally, we should return to the arguments of the pioneering authors cited in the intro-
duction, and the suggestion that the work of these photographers and their work should
be taken as a resource for historians and anthropologists.11 Like many other small arti-
sans from the early years of postcolonial African states such photographers remain a rela-
tively understudied topic of study and their work provides the raw material for a wide
range of historical and anthropological research on the display of self and the visual
environment. Indeed, we can see the work of these photographers as exemplifying the
struggle to be modern in a recently independent African state, both in their individual
biographies and in the photographic work they created during their careers. These photo-
graphers have documented modernity in the course of creating it.
Translated by Elizabeth Durham.
Notes
[1] There is a large literature on biography and life writing in anthropology and history. Zeitlyn
(2008) provides an introductory survey.
[2] For more information on the origins of this village, see Kenne Fouédong (1991).
[3] For discussion of the creation of this subdivision, see Tatsitsa (1996, 3).
[4] For more information on Bamiléke emigration toward Nkongsamba, see Guiffo (1992, 105).
[5] Note: the interview with Gaspard Tatang was conducted in French.
[6] Then worth 3000 French Francs, c $700 in 1975.
[7] Edouard Fofou, personal interview, 5 November 2012, Batcham.
[8] The Compagnie de l’Ouest Cameroun (COC) was the largest coffee farm in West Cameroon
(2400 ha) owned by group of French investors. They also ran a savings bank (see Uwizeyi-
mana 2009, 333).
[9] The nickname borrows the name of a French aviator from the 1930s.
[10] The interviews with Edouard Fofou and Michel Kenne were conducted in Ngyemba (the local
Bamiléké dialect). I transcribed the Ngyemba and then translated it into French.
[11] A first step is the recent thesis (Mboulla 2014).
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