During my studies at the Savannah College of Art and Design's "Rising Star" summer program, I experienced a world I had not previously known, full of people I will never forget. Our assignment for photography class was to come up with a set of cohesive photographs using the techniques we had just learned and a theme of our choosing. It seems like on every corner of every square in Savannah there is at least one homeless person, so I found the topic of homelessness to be a relevant choice.

    I took my camera out to one of the more busy squares and approached a group of five people, all of them obviously homeless.  I started with some small talk, and when asked about my camera I explained that I was a summer student at SCAD.  They were all very kind and welcoming, so I decided it was a fine time to explain my project and ask their permission for a few photographs.  Any nervousness that I had experienced beforehand quickly vanished as they were all very understanding and cooperative.  After awhile just one gentleman remained.  His name was James Kitchens, but most of the time I called him by his nickname Zeezee.  We chatted for at least an hour or two with a few quick pictures in between. James eventually informed me that it was time for him to head back to camp.  I thought, “Mission accomplished!  I met a homeless person, photographed him, and got some of his background story." That's when he invited me to come along.

 I had never even known that there were camps full of homeless people in the small patches of wooded area throughout Savannah, and I sure didn't know I would be visiting one.  I was apprehensive at first but James reassured me that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me, and I decided to trust him.  We took a decent hike from the tourist-filled downtown area, through an area they call "death row" (at that time he advised me to put my camera in my bag, apparently this area sees constant theft and murder), and finally under a bridge and into the forest.  As we made our way through the small pathway through the trees and brush it began to rain, and by the time we rounded into the camp it was at a downpour.  The camp consisted of a common area equipped with a few tents and a large tarp held up by long, thick branches.  Under this shelter were a few chairs and couches, in which sat some more homeless folks that I was eager to make acquaintance with.

     My mind was racing as I tried to talk and snap pictures at the same time, while trying to keep my camera dry in the storm.  Most everyone I met at the camp had equally as pleasing personalities as the people I met at the park, and some of the people I met at the park were actually at this particular camp. I was stopped in my tracks however, when one of the men asked me if I would like an umbrella for my inevitable walk back to campus.  How could someone who is making it through the day with just barely enough to survive, want to give me something?  The feeling of human compassion and courtesy I felt at that moment, carried on through the rest of my stay that day, and throughout every visit I made to the camps during that summer. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows of course, though I never want to forget a single moment of my experience.

    It is disturbing to recall the pregnant women who I constantly saw smoking, drinking, and incoherently babbling, and growling.  Overall though, my experience was positive.  I spent much of my time sitting on the porch of a shack.  The shack was inhabited by Tony; we sat and talked about the movies he liked to watch on his battery-operated TV and DVD player, the books he liked to read, and how he engineered a heated shower for his everyday use.  I learned that not everyone is homeless because of bad choices or unfortunate circumstances.  Tony was out there by choice; he enjoyed working his 9 to 5 at a local furniture store and then returning to his peaceful home within nature.  I suppose the term homeless can be somewhat misleading.

     I experienced so many things at the homeless camp, but I will never forget the final minute of my final visit. I was with Meghan and Steve, a homeless couple who were holding onto the only things they had left, each other.  I was sitting down with them outside of their sweltering hot RV (it doesn't run but its serves as a decent shelter) and I shared with them some prints I made from photos I had taken of them and others at the camp.  I found that everyone at the camps always enjoyed receiving a photograph I had taken of them.  When someone has their picture taken, they know that they are worth photographing, and their existence is acknowledged.

    As we were looking through the photos, Steve invited me to go see a local band that was playing the next day, at which point I had to inform him that this was my last day in Savannah.  Meghan had, at one point, broken just about every bone in her body from a suicide attempt off an extremely high bridge, so I had to lean over to hug her goodbye.  I then turned to Steve who I also hugged, and I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I had been given the opportunity to bond with these people.  As I was walking away I looked back and threw up a peace sign, and Steve put his hands together and said, "namaste."  Namaste can be interpreted as "the spirit in me respects the spirit in you."  It is clear to me that I will never forget my experience with the "homeless" of Savannah, and will never lose the feeling of closeness to my fellow man that I gained from it.