Salah Benacer

It was noon when I arrived at the Awakening Centre of Antoby. The heat was overwhelming, the white ground violently reflected the light, the village square was deserted.

As I went through the door of the first building, I found myself in a large room. A great silence prevailed. On the floor lay patients with their feet chained. Their eyes were empty. A woman was wrapped in a blanket, despite the heat. A patient played with a soccer ball made with the shreds of his sheet. Some looked at me disconcerted, others ignored me.

I applied myself to taking very close up pictures. I came as close as possible, making as little noise as I could, as if the silence was synonymous with meditation, as if everybody was still there.

I hoped for a reaction. Nothing happened.

Just the madness. The heat. The silence.

With time, we exchanged a little. Very simply. A handshake, a smile, a photograph, before the eyes became empty again. Before silence took back its place.

Taking pictures became meaningless....

At first, during the Thursday morning bath, I was touched by the contrast of those fragile bodies against the concrete floors. Then, amidst the sound of the water on the light, I saw the enjoyment of these patients. The water flowed over them as if time and loneliness were not a hinderance anymore. Nor was the madness fort that matter.

"The devil is responsible" said the Pastor who was in charge of the centre. So on Sunday and Monday afternoons, angels would come! In the church, among a crowd on the verge of apoplexy and dehydrated by the dryness of the air, these angels called upon Jesus of Nazareth to deliver these poor souls from their "chains".

Maybe that is what one calls madness, those looks, those voids, those silences, that despair. I still don't know.

I know we must not hasten to judge: the Awakening Centre is run by the Lutheran Church of Madagascar. Their monthly budget is 150 euros per month (which proceed from gifts or from the sale of vegetables organised at the end of the services). There are 198 patients in the centre: sick, mentally or physically handipcapped, addicted to drugs. Some of them come from distant villages and have been there for years. Some patients come with a relative who will take care of their meals and hygiene while the treatment lasts. Others had been abandonned at the entrance of the village. Once the 'healing' has been declared by the Village Council (and approved by an 'angel'), the patient may benefit from a plot of land within the village where he is free to build a hut. He will also become a part of the benevolent staff of the centre.

But what of the dignity and future of the more affected patients whose living conditions offer little hope due to the lack of modern means of diagnosis and treatment...

However, the center of Antoby at least reaches out to these patients in a country where faith is great.

Salah Benacer

Raoul Biagioni

Collection of photos from Vietnam taken between May and July 2002.

Yoshikazu Iwahashi

Nagasaki-based photographer specialising in capturing the daily life of his city.

Andrea di Martino

Andrea Di Martino is an Italian photojournalist who's been working as a freelance photographer since 1998. He specialises in social photography and works with several foundations and ONGs in Italy and Latin America. Currently, he lives in Venezuela and exhibits frequently at individual and collective exhibitions.

In Revolver we're presenting his photographs from Carabayllo quarry, located on the outskirts of the city. The place is ungrateful: no trees and no grass, only rocks; yet for many families who come here from faraway villages with the hope of improving their financial situation, stone has become the only source of income. Children also do the hard work and work with hammers bigger than themselves.