Maono Conservation

In 1971, when I was four, my parents bought me a Fisher-Price toy camera that didn't take photos. My mom said I had that thing everywhere we went and "took" pictures of everything. I got hooked at an early age.

After a couple of 110-cartridge format point-and-shoots, my first real camera came in 1978 when I was in the fifth grade. I bought a shiny new 35mm Pentax MX using the money I made from mowing lawns and shoveling snow. With this camera, I began to learn the real intricacies and occasional disappointments of photography...once opening the camera back on a visit to Alaska before I had rewound the exposed film. This was my first experience with the perils of production, and I still remember the lesson today.

*Andrew with his first "camera” and grandparents, Pasadena, CA, 1971*

Fast forward to 1988, and after a rocky start to college, I enrolled in the TV and film production track at Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara, CA. At this fantastic, small, very technical school, I learned to love the art and science of working with film and creating imagery. I'm not sure how most people get into this odd career choice, but for me, it was the pure joy of processing that shot you made or seeing your 16mm print for the first time. With all the wonderful possibilities digital technology has bestowed upon us, it has taken that element of surprise and trusting your gut out of the equation. And for me, that was a lot of fun when you looked at the beautiful processed negative, knowing you nailed it.

I got my first real taste of the incredible experiences a camera could make possible on a trip to Sudan in late 1988, just shortly before Osama bin Laden decided to call it home. My mom worked for the UN IAEA and was assigned to install new medical diagnostic equipment in the Khartoum hospital. For a country with such natural beauty and kind people, it’s been ravaged forever, so she asked me to come along for the month she was to be there. We were advised to bring cockroach-killing spray to the hotel, and we used it all the first two nights.

The cameras of choice were a Pentax K1000 body and my trusty old MX. I had a 24mm, a 50mm, a short telephoto zoom, and 30 rolls of film. Roughly 36 images a day for the month-long trip. As a side note, I've taught many film school courses and have given an assignment where the students are only allowed to shoot 30 sequential images and use 10 to tell a story. I'm pretty sure I can hear their brains melting as I assign this task. (I verify by looking at the metadata file numbers).

One day, while visiting the University of Khartoum, a young man named Majoob Ali Majoob approached me and asked if I would practice English with him as a trade to guide me around the city. We spent many hours together walking through various neighborhoods, talking in English as I took photos. He could not believe I owned a car. I would later teach him to swim.

Soon after, he proposed a trip, one I accepted as only a naïve 21-year-old would, not knowing the actual dynamics happening in the nation then and, sadly, also now. If I paid for the bus tickets, we would go around the country for two weeks to visit his relatives in Kassala, on the Ethiopian border, and Port Sudan, on the Red Sea. It sounded like a fantastic journey through one of the poorest nations on Earth.

During this time, I also visited a refugee camp along with a UN doctor, where I was attacked by a mob for taking photos. We escaped only when a plainclothes Sundanese security man got in the car and ordered us to drive through the crowd. Thankfully, I had my photo permit, which took three days of visiting various offices to obtain. I quickly learned the limitations of my take-for-granted Western freedoms and the risks of photojournalism.

Very early the following morning, weaving through camels going to market, we boarded a battered old American school bus for the adventure. I had a small backpack with a few clothes, two rolls of toilet paper, six glass bottles of Pepsi (in the days before plastic bottled water), and my camera gear. During the first 17-hour ride, there was a steel barrel of muddy water in the front of the bus, and if you needed a drink, you raised your hand, and the attendant at the front would fill a dented metal cup and hand it down the rows to your place, everyone using the same cup. There was no standing up since they folded a seat into the aisle as the bus filled. For lunch, we stopped by a roadside tent that served only one dish—some sinewy meat in brown liquid. I did not ask and gulped it down with hot Pepsi. I would drink hot Pepsi for two weeks, buying every bottle I could find along the way, as Majoob constantly threatened to steal my toilet paper, saying it was an unnecessary waste of space. I was steadfast in my protection of that precious resource.

*Andrew and Majoob, Kassala, Sudan, 1988*

During this time, I was slowly learning the foundations of storytelling in foreign lands, working within entirely unknown cultures, trying to illustrate local life, and the fundamental power of the camera, both at conveying the world to others and opening the world to myself. It brought me an unexpected appreciation and understanding of our planet's vast diversity of lived experiences. This insight would forever change me, and I began to wonder if I could make a career of bringing the far-off world closer to others.

I returned from that trip to finish my studies and graduate into the very peculiar business of film production, and for the last 33 years, I have sometimes struggled to fully live the dream hatched in Sudan. As anyone involved in our profession for any reasonable length of time will tell you, there are constant ups and downs and unforeseen challenges of every stripe. But what remains, for me at least, is that never-ending drive to tell unique stories. You may be about to fall asleep shooting some corporate event, or watching as your production falls apart in front of you, or sitting in your tropical hotel during a hurricane wondering about your schedule, or even being pushed to the limit on a 25-hour day. Still, there's always this candle burning to remind you of why you started in the first place.

Which brings me to the underlying question. How do we, as visual artists, find and keep the motivation to use our specialized and well-honed skills to not only do high-quality, rewarding work showcasing the world we live in but, more importantly, to give back and make the world a little better than we found it? How do we create work that will impart knowledge, empower communities, improve lives, and have a lasting impact? Is it more than simply cashing a check and winning awards?

After graduating from film school, I began my career by casting a vast net. I decided to gain as much experience and knowledge about all aspects of film and TV production as possible, so I learned to be a grip and worked on the film Mars Attacks. I learned to record audio, purchased gear, and worked on many high-profile American TV shows while complaining about airplanes and leaf blowers, a privilege I sorely miss as a shooter. I was an early adopter of Avid editing technology, buying a Media Composer in 1996, which led to many cutting jobs on projects for which I had also been the DP or some other role. These opportunities included the joy of spending six weeks with Peter Fonda on a TBS production of “Wild! Life Adventures: Pollinators in Peril with Peter Fonda”. He was truly one-of-a-kind!

*Andrew, a Glidecam, a BetaSX, and Peter Fonda, Montana, 1999*

And, of course, I shot everything I could get my hands on, from absolutely horrible short films and music videos to features, docs, and even food shows. I traveled to over 70 countries and all seven continents, shooting eye-opening programs like “Return to the Wild,” a four-month production in which I retraced the steps of Christopher McCandless, the subject of Sean Penn’s excellent film, “Into the Wild.”

Other projects included subjects ranging from discoveries with Tyrannosaurs to a film about wolves with Kenny Loggins to shooting and editing 130 half-hour episodes for a PBS food and wine show that featured more than 250 wineries on five continents to my more recent shoots in ten countries across Africa highlighting the plight of rhinos, elephants, pangolins, lions, chimps, gorillas, and sharks. All these fantastic adventures proved that I could use my camera as a passport to the world and experience things most people will rarely, if ever, see. It was a whirlwind of an incredible twenty-odd years and a privilege to live so much life.

*Andrew with chimp observer, Hoima, Uganda, 2018*

I made my dream of Sudan a reality; my camera had bought me the ticket, and I was taking the ride. As the esteemed author Hunter S. Thompson famously said, “No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion.”

During this ride, I was fortunate to be part of a small team that won the 2017 News and Documentary Emmy for Outstanding Cinematography for a PBS Nature episode featuring hummingbirds. I was more than surprised when we won, considering the formidable competition from National Geographic, Smithsonian Channel, a David Attenborough film, and another entry from PBS. It was the pinnacle of a hard-fought journey, and I was humbled.

However, by the time of the Emmy win, I had already transitioned into non-profit conservation media production.

Why did I leave traditional broadcasting after a successful career of 23 years?

While being an editor on several nature-themed or wildlife programs, I always sensed subtle pressure from various sources to avoid showing too much or stirring the pot on sensitive or hard-to-watch issues. So, in many cases, we watered down the visuals or the message to prevent literally turning people off. Somedays in the editing room, we would sit with a TV remote controller, and if someone picked it up and pretended to change the channel, we went back to the timeline to use the extract key. I often wondered if we cared too much about the wrong audience.

These experiences led me to ask if more could be done with filmed media to convey the actual state of conservation challenges and, more importantly, to reach people who are directly affected and ready to act.

Between 2015 and 2021, I was the senior producer for special projects at a San Francisco-based non-profit called WildAid. During this time, I oversaw all the organization's conservation productions on a global scale, from films aimed at discouraging the purchase of pangolins in Africa and shark fins in Thailand to a three-part streaming series on the plight of sea turtles for a Chinese audience. This series was co-produced by YouKu and garnered an unbelievable 40 million views.

Most productions focused on Asian markets and featured high-profile celebrities such as Jackie Chan and Lupita Nyong’o. Without placing blame or criticizing cultural traditions, we carefully showed how Africa is the source, and Asia is the destination for most illegally trafficked wildlife parts. This was a difficult needle to thread, and it taught me skills to reach sensitive audiences to discuss sensitive topics.

WildAid has had significant measured success in reducing the demand for shark fin soup, motivating the passage of legislation outlawing elephant ivory, and putting pressure on changing social norms about purchasing rhino horn and other products. These successes gave me a sense of pride in doing meaningful work. Yet, in my many trips across Africa and Asia, I still had a nagging itch that more could be done.

The scratch for that itch came during the filming of the successful sea turtle series. I designed and wrote the project around the idea that it would feature ordinary people doing extraordinary things for conservation. We found many incredible individuals and small organizations in Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, China, Ecuador, and Costa Rica who were going above and beyond for sea turtles. Along with my co-producing wife, Brenda, I knew we were creating something special.

One place stood out. We had been told about these two gentlemen on a tiny Indonesian island off the coast of Borneo called Derawan, battling their village to protect sea turtles and their nests.

It was a very bumpy three-hour ride in a very small boat. Upon arrival, we discovered a speck of paradise situated in an endless sea of tranquil water. The following morning, at sunrise, we met the sea turtle warriors on the beach as they dug up eggs laid the night before. They kept the nests together in separate bags and took them home to a nursery they had built in a backyard. Once there, they reburied the eggs and waited for them to hatch about two months later. On the appointed day, they would shepherd the babies to the beach and watch as they wiggled into the surf. They also gave presentations at the local school, showing why sea turtles are essential to the ecosystem and why you shouldn't eat the meat or eggs. They even convinced the police to confiscate all sea turtle products and trinkets from the local tourist shops, which was no easy feat on a tiny island with a tiny economy.

*Andrew filming on Derawan Island, Malaysia, 2019*

These efforts contravened local customs and aggravated the villagers, who saw no reason to stop harvesting the animals or eggs. The turtle guardians were not deterred and did not bow to the pressure. I found this story to be incredibly inspiring.

During our interview, I asked them if they were biologists or had any formal training related to sea turtles. They said no and that their passion came from seeing the babies return to the sea and noticing increased turtle populations over the years. They had learned their turtle skills from a local conservation NGO and its representatives, and they kept going despite opposition from the community.

Here, I began to wonder if, through media programs, you could identify workable conservation solutions, create locally consumable educational programs around those solutions, and present them to local communities living in places with critical conservation issues. Would it work? Imagine taking the successes of this small island and spreading the valuable knowledge and inspirational stories anywhere that people and sea turtles co-existed.

So, in 2021, I founded Maono Conservation (ma-oh-no, the Swahili word for vision), a 501(c)3 non-profit in the U.S., to do precisely that: source proven or promising conservation approaches from one locality, create educational media programs featuring these solutions, bring them directly to communities in other places facing the same issues, and highlight the significant tangible benefits that come with upgraded stewardship of natural resources. In short, foster improved and sustainable human/wildlife co-existence through education.

*Andrew with kids seeing themselves on camera, Murchison Falls, Uganda, 2023*

Last September, Brenda and I made a proof-of-concept trip to Uganda and Tanzania to showcase two approaches to lion conservation designed around community engagement and participation. Our goal with these efforts is to lessen human/wildlife conflict through reduced livestock predation and subsequent retaliatory killings, generating increased revenue for local communities through better livestock farming, natural resource stewardship, and more tourism resulting from increased populations of large predators. The finished programs are made freely available for use by any NGO within their established community networks to help spur action anywhere people and lions live in proximity.

I also firmly believe the future of African storytelling belongs to African storytellers and voices. There is a limit to how much outsiders can understand local traditions, customs, and cultures without first spending years in the field building trust. Often, there is a tendency to oversimplify the complex issues and nuanced factors at work in African human-wildlife co-existence. Filmmakers must immerse themselves in local communities to tell a more complete story that includes these local viewpoints. This is an expensive and time-consuming proposition, and it’s why I believe that the best voices for these stories come from the people already there, living the daily realities on the ground.

*Maasai woman and FS7 camera, Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania, 2018*

At Maono, we proudly provide budding media creators with real-world on-location experience through our mentorship program. These efforts promote a more diverse and representative narrative and foster a deeper understanding and appreciation of African conservation efforts. This is a massive part of our mission, and I'm committed to helping empower the next generation of media professionals.

I’ve been head film instructor at the Maine Media Workshops, taught university-level production classes and private photography seminars, and mentored countless young filmmakers in the U.S. However, teaching cinematography in Africa can be a unique challenge. Technology is often outdated or non-existent, and filmmaking practices differ widely.

My first experience teaching there came when a local news station in Kampala, Uganda, asked me to give a one-day course for photojournalists. About 30 men attended, and I was encouraged and inspired by their enthusiasm, knowledge, and curiosity. This was in 2018, and their kit consisted of old HD camcorders, beat-up tripods, and tattered sound gear. Yet, they were out there doing the journalist grind and eager to improve. The class covered everything from technical camera questions to proper interview lighting and sound to more creative uses of a camera to tell engaging stories. I came away impressed by their ingenuity and drive but also with the stark realization that there was a lot of progress to be made in the profession's diversity.

The Maono mentorship efforts are much different. I seek individuals with some prior experience, but more importantly, I’m looking for passion, motivation, and professionalism. Working in local communities and amongst wildlife requires some specialized skills, so I am always looking for people who can bring a foundational understanding of these elements to the table. My most recent mentee, Pius Joseph, in Tanzania, came prepared with an older Canon Rebel DSLR and a couple of lenses. He also came armed with a great attitude, loads of positive energy, and a willingness to do whatever needed to be done to get us through the day. All superior qualities.

*Brenda with Maono mentee Pius and Maasai guide, Tanzania, 2023*

I spent a week with him, helping him improve his camera technique, advising him on better ways to film wildlife, conducting thoughtful interviews, reviewing footage together, and discussing options for alternative opportunities to obtain coverage and b-roll to tell the story. I would often hand him my FX6, guiding him with its use, and then watch as he moved effortlessly through the local Maasai, getting great inserts, details, and natural sound. The local people are not always so easy with me.

At the end of our first day, Pius handed me an ancient 16GB SD card with the HD footage and photos he had shot. Even though I was shooting 4K, his footage provided us ample material to learn from. He also had only two worn-out batteries and no tripod. I tried to help remedy this by giving him two 128GB cards and a new LED light panel with a stand. It brought a huge smile to his face. As I’ve always told my students, you don’t need the best gear to become the best shooter, and I’m happy to say Pius is on his way.

*Andrew with Maasai guide and mentee Pius Joseph, 2023*

Something else struck me: He would shoot video on his phone and then post polished shorts online when we returned to base camp, editing on the bumpy ride home. For an old guy like me, it’s a skill I have yet to perfect.

The world is experiencing a turbulent time, and myriad challenges face natural resources and people everywhere. Yet, the adverse effects of these daunting issues can be slowed or even reversed through education and awareness. The best place to focus that education is on local populations, which are ideally situated to take direct action.

As our natural resources come under increasing pressure from a growing world, education can provide new and innovative approaches for people across the globe to address a wide variety of problems. As filmmakers, we can help. We can find that knowledge, make it accessible in local languages with relatable presenters, and utilize old and new distribution technologies to reach essential audiences. In Africa, for instance, we support mobile movie nights. Driving around in a Land Rover with a white sheet, a generator, and a projector, showing a night filled with conservation-themed material. People turn up from all over and are engaged. The process works.

*Andrew with Maasai women, Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania, 2023*

In addition, we can better show home audiences complex realities. Beautiful films are just that—beautiful. Yet progress does not always come through beauty. Sometimes, it takes challenging stories with honest visuals to inspire viewers to act.

I’ve seen incredible potential for every person to make a difference, from tiny islands in the Pacific to remote villages in Tanzania. Many people in these places, with few resources, are giving it their all. I think it’s our responsibility to do so as well.

Will I ever return to traditional TV after spending ten years in conservation media? Of course, if the project is right, but for now, I love using my skills to help people and animals.

There is no one right approach, but if you have the inspiration and time, I highly encourage you to find a way to share your love of image-making and help create a world better than you found it.

I guarantee it’ll make you feel great.

A life lived through the power of images.

Maono Conservation