Jason Andrew Photography

Name: Jason Andrew Photography
Address: San Diego, CA, US
Telephone: +18582329493

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Jason Andrew Photography

I am a photojournalist documenting the repercussions of poverty and political unrest throughout various societies and cultures across the globe

02/08/2023

Jason Wright was the first Black president of an NFL team when the Washington Commanders hired him in 2020 away from consulting firm McKinsey & Company.

In a quote speaking about the glass cliff theory, (labeled by researchers as when women and minorities are elevated into significant leadership positions in situations with a high likelihood of failure,) Wright says

“If that’s the case, then I would say we’re cut out for it because we’re used to operating in an environment where there’s more set against us than is for us,” he said. “We’ve got a built-in measure of resilience that dates back to our ancestors that allows us to perform well in challenging environments.”

Please read this powerful piece in about Black presidents in the NFL by Emmanuel Morgan. Thanks for the opportunity to photograph Jason.

01/26/2023

Last year, while swimming with , my cohort of insanely talented pool swimmers began talking about the difference between pool and open water swimmers. I was beginning to show up to pool practice less, spending nights and weekends swimming in 40 degree water in Annapolis during the winter, as the open water crew pushed each other towards the brink of hypothermia before retreating to our cars where we would shake violently during the Afterdrop, a phenomenon when our body temperature continues to drop after we got out of cold water and into a warmer environment.

It was a battle of Preps vs Punks, pool vs open water and the two couldn’t be any different. The pool swimmers loved their 82 degree water, the monotony of counting their strokes, flip turns, using all of their toys (fins, snorkels, paddles) while staring at the line at the bottom of the pool for an hr or two.

The open water crew were a haggard bunch, not looking to break records or talk trash but to push each other to go further, an insane mental challenge even as the water became warm and infested with jellyfish, they still swam. Their cars smelled of brackish water, sand covered the seats and floors and they all deck changed no matter if it was snowing or sunny outside.

I remember asking myself, who am I? It wasn’t a question that took long to answer as I struggled to put on a frozen suit in my car one evening, cold and dark as I pushed myself to swim longer and further under the moonlight of 44 degree water wearing nothing more than a speedo and cap with my friend Anna and her daughter.

(Continued in comments)

12/18/2022

I had planned to post daily images from my football series “Black Diamonds” throughout the World Cup yet, I failed. Work, family and life seemed to always get in the way, similar to my relationship with the men in this series. We would go from talking daily to not speaking to one another for months, sometimes years. It was never for a lack of trying but their hustle always seemed to be more difficult than mine.
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Dayo, Billy and Akeem were all playing for Turkish football teams by 2015, bouncing around dependent on who payed them more or gave them more playing time. I only learned this in 2016 When Dayo and I were messaging as I was following the Somaliland team in Abkhazia while they played in the CONFIA cup. After that, Dayo went dark and I never heard from him again.
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In November 2018, Akeem wrote me out of the blue. I hadn’t excepted to hear from him or the news he was delivering. Dayo was dead. Dayo was playing for the Turkish Amateur club Saraykoyspor and after scoring, he collapsed at the 35 min mark, dead of a heart attack. His passport said he was only 23. Akeem told me Dayo had been complaining the day before about chest pain. I was numb both out of guilt and sorrow. I had missed his funeral and the last time we spoke was two years earlier.
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In January 2019, I flew to Turkey to pay my respects to Dayo and see Akeem who was playing for a team 2-hrs away. Saraykoyspor, who owed Dayo money, hadn’t paid for a proper headstone so only a wood headstone stood there in a small section of a muslim cemetery dedicated to the few Christians who had died. Akeem and David, another friend, with their own money, paid to have a tombstone erected in his honor.
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Caption continues in comments

12/11/2022

On Sundays, a lot of the players would go to church with their friends or family. These were not short services but ones that would go on for hours (thankfully not marathon services that would last days like some I attended in Nigeria).
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Dressed in their best clothes, I would go with the guys but my attention span wouldn’t last long. Scanning the room, the economic diversity of the crowd was obvious as the more affluent members of the church had usually been in Turkey for some time, working and earning a living. It was also a place where a lot of the new arrivals into Turkey found assistance.
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Though I’m not a very religious person, I was always fascinated that both Christian and Muslim men would attend Sunday service together.

12/10/2022

What a beautiful upset by Morocco over Portugal! The first time a team from Africa has made it to the semi finals.
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How are you watching todays next game btw England & France?

12/09/2022

The quarterfinals of the World Cup begin today. Where will you watch from? In 2011, I was watching English Premier League games with the guys in the basement of an internet cafe. Now, they’re prob watching them at home or in bars with friends. In 11 years, a lot has changed in the African community in Turkey yet so much still remains the same.

12/08/2022

I hadn’t seen Oje in ages. Some used to say he played with Nigeria’s top junior teams but when the chance to play in Turkey presented itself, he jumped. The footballers always viewed Turkey and Europe as one. Even though Oje had the talent, he lacked the connections and money. Money was always the deciding factor in these footballers lives as many were expected to provide for their families.
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Oje had to work to support his family in Nigeria so grinding it out on the pitch for no money wasn’t an option. Outside of the yearly Africa Cup, he was rarely playing these days.
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With his hands covered in black carbon, Oje had been working in a light factory. The work was taking a toll on his body but not his spirit. He said that if he could earn a living playing football he would but it wasn’t in the cards anymore as he worked 8-10 hr days, six days a week. But what may look like failure to some was a success for Oje as he was financially providing for his family though it wasn’t in the form he hoped it would be in.

12/05/2022

We rarely took buses or cabs anywhere. The money could always be spent on food or football plus the guys weren’t in a hurry.
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One afternoon, on a walk towards Istiklal street, Dayo stopped for a moment to feed the pigeons with food bought from a local vendor. He was particular quiet this day, almost inside of his own head but this wasn’t unusual. He wasn’t earning a living playing football so he spent most days and nights “networking.” I always felt he only told me what he thought I wanted to know when we were face to face but while back home in Brooklyn, Dayo would open up on Skype or Facebook chat. Though these young men all lived together, I rarely felt many of them were very honest with each other.
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The longer they remained in this football limbo, the more they seemed to change and rarely was it for the better.

12/02/2022

Yesterday, while posting, duplicate images went up instead of a couple photographs in here so here are a few more images from their apartment. I loved that space and vibe but onward and upward.

12/01/2022

Walking down crumbling steep steps with laundry hanging between homes, the studio apartment was situated on the top floor of a small building that six men called home. The stairs to the studio were lit by a single light bulb dangling from electrical wire. Once inside, the wood shiplap ceiling was no more than six and 1/2 feet high. Electricity and gas were a premium so they were used sparingly.

Football cleats and sandals lined the wall below coats near the front door while clothes hung to dry inside of the bathroom. A small tv sat on plastic drawers beside their suitcases, always playing a mix of football or Bollywood.
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When I first came into their home, Adegeye, Sodiqe, Akeem and one other man, who’s name escapes me, were sitting under a heavy blanket on the mattress as there was no heat and It was cold! A picture of Mecca hung above them.
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As we sat and talked about football and life, friends came and went, always dropping by. The Nigerian community was tight, one giant family helping each other out yet always weary of the next person. It was wild as I sat trying to piece it all together in my mind.
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I spent a lot of time inside of their apartment in 2011, listening to stories while watching late-night football games when not eating Fufo with stew or instant noodles and eggs. Eleven years late, I still crave Fufu and stew but when I eat it, it’s never the same without these young men. Some of our best times together were over good food, always cooked inside their homes. Damn I miss those simpler times.

11/30/2022

After the late-night football games, Akeem would return to the small studio he shared with five others in Kurtulus. With only one key, you would ring the door bell for someone to drop the key down to you. This was the second home he lived in Istanbul, and a lot better than the room he shared in the African Ghetto. (I’ll talk more about this later)
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The studio was small and cramped with only one mattress but of all the spots he lived in, it was always my favorite. The space always felt real, raw and like home.

11/29/2022

I’ve been bouncing around a lot, looking back on this story that I’ve wanted to turn into a book for ages. Archived across numerous hard drives, these images, spanning 12 years, show how many of the young men have aged. But how did this serendipitous project begin? It all began with a young man who told me his name was Akeem.
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My friend Aytac and I were walking towards Kurtulus in Istanbul in November 2010 when I dipped into an Internet cafe to check my email and the place was alive! Football games played on the television as African men hurried in, hustling for the free computers or to buy calling cards. I sat at a computer, logged into my email and watched the place unfold in front of my eyes as Akeem, a young footballer, sat behind the front desk, one eye on the men and another eye on the football match.
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When I asked Akeem how long he had been in Turkey, he said only a few months. He was there to play football but his coach wasn’t answering his phone anymore. It was a story I would hear over and over throughout the years. These young men paid for a chance to “try-out” for local scouts and teams yet most were left to fend for themselves, a recurring scam that continues to this day.
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Akeem worked at the cafe during the day and would play football in the evenings. He asked if I wanted to watch him play one evening. I immediately said yes. The following evening, Akeem struggled to grab a taxi to the pitch. Every taxi would drive right by him, not wanting to pick him up so I flagged one down for us. It was only the beginning of the bigotry I would witness these guys go through over the years as we headed to the football match.

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San Diego, CA

Telephone

+18582329493

Website

http://www.jasonandrewphotography.com/

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