Giles Duley . Giles Duley A de miner from MAG makes safe an anti-personal mine in Angola. Much of my work has been about the effects of conflict on civilians, and nothing is more insidious or indiscriminate than a mine. I have nothing but respect for the workers from charities such as MAG and HALO who tirelessly work to make safe former conflict zones. I remember sweating profusely when I took this photo, nervous that the mine would explode. After recent events it has even more poignancy to me. The villagers of Chifolo evacuate following the death of two children who stepped on a mine hidden by their hut. There are approximately 10 million mines still hidden in Angola, many in small villages such as this. Following the end of the civil war in Angola these refuges had just been repatriated. Due to the length of the war, these children had been born in camps in Zambia and now back in Angola speaking a different language and with nothing but tents to live in, they find themselves outsiders in their own country. I photographed this former UNITA soldier in a demobilisation camp in Angola. The rebels had raided his village when he was a child; they'd forced him to shoot a family member before taking him to their camp in the jungle. He'd fought with them for nearly 20 years, now with the war over he was uneducated, marginalised and unable to return home for fear of retribution. The authorities wouldn't allow me to take his name. His eyes were dead. Children attend their first day of school in Angola. The IOM had just built the school and this was the first day it opened. The desire to learn was etched all over the pupil's faces. Widows of rebel soldiers, fearful of retribution from Angolan government soldiers, living in an almost biblical scene at an abandoned school. When I first tried to photograph them they would all disappear into the shadows, but by returning each day I gained their trust. By the time I took this picture we'd all become so familiar that my biggest problem was they kept taking it in turns to pinch my backside. Each time one of them succeeded the whole school erupted in laughter. A nun at an Angolan orphanage stoops to serve the children's dinner of beans. You can almost hear her back creak. It's one of my very favourite photographs of all time, it feels timeless. Everything came together in front of me, I just had to press the shutter. At the orphanage the nuns were strict, but the bond between them and the children was so strong. In the midst of so much horror and suffering, it was a place full of love. This photo always makes me smile. Fatima with her brother Noru in an official camp for Rohingya refugees on the Burmese border. They had lost their parents and only had each other in the camp, Fatima was only ten, but was so strong and held so tightly to Noru that her knuckles were going white. He was suffering from severe malnutrition. Dawn at Kutupalong refugee camp, Bangladesh. A Rohingya child receiving immunisation from MSF. As an NGO I've always admired their no nonsense approach, often providing help where other organisations are tied up in politics. A family of Rohingya refugees in Kutupalong camp. My work tends to focus on families and small communities, and the resilience they show through adversity. A ten-year-old boy at work in a Dhaka metal ware factory. Child labourer is a good example of how complicated humanitarian issues can be. At the time of this photography a lot of clothing factories had been shut down because of customer outrage at the use of child labour in producing High Street brands. As a result though, those children had been left without incomes and often ended up on the street. The charity I was working with in Dhaka was bringing education into the factories, persuading the bosses to allow the children a few hours off everyday to study. In the long term it was a more productive solution. Rahima, 24, was attacked with acid after her family rejected a marriage proposal. On leaving hospital, and following further threats, Rahima's family forced her to marry her attacker. After even years she escaped and has enrolled in university with the aim of working in social care with women who have suffered similar trauma to her own. I find it so hard to photograph someone who has suffered so much, but her defiance shone through. Despite everything she refused to be a victim. Tofazzal is watched over by his wife in a Dhaka hospital. He'd been left blinded, disfigured and quite literally rendered speechless by an acid attack. If anything illustrates man's potential for inhumanity it's attacks such as this. In South Sudan, members of the 'white army', an illegal militia, pose with their new AK-47's. I'd been trying to negotiate a meeting with a member of the militia for a few days; finally somebody had agreed to introduce me. I'd been expecting to meet a single member, but was confronted by dozens. It was poignant, as they day before I'd had been photographing young victims of the fighting, and here they were, some as young as twelve, acting with such bravado. It was one of the most nerve-racking photos I ever took, they were so inexperienced they kept accidentally firing their weapons. Just after I took this frame one of their commanders entered their compound and starting screaming at the sight of me. I beat a hasty retreat. A Murle warrior in Lekwongole, South Sudan at a generation dance. I was asked along to this tribal rite by the village chief, a few weeks earlier the village had been attacked by the Nuer, leaving 450 mainly women and children dead. Sun bleached bones still littered the village. I felt so privileged to be invited to the dance, and with the intense heat, drumming and rhythmic movement it was  a hypnotic event. Yet one couldn't forget, despite the nobility of the warriors, this was a call to fight.  I took this photograph during a famine and kala azar outbreak in South Sudan. What struck me was that despite being so obviously emaciated, the man seemed so proud and noble. I don't photograph victims, I photograph victims of circumstance. There was nothing weak about this man, drought and disease had attacked him, that could happen to any of us. It was heartbreaking to see the size of his bowl and for it to just have one tiny morsel of food in it. For quite a few years in my youth I was a fashion photographer. I wasn't very good. In many ways this photograph of Murle girls is the fashion photograph I was never able to take. This image shows the pure beauty, mystery and strength of women. A Nuer woman in delivery at the moment of her child's death. This was such a desperate moment and reflected the dire need for better health care in South Sudan. As the nurses were limited I'd had to help the doctor, I stopped for a moment to take a photograph. It was such a private moment, but I felt it should be recorded. In the horror of such a event there was a strange moment of calm, I'm not a religious man, but that was the closest I've seen to something spiritual. Months later the photo won an award, I felt incredibly  uncomfortable about that. I was lucky enough to photograph one of my heroes, the surgeon Gino Strada, at work in the cardiac center run by Emergency, an Italian charity, in Khartoum. Witnessing him at work on the human heart was like watching an artist with his canvas. To see a struggling, beating heart repaired to health in front of your eyes was such a honour. I've always been drawn to document small groups and families, and never more so than when I documented the street children of Odessa. I lived with 'the family' of Prymorska Street, and in that time I grew incredibly close to them. A local charity had warned me about them, but they were courteous to a fault and never betrayed my trust. I love this photograph because it captures the charater of each one and the complicated group dynamics. On the last day I was there Lilick, the boy top right, overdosed and died on vodka and pills. For a long time it made me want to give up photography.
All of our advertising is certified by Google and therefore may be viewed safely. The family were always looking out for each other. Nadya had been self-harming, slicing her forearm, the group got together to clean the wounds and dress them. Often my work takes me to the darker parts of our world, but weirdly that is where one often sees the truest moments of humanity.
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Weddy and Eunice, 4 and 5, orphans from Kenya who had both received life saving heart surgery at Emergency's clinic in Sudan. When anyone from the West tells me our help or money can't make a difference I show them this picture. Of course we can, and should, make a difference. On 7th of February this year, whilst on patrol in Afghanistan with the 1st Squadron, 75th Cavalry Regiment, US Army I stepped on an IED (Improvised Explosive Device). Moments after the explosion I remember doing a stock check on my body; I was aware my eyes, right hand and mind were all in order, there was nothing to stop me being what I am, a photographer. In some ways my world changed forever on that day, the loss of three limbs meant life would naturally be harder, but in other ways nothing changed. Since the incident I've heard of myself referred to as a victim of the war. I am nothing of the sort. I knew the risks being a photographer entailed, but taking these photographs somehow felt important and I am honoured to do it. Putting together this collection of my past work has only served to remind me of that and has inspired me to push a little harder in rehab so I can get back to what I do, telling other peoples stories. As always my gratitude goes to the guys on the patrol, the medevac crew and the whole team at Kandahar. I'm only here today due to their bravery and skill.