Jason Andrew Photography (2024)

08/02/2023

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.

26/01/2023

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)

18/12/2022

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

11/12/2022

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.

10/12/2022

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?

09/12/2022

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.

08/12/2022

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.

05/12/2022

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.

02/12/2022

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.

01/12/2022

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.

30/11/2022

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.

29/11/2022

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.

26/11/2022

Adegeye was one of the few men I befriended on the Ferikoy pitch with professional experience. For years, Adegeye played with Sunshine Stars FC, a professional Nigerian team out of Akure Township that played in the Nigerian Premier League.
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When I first met Adegeye, he was sharing a studio with 5 others, all who had recently moved to Turkey. He shared photographs with me of his family and his former team, keeping them in a small envelope inside his luggage. Always kind and giving, his English wasn’t great and I would struggle to understand him when he called but I really liked the guy. I’ll never forget the evening he cooked for Ugo and I on the rooftop of the grocery where he worked. The stew was great but the company was better.
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Adegeye was older than the other men yet his skills were far superior than most. He could still run toe to toe with them on most days but Adegeye had demons that I didn’t learn about until years later when I traveled to Nigeria in 2014.
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Adegeye and I spent a lot of time together in Nigeria, even traveling back to his home where I met and stayed with his family. He played in some pick-up games on his old field, showed me around and drank way too much. The demon’s I had been warned about were beginning to show their face. Even through all the bu****it, I really wanted the best for him as I thought about the life he was living in Turkey and the hand he dealt himself now.

25/11/2022

An Irish coach who was working with some of the footballers once told me Dayo wasn’t easy to coach. His focus was always on scoring, nothing more. He wanted Dayo to expand his ability but he always fought back. Dayo felt he was either the star or he wasn’t. It made our relationship difficult at times as I tried to understand him and his motives more. I questioned his decisions a lot later on as he became more desperate at getting his playing card no matter what it took, even hiding a lot from me as my trips became more infrequent, struggling to finance the back and forth between NYC and Turkey.
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Whenever I came by Dayo’s apartment’s (they changed frequently), Dayo would be doing one of two things, napping or watching sermons in Nigeria. I always assumed it was his faith that kept him going but I knew there was more to the story. When not staying with him and Kaffo, I would always find them on one of three pitches training, dependent on how much money they had that week.
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Even though, at times, I felt I was intruding on these young men, they always opened up their homes and lives to me. I’ve always wondered if they knew how much admiration and respect I had for them.? Few people leave everything they know to travel overseas and pursue a dream in a foreign country. Not only did they establish their own community, but they welcomed others in as well.

24/11/2022

Dayo was a beast on the field. A center-forward, he loved to score! The first time I met Dayo, all he talked about was the amount of goals he scored back home in Nigeria and his dream to play in Europe. Smart and savvy, Dayo was always looking to connect with scouts and agents across the world, working towards playing professionally.
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When I asked Dayo to pose for this portrait inside of the Ferikoy pitch in 2013, he obliged but hated the photograph. Later, he asked why I wanted to photograph him amongst all of the trash?
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Truthfully, because this was the same trash and bu****it he and his friends were fighting through daily for someone to recognize and appreciate them and their talent. These young men never had it easy in Turkey but always found a way to prosper amongst the bigotry and chaos.
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I always felt this portrait exemplified Dayo’s strength, power and determination. He truly was a force.

22/11/2022

When not watching their friends grind it out on the Feriköy pitch in Istanbul, Turkey, many of the young men would meet up in the basement of an Internet cafe in Kurtulus to watch English Premier games in the evenings. Paying 50 cents, the men rarely turned their attention away from the screen inside of this dark and damp basement. The Iranian man who ran the cafe liked the young men and football. In 2011, it was one of the few places they felt safe to gather together at night outside of the safety of their homes.
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A lot has changed as the African community has exploded in Turkey over the last 11 years but one thing that hasn’t changed is there love of football. I wish I was there this Thursday when Cameroon and Ghana both play their first matches. The African Diaspora in Turkey will be awash with pride as the men take to the field, underdogs once more in this years tournament.

21/11/2022

As fans flocked to the run-down Feriköy pitch in Istanbul to watch local African footballers play in their version of the African Cup of Nations, the mood was festive, loud and alive. Yet inside the building, it was one of angst, contemplation and uncertainty. Players, spending their own money to play, changed into their kits anywhere they could find space. In their eyes, the tournament served as a recruiting tool for local and international teams yet few found success.
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The concept was great yet the ex*****on was corrupt and poor at best. I used to look forward to this tournament every year yet that excitement wore off quickly as players argued amongst themselves, fighting for playing time.
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As the African community continued to grow in Turkey due to good airline connections and flexible visa policies, playing time became harder to come by as the number of aspiring players grew every year.

20/11/2022

For years, the Feriköy football pitch played host to the African Cup of Nations, a friendly tournament in the central neighborhood of Feriköy in Istanbul, Turkey. The run-down pitch acted as one of the main hubs for African football players seeking careers in Turkey and Europe, but very few succeed.
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Spending their family’s savings on rogue agents, they travel to Istanbul believing that a professional football career was awaiting them. Unlike the thousands of migrants who have used Turkey as a gateway to Europe for decades, these young men came to stay, with hopes of playing professionally.
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On the first day of the 22nd in Qatar, many of these players will be glued to screens, watching the first match between Qatar and Ecuador. Held every four years since 1930, FIFA is considered the most prestigious football tournament in the world, as well as the most widely viewed and followed sporting event.
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This years tournament, built off of the backs of migrant labor, is estimated to have cost 220 billion dollars while causing over 6500 deaths. FIFA will probably gross over 6 billion dollars from the tournament. (They made 6.1 in 2018)
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For years, I documented the African football community in Istanbul, Turkey and the struggles and successes these young men had as they worked, played and fought a system not designed to benefit them.
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Over the next 29 days as the World Cup is played in Qatar, I’ll be posting work showing the dark side of “The Beautiful Game,” thinking about the friends who have succeeded and died chasing their World Cup dreams.

03/11/2022

I don’t have many images of myself swimming Catalina Channel back in July but I did have the pleasure of photographing my friend swim 36hrs before me.

Thanks Kent for pulling double duty with me and kayaking when I needed it most.

01/11/2022

Last month, I worked on a story about , a nonprofit that provides high-impact tutoring in Washington, D.C. schools.

Damir Hill, a sophmore at Ron Brown High School is receiving math tutoring in a small group. When I asked Damir if he had any idea what he wanted to be when he graduated, he said a shoe designer. I couldn’t smile any wider as his mom proudly looked on.

Shot on assignment for . Thanks Jessie Schwartz.

29/10/2022

Today is the 10-year anniversary of Superstorm Sandy which caused 65 billion dollars in damage in the United States.

Sandy is considered one of the top 5 most expensive storms in US History. Over 1/2 million homes were destroyed and some communities were without power for weeks.

Having just returned from covering Hurricane Ian in Florida, there were a lot of similarities as the storm surge from both storms did the vast majority of damage.

How do communities protect themselves from future storms when they continue to rebuild while ignoring the fact that our environment is changing and what worked in the past will not work in the future.

So many questions as our ocean waters rise and these big storms pose a risk of becoming more frequent and more powerful.

Shot on assignment for .

27/10/2022

Last week in Baja Sur, Mexico.

06/10/2022

Three days after Hurricane Ian flattened most of Fort Myers Beach, Florida, the rescuers from embarked on a new task: to knock on every door that was still standing.

Writer Patricia Mazzei and I embedded with the team as they went door to door, making sure they had not missed anyone still waiting to be rescued.

Please follow the link in my bio to the story. Thank you for a brilliant edit and to Pati for making this story a reality.

Shot for .

03/10/2022

A door is all that remains from a home on Ft. Myers Beach following the destruction caused by Hurricane Ian.

Shot for the . Thank you .

31/08/2022

Back in March, I got to photograph Founder and CEO Reggie Aggarwal for who was a blast to collaborate with.

Setting up studios in someone’s home is always a fun challenge. Low ceilings, children running about, the works. I love it all, especially when working with visually brilliant friends.

Thanks again for the lovely assignment.

29/08/2022

Back in January, I had the pleasure of photographing for a piece written by Op-Ed columnist David Brooks titled

“The Dissenters Trying to Save Evangelicalism From Itself”

Thabiti Anyabwile, who is the pastor of in Washington, D.C, no longer considers himself evangelical.

I’ve lost 20-year friendships. I’ve grieved” said Anyabwile in a beautifully written piece which references three issues that have driven division within the movement: evangicals’ embrace of Donald Trump, s*x abuse scandals and racial issues.

Link to the story is in my bio.

27/08/2022

In February, I had the pleasure to photograph the brilliant who is the CEO of Junub Games & Founder Lual Mayen Foundation.

Lual was putting final touches on his video game Salaam (Peace) that puts the player in the shoes of a refugee fleeing war. He said he wanted people to understand the journey of a refugee. The character in the game was inspired by his mother.

Lual was born during the 362 kilometre arduous journey his family took to flee civil war in their home country of South Sudan.

Thanks for the wonderful assignment and Lual, lets get together soon.

Photographed on assignment for .ch T Magazine.

24/08/2022

A few more images from my story about former NFL Lineman Jonathan Martin who has volunteered to be part of a study at where Dr. Jennifer Coughlin is observing brain activity that may help predict the onset of trauma-related illnesses and cognitive decline.

22/08/2022

The wet mold that helped keep Jonathan Martin’s head still during his 90-minute PET-scan was custom made for him by Karen Edmonds, a nuclear medicine technician . During the scan, a tracing agent was injected into his arm to see how much radio tracer lights up in his brain, monitoring how fast it deteriorates.

for

08/08/2022

In March, writer Ken Belson and I spent the day with former offensive tackle Jonathan Martin who “retired at 26 before the sub-concussive head hits that are the hallmark of his position could do more damage. Now, Martin, 32, figures he had potentially dozens of concussions playing football and has had bouts of anxiety and depression, all symptoms associated with chronic traumatic encephalopathy, the degenerative brain disease that has plagued football players.”

Eloquent and soft spoken, we followed Martin through his visit to where he’s hoping that his participation in a new study that uses PT scans to track the brain cells known as microglia, which remove and repair damaged neurons, could help scientists develop treatments for the symptoms and illnesses linked to brain trauma and C.T.E.

“I wanted to be at the forefront of a solution,” said Martin.

With the season to start in one month, I hope sports governing bodies begin to actively look closer at Traumatic brain injury in athlete across the board, from football to surfing. The new documentary hints about it on while , a former big wave surfer and the brother of an old friend of mine, speaks openly about it on his instagram page.

Over the next few days, I’ll share images from this story, one of the better assignments I’ve had this year. Thanks for trusting me with this. Link is in my bio.

Jason Andrew Photography