Next Gen News

Attacked by a Haitian mob of Gaddafi \ abducted 's troops killed in Afghanistan ... Who 'd be a war photographer?

• In pictures: the life of a war photographer (contains some graphic images)

Adam Ferguson, Afghanistan, 2009

I was among the first on the scene. The Afghan security forces normally shut down a suicide attack like this pretty quickly. I could get to the epicenter of the explosion. It was carnage, there were points, flames came out of the building. I remember very scared because it was still popping and hissing and small explosions, and collapsing the building. It was still very fresh and there was a risk of another bomb. It was one of those situations where you have fear aside and concentrate on the job at hand: to monitor the situation and documented.

This woman was accompanied by the building and round the desolate street corner. It embodies the whole spirit - this older woman caught in the middle of this ridiculous and tragic event. I wish I could have figured out how their lives unravel, but once the scene was closed down, I ran back to the office to file.

Alvaro Ybarra Zavala, Congo, November 2008

I was deep in Soweto when I saw a man being attacked by ANC combatants. The month before, I'd seen a guy beaten to death – my first experience of real violence – and hadn't shaken the feeling of guilt that I had done nothing to stop it. "No pictures," someone yelled. I told them I'd stop shooting if they stopped killing him. They didn't. As the man was set on fire, he began to run. I was framing my next shot when a bare-chested man came into view and swung a machete into his blazing skull. I tried not to smell the burning flesh and shot a few more pictures, but I was losing it and aware that the crowd could turn on me at any time. The victim was moaning in a low, dreadful voice as I left. I got in my car and, once I turned the corner, began to scream. You're not just a journalist or a human being, you're a mixture of both, and to try to separate the two is complicated. I've often felt guilty about my pictures. I worked in South Africa for years and was shot three times. The fourth and final injury, in Afghanistan in 1999, wasn't the worst, but I decided enough was enough. I was looking to settle. Nineteen months later, I met my wife.

This is the morning after a night out, the four men were dead and wounded 10th There was heavy fighting, and I was very scared. I discovered a dead Chechen four feet from me when I got up at night. They watch movies, read books, anything you imagine. But if you are against something, it 's not \ like in the movies. We started as a 60 and came back 30 - one of two people injured or killed. I was lucky.

Once it got light, I have pictures. This is the first thing I saw. The guy with the bandage on her head has lost his friends. He has fought all night long. I don 't pity, but at the same time she took me with them and did everything to protect me. Without them, I could 't have made history. I was the only witness. It 's very complicated.

Mads Nissen, Libya, February 2011

I got into Ajdabiya shortly after its fall. The rebels had just been crazy with moving and the locals, shooting into the air. Bodies of soldiers lying per-Gaddafi, starting to stink like the sun was higher. The fire from the tank was incredibly strong and I was worried it could explode at any moment. Suddenly this guy jumped on it. I 'm not interested in pictures of burning tanks - I' m interested in people. I wanted the feeling of relief that everyone was recording and suddenly grasp. I'm as close as possible, only a few feet, and began to shoot, to count to five in my head. Then I got out. I had seen dead bodies, except that you want in the morgue and torn didn 't to the end of Sun I took a chance - I had that was why I was there to tell the story - but I made sure that I do not 't be too greedy.

Adam Dean, Pakistan, December 2007

As I approached the aftermath of the bomb, I struggled to compose myself. I was terrified and sickened, but kept telling myself just to concentrate and get it done so I could leave. I knew I had to frame the pictures so they weren't too graphic. The epicentre of the explosion was a pile of maybe a dozen limbless, charred, mangled bodies in pools of blood. This was one of the times I was most in danger, but there have been times in Afghanistan where I have felt more scared. This was over in seconds, but a firefight can go on for hours. The real worry is IEDs, though – when you go on patrol, every step could be your last. I'm 33 and I'm not sure I'd want to put myself in such risky situations when I'm older and perhaps have other people to consider.

It was 25 minutes before anybody could get to me. My cameras were on the ground, and as they grabbed me I had to lean down and pick them up. When we got to the local base, a medic said, "Hell, I can see right through you." As soon as I knew that I'd recover, I told my girlfriend I was going to go back out. The work I do is important and also, if I hadn't, it would mean I'd never really understood the risks in the first place.

The guy in the photo is shouting, "Don't take my fucking picture!" Sometimes, you look at images of war, and they're like a Hollywood producer's vision of what war is supposed to look like. There are very few pictures where you get a feel for how fucking awful it is, how desperate and urgent. I like that it's not a clean picture, that it's not well composed and you can't see everything that's happening. That's part of it. It's so messy. It's the closest I've come to capturing the chaos of combat.

Making this decision was a public act I have a lot of criticism. Bernard died later, and people said that I would give didn 't it, that I have helped him. But I could 't help him. For me to turn my back, that 's disrespectful.

Ami Vitale, Gaza, October 2000

I was photographing a funeral, and after most of the day with the women, I went to see, the body began worn in. A man in the procession to scream, "CIA" and pointed at me . I was surrounded by hundreds of angry men shouting in my face, grabbed me. I was terrified and thought ".. That's it I will die" I suddenly realized a mob. It 's no thinking, only passion.

A woman I spent 'd pull away the day with a managed me. When I got home, I sat and cried and cried - she saved my life. I stayed in Palestine, but was much more careful after that, have ever since. At that moment changed my perspective. No picture is worth it.