What does a quiet scene in Libya look like?

Until mid-March, Ed Ou was on assignment for The Times in Benghazi, shooting primarily feature photographs in and around the eastern city.

On more than one occasion, breaking news found its way to Mr. Ou. His photograph of a fatal explosion at an ammunition depot on March 5, for instance, made the front page the next day. But he spent much of his time exploring a country few journalists have had the opportunity, or freedom, to discover.

“You have to take it upon yourself to find feature stories,” he told me over the phone from Libya on March 6. “What’s normal, what’s not normal, what’s out of place. In conflict situations, life goes on in its own way.

Sometimes you have to show things as they are. There are still people swimming at the beaches. There are still people fishing. There are still people smoking in coffee shops — which is what they did before the revolution, what they’re going to do after the revolution and what they’re doing right now.

Last week, Mr. Ou sat down with Isabel Castro in New York to explain why these images are important. What follows are his words, edited and condensed.

Ed Ou for The New York Times

There were a number of photographers in Libya for The Times when I was there. It was a team effort, so we all had different roles. The editors made the decision that someone should stay in Benghazi and keep abreast of news there. That was me.

At first, it seemed counterintuitive. All the action was in one place, but I was somewhere else. It’s actually easier when you’re shooting news, because the news is unfolding right in front of you. You react to what you’re seeing. If what you’re seeing is intense — whether it’s a funeral or a battle — it’s a different dynamic. Without that, you have to try to be a lot more intellectual in the way you approach photography.

It was a tough balance to try to find a snapshot of the quiet things that are happening. But it was in those quiet moments — where you get invited to have a picnic in the midst of Roman ruins — that I felt most at peace. And it’s really only when I look back at the edit as a whole that I realize: “Oh. That was interesting.”

These images were shot all over eastern Libya, including Benghazi. I feel lucky to have been able to see a different perspective. For 42 years, Libya has been closed off to journalists. It was, and still is, a relatively authoritarian state. The image of Libya in my head was totally different from reality — both in terms of the landscape and the people. The front line, and people in scarves firing AK-47s into the air — that’s just one part of it. I wanted to show the people who are at stake.

You would walk down a street and, yes, there would be a guy with an AK-47. But there would be 10 or 20 other civilians, unarmed, queuing for gas. Resistance takes on many forms. Guns and fighting are one. But a different form of resistance I saw was people organizing, making food, housing each other, healing each other. They weren’t fighting with guns; they were fighting by creating social services, by talking to the media, by trying to represent themselves. They were trying to create a new society. I think people should be able to see that.

I don’t know what will happen next in Libya. But I’m glad I have at least a historical moment. It’s a snapshot of a country that almost was, or still may be.