Catching a Glimpse at Their Forever - May 15, 2015

“Cara sucia! Necesita lavarse!” Josephina pointed her small finger to my dirty face. “Esta bien,” I smiled back at her. I knew I could take a cool shower in clean water tonight. She couldn’t.

Today was physically challenging, emotionally taxing and stressful. Simultaneously, today was unforgettable and wonderful.

Mara, Brian, Itza (my translator) and I visited the community of La Nueva Vida, a landfill in Ciudad Sandino, Nicaragua, which is about 15 minutes outside of Managua. The people of this community make their living by scavenging through the trash daily.

Every morning at seven, people file out of their tin homes and make their way to the landfill. Children ranging from five-years-old to 18 also join in to earn more money.

Work at La Nueva Vida is not conducive to leading a healthy life. Even though I have only spent two days there, I can feel its effects on my body already. My eyes sting, my nostrils are coated with ash and my lungs feel heavy. The unforgiving sun has stained my arms bright red, while smoke from burning garbage has permeated every pore in my body. I can only imagine the lifelong toll the landfill takes on the locals, who do not have the luxury of escaping after six hours or so.

But there was still joy.

After spending my morning among the trash with the children of one family, I returned to their home. Giant bags full of plastic bottles and cardboard cover the entirety of front yard. The young girls were concerned about my ash-coated face, wiping my cheeks off with their own little hands. They even offered me water, a commodity in high demand amidst a drought. Even when I declined, they offered me a smile. They danced with me during my breaks from photographing, and laughed with me when I wiped out during a scruffy soccer game in the street. Despite this grueling lifestyle, positivity and kindness do not go unnoticed. I hope they never do.

I only witnessed a tiny glimpse of their forever, but it was incredible. It was shocking. It was inspiring. It reaffirmed my true purpose for photographing the dump in the first place: this community’s story deserves to be told. The rest of the world needs to know.

Unexpected Luck - May 17, 2015

I specialize in stressing out.

I am doing my multimedia project about the landfill communities in Managua, Nicaragua. But that is pretty much the extent of my knowledge on my story. My angle changes frequently, ideas are born as quickly as they fall through.

Unfortunately, a lack of details is incompatible with my hopelessly Type-A personality. I like to have my days planned out down to the minute, so don’t try to tell me that my story is supposed to “just come to me” and that I should “take it easy.” You don’t know me. I have needs. I have deadlines.

Aside from the relentless heat, I think the most difficult aspect of this trip is accepting the certainty of uncertainty. I am thrown into unfamiliar situations daily, which sometimes means knocking on the doors of strangers and imploring them to share their story with me.

But the sheer amount of openness and generosity with which I am always greeted never fails to amaze me. I don’t feel the resentment one might imagine to experience as the stereotypical privileged American who intrudes a home for a school project. All I feel is friendship; I am a guest. They offer to feed me, even though it is a struggle to afford food for their children daily. But why? I don’t get it.

Perhaps a desire for human interaction transcends the realm of financial troubles. Perhaps all people want is for someone to listen to them, to prove to them that their story matters.

When I return to my hotel and look through my photos, I often find a lump in my throat as I study the tenderness of faces that have every right to be harder than stone. A delicate smile disguises the deeply embedded pain that accompanies poverty: hunger, intensive labor, abuse.

Initial confusion about my exact direction of my project is worth meeting these families. More than anything, my days here consist of simply being with people: playing soccer with their sons, watching the mother make lunch, braiding their daughters’ hair. It’s not always about the camera.

It’s about the little moments. Like when her father tells you how she never lets anyone touch her hair, not even her mother… or when a bird decides to drop its business on you. Of course, that particular moment initially disgusted me. But the family with which I spent my afternoon informed me otherwise: it means good luck in Nicaraguan culture.

And as I write this from my hotel room, I can hear rain against my window. Rain. Amidst the drought Nicaragua has been experiencing for the past year. Maybe it was good luck.

And I hope my new friends danced in the rain today.

Pathetic Fallacy - May 22, 2015

Pathetic fallacy: literary device in which weather mirrors a mood.

There was a dichotomy in the sky this afternoon. On one side, it was the quintessence of sunny day: a vast blue expanse decorated with wispy white clouds. Then, as if a higher power drew a line to divide the heavens, black and stormy clouds filled the other half. Throughout the day, the two forces battled for dominance, rain droplets alternating with sunlight. It was eerie.

But the weather reminded me of my story, which consists of contrasting pairs:

-life in a landfill and life at a recycling plant

-a mother who worries about her children’s safety while working at the landfill and a mother who has recently been relieved of that burden

-a driven daughter, Josephina, who contributes to her family’s income by sorting through garbage and a strong son, Arles, who contributes by collecting trash off the streets

Yet, despite the many differences between these two family’s lives, they are strikingly similar in demeanor and experience. They both know pain; suffering is a mutual friend. Both mothers know the ache of being unable to feed their children, a pang more agonizing than their own hunger. Both children had to grow up too fast, had to see this world’s cruel realities too soon.

The dichotomy in the sky reflected the lives of Josefina and Arles. The darkness represents the hardships and sadness both have endured by the young age of thirteen, while the blue symbolizes hope for a brighter future.

It breaks my heart to know what these sweet children have gone through. I don’t believe I am at liberty to go into the specifics, but it disturbs me deeply. But when I see them carry on, going about their daily lives with a smile on their face, it amazes me. I am over five years older than them, but I don’t think I will ever have their strength.

The dichotomy in the sky reflected my feelings about my time spent here. Although it has been exhausting work, I know Nicaragua is going to an experience that I will miss profoundly. Being so far away from my comfortable home and loving family is hard, but I don’t think this trip is about me anymore. I think it has become about these families, a testimony to their ability to survive.

An Eternity of Searching for Moments - May 24, 2015

It is easy to become discouraged when a few days pass without taking any decent photos while working on a story. You spend hours in the heat, waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment to click that button and hear that crisp sound of the shutter. But sometimes that moment never comes. And you go home with a full memory card and an empty feeling.

Going through a mediocre take is the worst. After spending so much time and effort on the day’s shoot, it is awful to have absolutely nothing to show for it. Not being proud of the results of an immensely work-intensive day takes its toll on your confidence as a photographer.

When I realized I was having many of these average days of shooting, I panicked. I used to think that because I am in a foreign country, making a good photo should be both frequent and easy. But that isn’t how it works. People still have routines, daytime still has bad lighting and you still get tired. Really, really tired.

But on some days it’s better. Occasionally, you’ll get that photo. The type of photo that makes you think, makes you feel. And that lasting pride and excitement compensates for how disheartened you felt the other night. However dispirited you felt before, it was a fleeting disposition. All it takes is one picture to help you see the big one.

My shoot today was a short drizzle of rain during a drought. It was enough to sustain hope for a successful story, but I know I will need more for a fruitful harvest. I arrived in the Villa Guadalupe neighborhood, near the recycling plant that replaced the largest landfill in Central America, La Chureca. I visited the family with whom I have been spending the most of my time only to discover my main character was not home. Strike One.

I wandered around the narrow streets with my camera, attempting to capture overall shots of daily life in Villa Guadalupe. This excursion again was very… okay. Finally, my fixer, Tim, and some local children led me up a steep cliff to photograph the community, Lake Managua and the landfill from a bird’s eye perspective. I have never been more grateful for the strong rubber grip on my sandals because I was unsure of my survival during the trek upwards. Or at least the survival of the expensive lenses in my backpack.

Next, the family helped me gain pretty restrictive access into the old landfill without any paperwork, a fairly unheard of experience. More climbing, even more slipping. The view was worth it, though. I needed these shots for my story, and I needed them for me. A man wielding a machete even posed for a few portraits atop the mountain of garbage. A beautiful sunset with lovely people, surrounded by trash. What more could a girl ask for?

I am not saying I will never become demoralized from taking unremarkable photos again, but I understand the process better now. Photojournalism might be about moments, but it takes an eternity.

Perspective - May 25, 2015

He’s twelve years old, but he’s still her baby boy. She wants to protect him, and he needs her steady guidance.

He’s twelve years old, but he carries the adult responsibility of breadwinning. She wants him to stay young, but she needs him to grow up.

Necessity is the thief of childhood in Nicaragua. Youthful days playing ball on the streets are brought to an abrupt halt when cost of survival takes precedence over quality of survival. A sad truth to learn, that children know labor before they know leisure.

Arles Téllez skillfully juggles youth, chores and work without a lesson in his life. While his mother works at the recycling plant, he cleans the house and then goes to work himself. He drives a horse-drawn cart around Managua collecting trash off the streets and runs errands for his neighbors, like delivering them sand from the nearby lake. He puts in long hours and never drops the ball. He is tired, that much is obvious. He wipes beads of sweat from his glistening forehead, but never utters a single negative comment.

In fact, he smiles. He laughs. This is the life he knows, so he might as well enjoy it. Today I rode along with Arles while he retrieved sand with his cart, and once again his positive demeanor blew me away. His work ethic shames any child who ever complained about doing the dishes after a meal, myself included. In fact, I think he would be thrilled to regularly have dinner dishes to clean.

Perspective. Arles provides me with perspective. His quiet strength speaks volumes to my loud weakness.

Goodbye - May 26, 2015

Goodbye. Adios.

We say these simple words to bid people farewell, but this can prove to be a difficult task in some cases. The past three weeks I have spent in Nicaragua have only felt like a few days: a blur of meeting new friends, scrubbing dirt off my face, editing photos and thinking. Thinking about how I ended up here.

When I first arrived here, I had no idea which story I was going to tell. In fact, the story I chose was not even one of my initial options. But it can’t be a coincidence I ended up where I did, with the people I did. I almost feel as though the story was tailored especially to me because it filled voids in me that I didn’t even know existed. In a global system of highways, the paths of our lives intersected for a reason. Although I set out to help these families, I think they ended up doing me the biggest favor in the end: they exemplified hospitality, shared with me when they hardly had anything to share, and, most importantly, humbled me. During my attempt to create awareness, they made me more aware of my many blessings. And I consider their friendship a blessing.

I won’t pretend like it all panned out perfectly, though. There were countless obstacles to overcome: uncertainty, frustration, impatience, equipment malfunctions, user errors…

But these trying moments paved the road to the ultimate destination: a life-changing encounter and the opportunity to share an incredible story. I do not expect my final multimedia project to drastically change the lives of these families; I would love for it to do so, but it will take more. But for what it’s worth, I want them to know they occupy my thoughts and my heart. Perhaps my project will serve as an incentive to love, to love people thousands of miles away.

I hope the strong mothers I met here rest easy every night for the rest of their lives, and I hope that their childhood dreams come to fruition through their children. I hope they never again have to feel the pain they suffered in the past. I hope Arles will go to school, and I hope Josefina will graduate. I hope these mothers know they have done a wonderful job raising their families. And finally, I hope they go on to do great things and lead happy lives, never forgetting their roots.

he word “goodbye” originates from the phrase “God be with you.” The word “Adios” literally translates “to God,” meaning you commend one to God when you depart.

I said a hard goodbye today, but I pray God will be with them always, even though I no longer will be.

Can You Imagine? - May 27, 2015

I bought breakfast for a family of five this morning for less than one U.S. dollar.

They were so grateful; it was stunning. What makes virtually no difference in my life can make a huge one in the lives of individuals who struggle daily to quiet the incessant growling of their stomachs.

I’m not sharing this because I want to portray myself as this incredibly charitable person. I want everyone to know how simple, how possible it is to lend a helping hand to people in need. You don’t need to be a millionaire to have a positive impact on someone’s life, you don’t have to be rich to prove you care.

Can you imagine the change we could incite with our pocket change?

I hope the finished product of my multimedia project will open the eyes of people who are not aware of people‘s struggles, like creating the project did for me. Out of sight, but never out of mind.

I wish everyone had the opportunity to meet the families I have had the privilege to get to know in Nicaragua. Their gentle courage and enduring optimism has left an indelible mark on my heart. Another goodbye was said today, and this one was the hardest. It seems too soon; I have developed a relationship with each person, going from strangers to trusting friends in an all too brief timespan.

home again - May 30, 2015

The cool air greeted us warmly as we stepped off the plane. Sighs of relief created a grateful chorus as the photo team entered a realm of familiarity: the Omaha airport. A few hearty embraces later, we went our separate ways back home. The fastest, yet longest three weeks of my life.

My parents stayed up way past their bedtime to hear every story, watch every video and look at every photo. My biggest fans. I took a hot shower and slept in clean sheets, but I couldn‘t let myself feel completely content.

It was the pea buried beneath layers of comfortable cushions, keeping me awake. It was the feeling you forgot something, but you can‘t quite put your finger on it.

It was guilt.

I knew their schedules. I knew they ate thin tortillas for dinner and then washed the dirt off their faces in a cold shower. I knew they prayed as a family together before bed. I knew they were lying down in humid rooms with the quiet buzz of flies coaxing them to sleep. And I knew that tomorrow they‘d do it all over again.

It is a beautiful thing to return home, but it is also a tough pill to swallow to know these wonderful people will never experience the simple luxuries we take for granted daily.

Our time in Nicaragua is over, but their stories are not. There are many more chapters left, filled with both conflict and resolution. In my book of life experiences, I have dog-eared these pages, hoping to return to each powerful word someday.

And when I do, I hope there is a happy ending.

More photos on https://unlphotojournalism.atavist.com/nicaragua.

Thanks for reading.

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