We didn't have a story nor lead nor contact; we only had one assignment to find someone, something or anything worth telling, and well, I have to admit that I was scared, so I prayed. On the bus to Santa María de Jesús, watching the mountains and volcanoes, I asked God to let my big ego aside, and I offered our disposition to listen and be guided to whatever thing we needed to witness.

Monday, January 17th, in San Lucas at En-Señas. We were talking with Hilda and Gaby, both deaf, through Johis, our interpreter. I had always thought I was aware of Guatemala's complexity, its inequality, its discrimination, all of its problems. And those three hours talking with them made me realize I'm not. I'm not aware of all the complexity my country has, and I probably won’t ever be. Of course I knew deaf people exist and I guess I imagined they struggle, they feel left out of society. But I wasn't aware of the scope of the problem, how by being born with or getting a condition you didn't ask for limit you as a person.

The moment I saw my own country differently was the moment I was able to be a newcomer and see new aspects of Guate with my team. There are the things I take for granted, and I really believe that the journalist type questions of Makenzi and the wandering questions about Guatemala from Clark and Davis while we were walking in San Cristobal el Bajo caserios was what opened my eyes to a different Guatemala. 

Sitting in a beautiful garden, our table secluded by large ferns and other greens from other patrons, I had my defining moment on this trip. I was listening to a pleasant conversation between Tefi, my main source Mayari, her daughter, and her friend/teacher of the school/presidential marimba player Noe. However, I didn't understand a lick of Spanish. I remember having the thought that at no point in my life before and few points going forward would I have the opportunity to have a moment like this, surrounded by people I had grown to care about, words I didn't understand, but memories I would hang on to forever.

Back drenched with sweat and legs shaking from the steep incline, I was perched with camera and tripod on rocks that looked like they could give way at any second. I carefully extended the legs of my tripod and searched for solid grounding to set up my camera looking out at the landscape ahead. Daunting mountains covered in vast greenery juxtaposed with the manmade scenes and the ash of previous eruptions had drawn me in. I needed this photo.

Deyli Gabriela Reynoso Bucu, a thirteen-year-old girl lives life in silence. The world moves around her. Birds sing from within trees, horns blast from the street and a radio amplifies the voice of a man proclaiming the resurrection of Christ. The world makes its music and she hears nothing. As she sits across from me twisting her pointer and middle finger together to tell me my name, I see it. She is a dancer, Gabriela dances; and though she cannot hear it the world plays faded music in the background of her center stage.

I thought going into this trip that I would take the best photos of my life. I did not. I didn’t get as many opportunities as I would have liked to take photos because my entire story team got covid, which left me alone, as the only negativo, with these major stories. Then I got sick. Whether its some cruel twist of fate, God trying to teach me something, or my body saying f*ck you, I am most thankful for the people that I already knew and the people that I met.

My team and I are dropped off at the bottom of San Cristobal El Bajo, ten minutes from our hotel. In the village the only ones awake and outside were us and the stray dogs. We walked from Francisco’s bus down the block to a big plaza. About ten dogs in and around the plaza are stretching, yawning, and soon begin barking greetings to each other. One barks a warning to us so we walk the other way. Most of the village buildings sit on a steep hill. As a group, we decided the only way was up.

“HI!!! NICE TO MEEEET YOUU” squealed a golden brunette as she gives me a hug and kisses both my cheeks, “my name is Majo.” I had only been outside of my country for a few hours and I already felt at home. That evening, I was walking through the streets of Antigua, oblivious to the fact that those around me would become lifelong friends. As I became more familiar with my new surroundings I only became more in awe of the beauty of this country. My first glimpse of Antigua, as the sun tucked itself into the mountains and dimmed the sky, I could feel something meaningful was about to happen.

I was sitting in my bed the last Sunday of the trip talking with my mom before I started my work for the day. “You sound happy,” she said. “I am” Standing by Scott talking about my fourth move in as many days he asked: “With everything we talked about before the trip, how are you doing so well?” “I don’t know”

Auri, 52, stepped outside of her home into the somewhat decelet streets of San Juan del Obispo, where children run freely with no parents in sight. In her hands she carried pots filled with beautiful flower arrangements. She set down the box holder, and the cardboard screeched against the concrete ledge where we were waiting. We had just sat down outside of a music school in San Juan del Obispo, where we had made later plans to interview a source for another story.

Dreams you wrote on your bucket list years ago do not often come true unintentionally, yet I found myself making black corn tortillas by hand with the sweetest of doñas on a brisk Friday night in the highlands of Guatemala. Doña Juliana graced Majo, my Guatemalan partner, and I with the opportunity to see what it looks like for her to love her family day in and day out.

Davis’ Goofy-like laugh sounded from a distance away behind me. I spared a look over my shoulder — he was playing with Kevin and Oscar. Clark stood silently behind me, too. He was politely waiting for the OK from Javi that he could take photos of María Garcia Bautista and Ervín Lopez. Javi’s eyes were on the couple in the doorway, right hand scribbling on his notebook while still talking to them. I glanced at his notebook, he wrote their ages on it for me to see.

At 5:15 a.m. Checha Taj pulled up next to my team in his brightly blue and white colored camioneta. Lit up with blue LED lights in the dark morning light, it was an overload for the senses. Majo, Bryson and I all quickly climbed up into the bus and held on as Taj released the clutch and started his route through the cobblestone streets of Antigua.

9-year-old Jakelin Marleney twirls across the open courtyard of Colegio Angelitos de Dios, waving her white homework packet through the air as she spins. Leaping and pirouetting across school grounds, she giggles while her 17-year-old brother Kevin watches with a smile on his face. Behind Jakelin’s cow-print medical mask, she smiles back.

There have been only a few times in my life where I would step back and take in the moment. In those instances, I would attempt to put them in a place where I would never forget them so I could continue to live those moments on and on for the rest of my life. I was truly blessed to have experienced one of those moments, here, in Guatemala.