Uncategorized | Anna Mayer Studios

It was just Day One in Ensenada when a beautiful miracle began to unfold. The house build was going along swimmingly with local pastors, church members, YWAM volunteers, the family,their family, plus our little team from the midwest all working away like ants on a hill. My official capacity was to capture the story of the day through photos and video so I decided to walk through the neighborhood to create a fuller picture of where our family lived. My dad, the self-appointed supervisor of all things, came along to “keep me safe” (I think he just wanted to look busy, lol).

humanitarian documentary photo of two women carrying a sheet of plywood building materials on construction site

The neighborhood was really quiet that morning. Some people peeked their heads out of doors and windows as this blonde lady with a camera and her distinguished, mustached chaperone passed by, but it seemed that most residents were away at work or school. Dogs, cats, chickens, and a goat or two, on the other hand, were everywhere. Lounging in the middle of the road, barking at us like they might eat us or squawking and cock-a-doodle-doo-ing indignantly on the end of a string.

humanitarian documentary photo of very small house in Mexico with fabric canopy sun screen — Typical yard. That house was built by Homes of Hope or similar organization years ago.

I saw this cool scene at the top of the steepest hill; a man on an iPhone in one of the poorest neighborhoods in North America shepherding a bunch of cows up the side of the mountain, a really beautiful house and garden in the foreground. I wanted to capture it and immediately started to scurry up the dusty hillside. My dad just stood at the bottom, waiting for his crazy-loco-en-la-cabesa-daughter to take her silly photos and come back down. It was just then, however, that the real purpose of our exploration began to unfold. He would have to climb the mountain after all.

Mexican man talking on the phone on a hillside with cows

small but beautiful red Mexican house on a hillside with blue sky above — This beautiful home is not typical. It’s the equivalent of a mansion on a hill. Still no running water or indoor plumbing, though, but with several buildings, rock walls, green foliage and ample space, it is a truly stand-out homestead.

As I made my way up the hill I saw a family, thirteen of them in all, walking single-file across the hillside like a scene from the Sound of Music, superhero T-shirts in place of curtain-play-clothes, the little one (Lupita, I would later learn) sipping on a three-liter bottle of Coke. I was so excited to find people outside their homes, people to connect with (my most favorite thing in the world). In my limited and broken Spanish, I said “Buenas Dias”, asked them how they were and asked their names. I introduced myself as Au-na, the way they could understand my name most easily, and chatted a bit about who owned the houses nearby. I asked if I could take their photos and they said “why not?”. I gave each of the small children a dollar as we said “adiós” and we headed down our divergent paths. By now my dad had finally made it up the hill to join me.

Doug Thorson in Mexico walking up a dirt road — Dad reluctantly followed me up that hill.

Gabriela, the mother, who we would later learn had turned around to talk to us at the nudging of a voice, caught up to us as we began to walk back down the hill to the job site. “How can I get a home like that for my family?” she asked in Spanish. “We struggle. My children cannot go to school, our home is very small and we are very many. A home like that would make a great difference for us.” (a general translation, as I am just learning ). I tried to explain the process a bit as she motioned for us to come and see their home, an invitation that felt like an honor and one we happily accepted.

humanitarian documentary photo of Ochoa family home in Ensenada Mexico held up by tires on a hillside — The Ochoa family home. Thirteen people live in that tiny space. Families here work hard to build up the sloped hillside to create flat ground to live on. Tires are one of the most used “found” materials. I saw a man walking down the highway carrying three on his back. An invaluable resource, clearly.

Mexican boy peeking around the corner toward his sister — Caleb. The kids were shy at first. Hiding from my camera and my “crazy blue eyes”! Roman would ask me later if he could trade eyes with me. LOL

Mexican boy crawling out from under a bed with a cheetah print blanket — Esua hides from me, but only for a moment. This home has a concrete floor which is very high-end in this neighborhood. Most have dirt floors.

humanitarian documentary photo of four Mexican children playing in their small home — Caleb, Lupita, Esua and Ixtxia (its-ee-ah). This is the family’s main living area: Mom, Dad, Yeni and Lupita’s bed, a little cooking area and small storage space. They had a stove but their neighbors stole it along with all their valuables and sold them in the market.

humanitarian documentary photo of Mexican man preparing a meal over a fire outside their home — Cruz, the father of the family, builds a fire to boil water for baths. They have a stock tank they store on the roof and bring into the house for bathtime. The ingenuity is astonishing.

Toddler in Mexico drinking from an empty coke bottle — Lupita with her now-empty Coke bottle. Yeni, SUPER shy, peeks out at me from behind her brothers.

humanitarian documentary photo of a group of children siblings standing in front of their home in Ensenada Mexico — Ixtxia, Esua, Caleb, Randy and Yazmin.
These beautiful children have never been to school. In Mexico education is free, however, families have to provide uniforms, transportation, lunch money, books, and supplies. In addition, this family relies on all members to work. The older children wash cars and the little ones sell marzapan. It is technically illegal for children to work but there is little enforcement. Despite all the struggles the children are literate. Sixteen-year-old Roman had a phone with a translation app. He and I worked hard to communicate with my limited Spanish, his deep desire to connect, and that handy app.

a Mexican family of 13 people — Luis, Stephany, Ixtxia, Cruz, Esua, Lupita, Randy, Gabriela, Yeni, Caleb, Roman and Yazmin.

I asked Gabriela to walk over to the job site with us where a translator could help her learn more about a Homes of Hope house for her big, wonderful family. Through the interpreter, we heard more about little Lupita (Gabriela Guadalupe), who is actually their granddaughter. Their oldest child, Lupita’s mother, was badly beaten as a young girl and never fully recovered. She died when Lupe was a year old from complications due to her injuries. The family stopped attending their church when a pastor suggested that their daughter’s death was some kind of test of their faith. So heartbreaking and senseless. They have been struggling emotionally and physically since, isolated from community and friendship.

Just a few days before we arrived in Ensenada, Gabriela told us, she had been praying that she might find her way back to God and into a church family again. When we parted ways that first time on the hillside a voice prompted her to turn around and talk to us. We had no idea that through my crappy Spanish skills, my desire to connect to people and my dad’s reluctant willingness to follow me up that steep hill, we would be a conduit to bring God and his people right to her doorstep just days later.