Makenzi Johnson
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. With a subtle side-eye from him, I nodded in confirmation that I had seen the note. Quickly writing in my notebook, “what do they do for work”, I slyly tilted the notebook towards Javi and gently nudged his elbow. It was his turn to glance at my notebook to see the message and nod. I heard him ask the couple what they do for work: María stays at home, Ervín is a builder. Almost every single interview we did went like this: Davis and Clark hanging back until I confirm that they can take photos of our subject and Javi and I acting like spies in a Bond film. Doing an interview isn’t that serious, but it felt cool to be secretly writing messages back and forth as a means of communication.
Javi continues asking the couple about their water problem, how they get water, if they have ever heard of Ecofiltro, etc. My eyes shifted back and forth between María and Ervín as they spoke, I could pick up about 50% of what was being said.
In a very selfish way, it felt like we were winning. We finally got our sources and it felt good.
After concluding the spoken interview, Davis, Javi and Clark moved in to snap photos of the couple and their 12 year old daughter, Fatima, by their pila. I stood behind the three guys, sparing a glance into the home. There was an iPhone on the bed. A medium size fridge was standing. A fan hung in the corner. Fruit and vegetables were scattered on their table. My perception of this family was that they were relatively fine in comparison to other families living in this village, they weren’t the poorest of poor, they had water, they were OK. The rest of the time spent crowded outside of their home passed quickly and before I knew it, myself and the guys were huddled on the side of the road discussing the interview, how it went and whatnot. Davis asked how I felt.
I started to panic, it felt like we weren’t winning anymore, like I had no direction for a story anymore. I started pacing up and down the street, I played it off like I was just being dramatic and silly – but I was panicked. My story wasn’t about Ecofiltro anymore.
This moment, after talking with several families, made me realize that this story is bigger. This story is more important than Philip Wilson and his stupid filters, it’s more important than my comfort bubble as a journalist. This moment, with the dust kicking up under my feet as I paced in front of three concerned guys, meant that I had to take myself more seriously. I had to care more deeply about my sources. And I do.