Looking back, I can see how specific moments in the week marked my life. I left Bolivia changed. I learned just how glamorous photojournalism is. Reality is seven flights, three days of traveling by bus to reach our destination, one and a half days of shooting, no electricity, cold showers in the dark, hiking on washed out roads, catching a sickness that lasted for three weeks.
Reality was meeting families who had lost their entire livelihood in a hail storm the night before and only having my camera and myself to offer. What do you do then? I questioned the value of my presence in Toro Toro. I questioned the legitimacy of photographers documenting stories in remote places. Do we ever do any good? I questioned the calling on my life as a photographer and a Christ-follower. Why did God allow me to go on this trip when there is so much devastation and all I can offer is myself and some photographs?