I spent Christmas in Nosara.  A smoothie bowl and a long beach walk were a nice substitute to the traditional celebrations I was used to.  One afternoon I was finishing up lunch at a local restaurant and when I got up to leave a man approached me and asked if I was finished.  I said yes and he took a seat.  Walking away I couldn’t help but think to myself that the man looked exactly like Daryl from The Walking Dead.  A quick ‘Norman Reedus Nosara’ google search confirmed that he and his family had in fact purchased a house in Nosara recently.

After a few more days of soaking up the sun I headed to San Jose, the country’s capital city and transport hub.  The city itself was interesting.  While I have nothing negative to say about it, I’m not sure that I have much of anything positive to say either.  Compared to Mexico City and Panama City, San Jose was much smaller and didn’t have a lot to explore in terms of culture.  It seemed like a base for people to venture out from on their way to other parts of the country.  A few locals even asked me why I had left Nosara to go there.  Nosara is located west towards the Nicaraguan border and the Boruca territory is far to the east.  San Jose was a logical middle ground.

While researching the Boruca, I found out that the Danza de los Diablitos ceremony was going to take place while I was in Costa Rica!  Upon further investigation, however, I learned that the year’s festivities had been cancelled due to Covid.  I subsequently found information about the Boruca Community Museum.  Perfect.  This could be the organization I work with.  They could surely help me set up the shoot.  I tried reaching out to them multiple times without success.  I decided that I would simply show up and talk to someone at the museum directly.  I checked Airbnb and there were only two listings for the village.  I booked one of them for two nights and caught the bus out of San Jose.

On the way there, a good friend of mine who I had met in Costa Rica a few years prior sent me a photo on instagram of the Danza de los diablitos.  Although he currently lived in Thailand, we stay in touch so he knew of my plans to meet The Boruca.  The post was dated only a few days prior.  This meant that the festival hadn’t been cancelled after all and I had missed it by a matter of days!  Everyone would have been dressed in costume donning their masks and the portrait would have been significantly easier to acquire.  The Boruca don’t dress in traditional costume during their daily lives.  Once I reached the territory, I would have to explain the project and ask someone to dress up specifically for the photograph.  This would be different from my previous experiences.  Nereydas and Albecia wear their traditional clothing in their day to day lives.  I was putting all of my faith into the community museum to help facilitate this portrait.

I arrived at the village and checked in with my host.  We chatted briefly in Spanish and she offered me a drink.  I was anxious to visit the museum at this point.  The village was remote, housed deep in the mountains.  Lusciously thick green forest stretched as far as the eye could see.  It was peaceful.  My accommodation had an outdoor restaurant under a large roof.  In the corner was a display filled with beautifully carved Boruca masks.  Having researched the tribe for months, it was a magical moment to finally see them in real life.  I kindly excused myself and walked the dirt road towards the museum.  

I passed wooden houses, a general store and a few straw roof huts along the way.  It was my first taste of indigenous life. There was something pure and intoxicatingly beautiful about it.  You could feel the spirit of the land and people in the trees.  I was grateful to feel at peace for a time.  That peaceful feeling, however, was about to come to an end.  As I approached the museum I could tell that something was off.  Not only did it look closed, but it looked like it hadn’t been open for a very long time.  It was starting to get late.  I walked back to my room and asked my host about the museum.  She told me it had been closed since the beginning of the pandemic. I attempted to explain my project to her and asked if she knew anyone who may be able to help.  She didn’t.  I laid awake that evening with one thought going through my mind.  The day after tomorrow I would be on the bus back to San Jose.  Here we go again.

Then, it hit me.  The instagram post my friend sent me had been posted only a few days prior and the caption had been in English.  Perhaps the woman who posted it knew someone who would want to be involved in the project!   If not, at least she could possibly come with me and help translate.  I sent her a message on instagram knowing that messages from unknown senders can easily be overlooked.  Would she see it before I left?  Was she even still in the village? 

That morning I checked my messages.  Nothing.  I ate breakfast and decided I’d spend the day walking around the village.  Just like in Panama, I would have to approach someone and ask them to be involved in the project.  I walked around for a few hours.  One place that stood out was the home of another Boruca mask maker.  They had a dozen or so masks on display outside in their front yard.  A man and woman sat next to the display.  The woman was on the phone while the man carved a fresh piece of wood.  I greeted them and looked through their inventory.  The woman invited me inside where their walls were lined with more wooden carvings.  They were stunning  Vibrantly colored and adorned with parrots, jaguars and other exotic animals.

I talked to her the best that I could.  We talked about the festival that had happened a few days prior.  I explained my project and asked her if she thought her husband would dress in traditional attire for the picture.  She said yes!  I couldn’t believe it.  She went back inside to get him.  Did it actually work? Was I going to get the portrait after all?  She returned alone with her husband’s phone.  She began swiping through photos of him dressed up for the festival.  She had thought I was asking to see photos of him dressed up, not inquiring about him to dress up and take a portrait.  My heart sank as I realized my Spanish had failed me yet again.  It was becoming increasingly more frustrating.

I headed back to the restaurant for lunch and returned to my room.  I laid in bed, defeated.  The bus would leave tomorrow afternoon.  I was at the 24 hour mark.  Laying there, I convinced myself that the portrait wasn’t going to happen.  Who was I to intrude on this community and ask them to wear a ritualistic costume outside of their ceremony?  It began to feel invasive and disrespectful to randomly approach someone in that manner.  I needed to find someone who I could properly communicate with.  With no museum or luck from my host, I appeared to be out of options.  But wait.  She wasn’t the only host in the village, was she?  There had been another listing on airbnb.  Could they help?  I logged in and couldn’t believe my eyes.  The host of the other unit was the same woman who I’d messaged on instagram!  I shamelessly sent her a message on airbnb, transparently stating that I wasn’t in the market for any accommodations.  I explained the situation in great detail and pushed send.  This was my last hope.

Within minutes she wrote back to me!  She had just left Costa Rica the day before, but she was very familiar with the tribe.  Her husband was Boruca.  She loved the idea for the project and had the perfect person in mind.  I couldn’t believe what was happening.  She reached out to her friend Christopher.  He agreed.  We set up a time and place to meet for the portrait the following morning.

Christopher arrived by motorbike as I was setting up the camera.  He had a friendly demeanor.  I graciously thanked him for agreeing to be involved with such short notice.  He was happy to help.  We were able to communicate rather well.  We talked about the project.  He was patient and impressed with my Spanish.  We took a few photos while he was wearing the mask.  I asked him to take it off and place it on a staff next to him.  This would ultimately be the image I’d choose. Part of the beauty of this project is being able to look into the eyes of these humans and simultaneously see a part of their creative soul.  Being able to see Christopher’s face while also incorporating the mask was important.

After the shoot we walked over to his family’s house.  There was a table set up outside where he painted his line.  Christopher had painted the most beautiful tribal line, adding features and design elements to it.  I enjoyed watching him take such great care and invest such creativity into his painting.  More importantly, I was glad he was taking his time so that we had a chance to chat longer.  I thanked him again and headed back to my room to prepare for the trip back to San Jose.  

My host offered to drive me into the town where I’d catch the bus.  On the way she gave me a tour of the Boruca territory.  She taught me more about the indigenous way of life and the importance of respecting the earth.  She feared for the planet and explained how indigenous people around the world were it’s caretakers.  The few days I had spent in the Boruca Village had been heavy and emotional. I learned a valuable lesson in the forest.  This project was much bigger than I had originally anticipated.  There was a potential to promote the voices of unheard people around the globe, with important knowledge to share.  It wouldn't be sustainable to keep winging it and hoping for lucky breaks.  I couldn’t do it alone.  Before I knew it, I was leaving San Jose.  For the first (and only) time on this trip, I’d cross the border by land and take the bus to Nicaragua.