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Miruku

Miruku

Capturing the Wayuu people's fight for water

The vast desert region of La Guajira, in the north east of Colombia, is home to the Wayuu people, the country's largest indigenous group.

The Wayuu are famous for their craftsmanship and colourful woven bags, mochilas.

Less well-known, however, is their ongoing struggle to access clean water – a situation which is only worsening as climate change brings lengthening dry seasons, unpredictable rainfall, and devastating droughts.

Shocked to discover the extent of this crisis, in late 2021 photographers Monty Kaplan and Marisol Mendez travelled to the heart of La Guajira.

Driven by an urge to document the “more difficult sides of life” in South America, Kaplan and Mendez (originally from Argentina and Bolivia, respectively) were keen to ensure their work avoided “sugar-coated”, exoticised depictions of their home continent – yet equally, didn't portray people's lives as being wholly defined by suffering.

“We wanted to balance the harsh reality with the resilience of people – they are beams of hope in this difficult situation,“ explains Mendez. “For us, it’s always about focusing on the very beautiful aspects of the resilience of people, but also not shying away from very raw depictions of hardship.“

By combining their individual approaches, often into diptychs, Kaplan and Mendez intentionally challenge one-dimensional representations of people and situations. Instead, they ask the viewer to consider multiple narratives about their subjects: people are both victims of circumstances beyond their control, like drought, and at the same time active agents of change in their community, protecting and fighting for their right to water.

Many of Kaplan and Mendez's images are diptychs – two photographs placed side-by-side – serving to highlight the contradictions of life here. Nina, proudly showing off the stickers she received for completing her homework, is positioned in stark contrast to the semi-dried remains of a dead bird on the dusty ground.

Many of Kaplan and Mendez's images are diptychs – two photographs placed side-by-side – serving to highlight the contradictions of life here. Nina, proudly showing off the stickers she received for completing her homework, is positioned in stark contrast to the semi-dried remains of a dead bird on the dusty ground.

Unlike more straightforward documentary-style approaches, theirs is at times lyrical, even whimsical. Here, dust balls gathering on a broken tap are echoed in the balls of yarn collecting in a pot usually used for storing water.

Unlike more straightforward documentary-style approaches, theirs is at times lyrical, even whimsical. Here, dust balls gathering on a broken tap are echoed in the balls of yarn collecting in a pot usually used for storing water.

Driven by an urge to document the “more difficult sides of life” in South America, Kaplan and Mendez (originally from Argentina and Bolivia, respectively) were keen to ensure their work avoided “sugar-coated”, exoticised depictions of their home continent – yet equally, didn't portray people's lives as being wholly defined by suffering.

Many of Kaplan and Mendez's images are diptychs – two photographs placed side-by-side – serving to highlight the contradictions of life here. Nina, proudly showing off the stickers she received for completing her homework, is positioned in stark contrast to the semi-dried remains of a dead bird on the dusty ground.

Many of Kaplan and Mendez's images are diptychs – two photographs placed side-by-side – serving to highlight the contradictions of life here. Nina, proudly showing off the stickers she received for completing her homework, is positioned in stark contrast to the semi-dried remains of a dead bird on the dusty ground.

“We wanted to balance the harsh reality with the resilience of people – they are beams of hope in this difficult situation,“ explains Mendez. “For us, it’s always about focusing on the very beautiful aspects of the resilience of people, but also not shying away from very raw depictions of hardship.“

By combining their individual approaches, often into diptychs, Kaplan and Mendez intentionally challenge one-dimensional representations of people and situations. Instead, they ask the viewer to consider multiple narratives about their subjects: people are both victims of circumstances beyond their control, like drought, and at the same time active agents of change in their community, protecting and fighting for their right to water.

Unlike more straightforward documentary-style approaches, theirs is at times lyrical, even whimsical. Here, dust balls gathering on a broken tap are echoed in the balls of yarn collecting in a pot usually used for storing water.

Unlike more straightforward documentary-style approaches, theirs is at times lyrical, even whimsical. Here, dust balls gathering on a broken tap are echoed in the balls of yarn collecting in a pot usually used for storing water.

Finding enough water in the arid landscape of La Guajira has always been challenging. The region is at the mercy of cyclical weather patterns, with long dry seasons punctuated by short rains.

Although the problem is longstanding, in recent years it's become critical.

Weather patterns are increasingly erratic, with the changes becoming more acute. Temperatures are rising. And droughts are lasting longer, becoming even more severe.

Now, 96% of people here don’t have a reliable source of drinking water*.

Left: cracked earth, the result of prolonged drought. Right: an old water container, repurposed as a birdhouse.

Left: cracked earth, the result of prolonged drought. Right: an old water container, repurposed as a birdhouse.

Cracked earth, the result of prolonged drought.

Cracked earth, the result of prolonged drought.

The main rainy season, Juyapu, used to last for two months, from September to December. This is when families would sow crops like yucca and corn – both to feed their own households, and exchange with others.

Older people can remember these more prosperous times, when the rains came as they should.

But now, rains are unpredictable and inconsistent. Seeds are washed away in sudden downpours, while crops wither during long weeks with no rainfall.

We don't have enough water. We suffer a lot... If the year goes by and it doesn't rain, it is very difficult.
Emilio, leader of Polumacho community

Across La Guajira, one child under the age of five dies of malnutrition every week*, often in combination with diseases caused by a lack of safe water.

Kaplan and Mendez spent much of their time in Pesuapa, home to just over 100 Wayuu people, where WaterAid Colombia has been working closely with the community to address the ongoing crisis.

Left: a hollow cactus. Right: the windmill that powers the old, non-electric well.

Left: a hollow cactus. Right: the windmill that powers the old, non-electric well.

Left: a storage tank in a crop field. Right: the lagoon at Pesuapa.

Left: a storage tank in a crop field. Right: the lagoon at Pesuapa.

Left: a hole in a cactus, probably made by a bird trying to get to the water inside. Right: drawing water from the well at Polumacho, which is open to the elements.

Left: a hole in a cactus, probably made by a bird trying to get to the water inside. Right: drawing water from the well at Polumacho, which is open to the elements.

The windmill that powers the old, non-electric well.

The windmill that powers the old, non-electric well.

A storage tank in a crop field.

A storage tank in a crop field.

Drawing water from the well at Polumacho, which is open to the elements.

Drawing water from the well at Polumacho, which is open to the elements.

With a lake nearby, and functioning infrastructure, Pesuapa has at least some degree of resilience to the impacts of climate change.

A recently-constructed well, equipped with a submersible pump, supplies water to household tanks. When there’s no electricity – a common occurrence here – residents rely instead on the old well, powered by a windmill.

Water from the wells is stored in large tanks – like this one, rehabilitated by WaterAid after falling into disrepair – giving some security during the long dry months.

Pesuapa is by no means immune to the impacts of climate change. But for Isolina, the community's leader, even this limited level of water security is liberating:

“Being a community able to have its own water is a great joy because we have the freedom to sow at any time of the year. We have the freedom to have our animals, they will not die of hunger or thirst“, she explains.

In communities without Pesuapa’s natural reserves, or means of storing water, the crisis is far more acute.

For people living in nearby Polumacho, the only source of water is an unprotected well.

During the ever-lengthening dry season, reserves run perilously low, and water must be strictly rationed – making it almost impossible to irrigate crops.

The crisis isn't only felt through a lack of drinking water and a struggle to grow food: access to good hygiene and decent sanitation, too, is an ongoing challenge across the region.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

Left: a child washing their hands in the new school taps. Right: a colourful handprint, painted by children as part of the construction of the new sanitation block.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

Left: a child washing their hands in the new school taps. Right: a colourful handprint, painted by children as part of the construction of the new sanitation block.

Many Wayuu people would prefer to go in the open, often leading to serious intestinal diseases – a leading cause of child deaths.

But without a reliable water source, community buy-in, or sustainable infrastructure, solutions like toilets aren't widely adopted, and simply don't last.

At Pesuapa's primary school, as well as installing new facilities – separate toilets for boys and girls, sinks and taps, and a shower – WaterAid is working closely with teachers and community leaders to help people understand the importance of practising good hygiene, and its role in preventing diseases and diarrhoea.

Schoolchildren added their handprints as they painted a brightly-coloured pathway to the new toilet block – encouraging a long-lasting feeling of ownership and pride in the facilities.

And, as the result of a community-led creative workshop, the walls of the toilet blocks incorporate Wayuu sacred geometry and patterns, placing the new structure firmly within ancient cultural practices and ways of understanding the world.

With the new facilities come safety, cleanliness and dignity.

The crisis isn't only felt through a lack of drinking water and a struggle to grow food: access to good hygiene and decent sanitation, too, is an ongoing challenge across the region.

Many Wayuu people would prefer to go in the open, often leading to serious intestinal diseases – a leading cause of child deaths.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

Left: a discarded toilet. Right: a natural latrine.

But without a reliable water source, community buy-in, or sustainable infrastructure, solutions like toilets aren't widely adopted, and simply don't last.

At Pesuapa's primary school, as well as installing new facilities – separate toilets for boys and girls, sinks and taps, and a shower – WaterAid is working closely with teachers and community leaders to help people understand the importance of practising good hygiene, and its role in preventing diseases and diarrhoea.

Left: a child washes their hands in the new school taps. Right: a colourful handprint, painted by children as part of the construction of the new sanitation block.

Left: a child washes their hands in the new school taps. Right: a colourful handprint, painted by children as part of the construction of the new sanitation block.

Schoolchildren added their handprints as they painted a brightly-coloured pathway to the new toilet block – encouraging a long-lasting feeling of ownership and pride in the facilities.

And, as the result of a community-led creative workshop, the walls of the toilet blocks incorporate Wayuu sacred geometry and patterns, placing the new structure firmly within ancient cultural practices and ways of understanding the world.

With the new facilities come safety, cleanliness and dignity.

It was always important for us to include a female perspective. Women have a difficult time managing the water situation for their families.
Monty Kaplan and Marisol Mendez

Wayuu society is matriarchal, with households – and entire communities – headed by women, and kinship passing down through the female line.

Isolina Silva Duarte, leader of Pesuapa.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Isolina Silva Duarte, leader of Pesuapa.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Isolina and her daughter Dani are from a long line of Wayuu women.

As the current leader of Pesuapa and a teacher at the primary school, Isolina is authoritative yet fair. She is both proud of her heritage and open to Western ideas, working closely with WaterAid to install new facilities – and, importantly, encourage people to accept them.

Dani will one day succeed her mother as head of the community.

A university graduate with a degree in engineering, Dani embodies a rare combination of both modern and traditional ways of thinking.

Her dress here is traditional, and the patterns painted on her face deeply symbolic, representing the Wayuu way of looking at life: past, present and future interconnected as spirals.

Optimistic and driven, Dani is ambitious about the future of Pesuapa, combining a deep reverence for ancient rituals with a pragmatic understanding of new approaches – essential if her community is to adapt successfully to the impacts of climate change.

Although woman are authorities, leaders, artisans and teachers, they are also homemakers, caregivers and, ultimately, water providers.

It's women who are responsible for maintaining the household and looking after children.

It's women who must take care of all the associated daily tasks: cooking, cleaning, washing, bathing.

A Wayuu woman hanging washing to dry in Pesuapa. Washing clothes is just one of the many labour- and water-intensive jobs for which women are responsible.

A Wayuu woman hanging washing to dry in Pesuapa. Washing clothes is just one of the many labour- and water-intensive jobs for which women are responsible.

And, in places without boreholes or adequate storage solutions, it's women who must also shoulder the additional burden of fetching the water needed for these chores.

Many have to walk for hours every day to draw water from neighbouring communities' wells, or scoop it from jagueyes, groundwater reserves shared with livestock and wild animals.

With no water source close to home, Lina and Elvira have to make an hour-long round trip to a neighbouring community's well every time they need water.

With no water source close to home, Lina and Elvira have to make an hour-long round trip to a neighbouring community's well every time they need water.

Then they must begin the laborious process of carrying the heavy containers home and filtering the water before it can be used – leaving little time or energy for anything else.

Isolina Silva Duarte, leader of Pesuapa.

Isolina Silva Duarte, leader of Pesuapa.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Erin Daniela Moscote Silva, known as Dani.

Isolina and her daughter Dani are from a long line of Wayuu women.

As the current leader of Pesuapa and a teacher at the primary school, Isolina is authoritative yet fair. She is both proud of her heritage and open to Western ideas, working closely with WaterAid to install new facilities – and, importantly, encourage people to accept them.

Dani will one day succeed her mother as head of the community.

A university graduate with a degree in engineering, Dani embodies a rare combination of both modern and traditional ways of thinking.

Her dress here is traditional, and the patterns painted on her face deeply symbolic, representing the Wayuu way of looking at life: past, present and future interconnected as spirals.

Optimistic and driven, Dani is ambitious about the future of Pesuapa, combining a deep reverence for ancient rituals with a pragmatic understanding of new approaches – essential if her community is to adapt successfully to the impacts of climate change.

Although woman are authorities, leaders, artisans and teachers, they are also homemakers, caregivers and, ultimately, water providers.

It's women who are responsible for maintaining the household and looking after children.

It's women who must take care of all the associated daily tasks: cooking, cleaning, washing, bathing.

And, in places without boreholes or adequate storage solutions, it's women who must also shoulder the additional burden of fetching the water needed for these chores.

Many have to walk for hours every day to draw water from neighbouring communities' wells, or scoop it from jagueyes, groundwater reserves shared with livestock and wild animals.

Then they must begin the laborious process of carrying the heavy containers home and filtering the water before it can be used – leaving little time or energy for anything else.

A Wayuu woman hanging washing to dry in Pesuapa. Washing clothes is just one of the many water-intensive jobs for which women are responsible.

A Wayuu woman hanging washing to dry in Pesuapa. Washing clothes is just one of the many water-intensive jobs for which women are responsible.

With no water source close to home, Lina and Elvira have to make an hour-long round trip to a neighbouring community's well every time they need water.

With no water source close to home, Lina and Elvira have to make an hour-long round trip to a neighbouring community's well every time they need water.

If I had that time that I spend going to get water, I would use it to study. I always have to go and get the water... so I can't complete my homework. I just try to do [it] on the way to get water, because I don't have time.
Sandra, who lives a in community without access to water.
Left: a wild cactus just about to bloom. Right: Nina, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday – a momentous occasion for Wayuu girls.

Left: a wild cactus just about to bloom. Right: Nina, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday a momentous occasion for Wayuu girls.

Left: a tap in a field in Pesuapa. Right: Sailé, a girl from a neighbouring community without access to water.

Left: a tap in a field in Pesuapa. Right: Sailé, a girl from a neighbouring community without access to water.

Nina, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday – a momentous occasion for Wayuu girls.

Nina, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday a momentous occasion for Wayuu girls.

Sailé, a little girl from a community without access to water.

Sailé, a little girl from a community without access to water.

Turning 15 is a key moment for Wayuu girls, marking the onset of womanhood and, in more traditional communities, the beginning of Majaauyuu: a sacred period of time spent living with older female relatives away from the family home, learning the ways of their ancestors.

Already, girls like Nina are expected to help collect water when they're not in school. The hope and optimism of adolescence is tempered by the reality of the constant need to find water for herself and her family.

Functioning taps, situated close to where they're needed, free women and girls from the constant cycle of fetching, filtering and using water.

But in communities without such reliable access, the future for young girls like Salié is likely to be dominated by the daily need to collect water from far-away sources.

In Colombia, and around the world, it’s those who have done the least to contribute to climate change – like the Wayuu people – who are the most vulnerable to its impacts.

Droughts, unpredictable rains, and extreme weather events are only making it harder for communities already struggling to access clean water.

And, as those responsible for collecting, managing and using water every day, it’s often women and girls who suffer the most.

*Human Rights Watch, 2020