My sister called me and asked if I would help her with some photographs. She does missionary work in Brazil and needed some portraits taken of children in the City of Garbage a favela in Vitoria, Brazil. Also there was an opportunity to photograph the abandoned street children in the area.

I thought this would be a great opportunity to photograph something other than landscapes and I told her yes. We planned on spending 11 days traveling in Brazil- visiting Vitoria, São Luis, and Natal.

I wasn't sure what to expect but thought as we flew to Brazil that I would be confronted with poverty, despair and sadness. I wondered how I would capture that feeling. When we arrived in the City of Garbage in Vitoria we were met by four people from the church that labored in the favela. They walked me around and introduced me to some of the children. As I started taking their pictures my viewfinder lit up with smiles and joy. I was stunned. Theirs was a real joy that you could see and capture. And while the sewage/garbage was running in the streets and many people had little or no food, the children were dressed and their clothes were very clean. I moved from house to house for a day photographing families, little ones and friends of the workers. Any worries for my safety or the fact I was carrying 30 years worth of wages on my shoulders vanished.  Now it was a matter of finding my images in this place and trusting in my heart to know what I was shooting would work for my sister. Home after home was opened to me a stranger and water and coffee was shared like I was family.

Being able to show the families the photographs on the screen was the most important part of the process. When they saw my joy at their picture and I spun the camera around to show them it was incredible to see the pride and smiles. I don't speak Portuguese, they didn't speak English. The best I could muster was some faltering Italian and lots of hand waving and smiles. But the photographs, they spoke a language that all could comprehend.

The next day Lori and a friend, Marcus, brought us to a crumbling house in the city and mentioned that the courtyard was used by the local people to dump off newborn children that were not wanted. Inside the home teens who had no shelter lived. I walked inside and saw a mattress on the floor with a small red plastic bag next to it and a tattered blanket curled up atop mattress- home. Marcus called out and one of the teens peered around the corner. Marcus explained that I was from the US and was here to take their picture. I showed my camera and smiled. Marcus told me to take his picture. I took a portrait tight and well lit. I turned the camera around to show him the image on the display. He looked closely and then lit up in a big smile and whistled loudly. In seconds I was surrounded by teens in various states of dress, all clamoring for pictures and wanting to see the results.

I spent four hours with them. Taking the pictures they wanted, while keeping an eye out for pictures that meant something to me. The first boy told Marcus that when he saw that I was not taking crazy pictures of him he knew I was okay to let in the house. Any apprehension on my part vanished quickly when I saw the respect and care that these kids had for Marcus who had brought us there. In one of the photographs an empty bottle of coke sits on a battered set of steps covered with broken bricks and plaster and needles. The label on the bottle says, coke- living the good life.

It was hard standing with them not to shrink back from the strong chemical smells that were seeping out of their skin. Some smelt like glue, others reeked of other drugs. Their eyes spoke volumes. Later that night they would head to the streets working as prostitutes to get money for food and drugs. Some would steal and rob for the money. My sister and Marcus gave them some calendars with Bible verses on them to hang in their rooms. My sister cried later telling me of one of the boys' stories, how he knew this was wrong and how he desperately wanted to be free. I had seen him clutching her arm as she spoke to him.

As we left a car pulled up and I saw Loris face tighten and clench. I asked my sister what was wrong. She told me the two ladies in the car were Satan worshippers and were there to visit and "help" the kids.

When I got back to the missionaries house I stayed up all night and processed every single picture I had taken of families, children, or teens. I burned them to a DVD and gave Marcus enough money to have a copy printed for each person so he could go back to the favela and the street kids and give them a copy of my work. Marcus would put a Bible verse on the bottom and let them know that the "picture man" wanted them to always have a reminder of the joy that he found in them.