Having arrived at a dusty Brazilian village one late afternoon, I dropped my backpack off at a slightly rancid room in a five-unit cement hotel. To take advantage of the soft illumination of the sun before evening fell, I set off walking. After five minutes, I had reached the end of the paved section of town, and another five took me past the section with streets of dirt. Continuing on along a path into the country, I spotted two brothers and their goats heading towards me. They readily gave me permission to take pictures, but before I was able to capture the image I hoped for we had retraced my steps back to the outskirts of town and the goats were running into an enclosure the boys had opened next to their home. Perhaps flattered by my wish to photograph them, or sensing my interest in their work, the brothers invited me to return the following morning at 5AM, when they would be taking the goats back out.
The next day found me sitting in the dark on a log under a tree, waiting for the door to the boys’ home to open. There was a tease of light in the distance where the sun would later rise over the flat, arid, scraggly landscape. I could hear shifting inside the goats’ enclosure but did not know the exact time as I continued to wait, yawning and wondering what the day held in store. Fifteen minutes later the sun was still not visible, but the surroundings were illuminated and the world felt awake. Suddenly, I heard a small commotion in the tree above me and an avalanche of excrement came sluicing down, half covering one side of my head and a good portion of my torso. I looked up just in time to see two gigantic buzzards take flight.
Soon after, the boys emerged to discover me desperately trying to scrub the feces off with leaves, branches, and anything else I could find. Their expressions went from pleasure at seeing me, to concern that something was wrong, and finally mirth at the source of my agitation. Thankfully, one of the boys popped back into his home, returning with a bucket of water and bar of soap - which solved the problem satisfactorily. Over the course of the morning, my mishap was referenced repeatedly, each recounting drawing more delighted laughter. The rest of the morning went smoothly as I wandered the countryside with my generous young friends and their livestock, taking pictures, jumping streams, once even being pulled to the ground to escape the attentions of an angry swarm of bees.
The photograph shown, while not of the boys themselves, was taken during our outing. I think part of the reason I like it so much is because of the memorable circumstances that led to being on location.