day 6

Today we returned to meet Marlene. She was in a cheerful mood. We put a radio mic on her and we did some filming of her walking through La Plaza de San Francisco. She also showed us the contents of her box, which as I mentioned earlier is borrowed. It featured a photograph of her son and nephew, polish, rags, coins, and various tins of creams. Her hands are in very bad condition, the nails look painful. I can't imagine the type of infections they must get, when the polish gets into the open wounds. After showing us the contents of her box we took a walk around the area. While filming this her nephew approached her with a swollen eye and a plastic bag filled with rice and chicken. The two put down the shoeshine boxes and sat down in the middle of the sidewalk. 'Who hit you,' she asked, while he tore open the bag and scooped out a ball of rice with his hand and stuffed it in his mouth. He looked up and sported a pretty nasty bruise on his eye.

'Nobody,' he said. Marlene tore off a chunk of the chicken and ate it, and so did he. She kept pressing him to tell her who hit him, but the more she asked the softer his voice got, till it was almost a whisper. After a while the two got up and went their separate ways. Marlene was clearly sad, almost on the verge of tears. I think she must experience more emotions in one day than most people do in a year. Her pace was slow now, her shoulders sadly hunched, her feet trudging along the pavement, her shoeshine box dangling from her blackened fingers. If there was a crater in the ground I'm pretty sure she would have jumped into it in that moment. But there was no crater, just the sidewalk, which led her back to probably the last place on Earth she felt like being: La Plaza.

After filming Marlene we went for lunch at a local restaurant frequented mainly by foreigners (Brits and Americans). We all had the same dish: steak sandwich, fries, and a Mocha Cooler milkshake. Then Fabio and I bought gifts for our wives and returned to San Francisco where Cynthia was waiting, fresh wounds across her cheeks. She had cut herself last night. Her reason? She had attacked her boyfriend Milton and cut him. And he told her that since he now had a scar she should have one too. So if she did not cut herself he would leave her. So she did- with a piece of glass. While interviewing her a police woman interrupts her and brings her to the prison, just a few hundred yards away. I've been told it can be very tricky dealing with the police over here so Fabio and I hang back and try to shoot it from far away. But they are moving quick, fading deeper and deeper within the crowd. The only thing that I manage to pick out is Cynthia's scarf, a bright pink. She wears it at all times, and uses one of the corners to soak in glue, which she then inhales pretty much every time I've seen her. But that scarf, even in that crowd, that scarf was impossible to miss. It reminded me of the girl in the red coat in Spielberg's Shindler's List, the only spot of colour in an otherwise dark sea of faces, jackets, boots, hair.

We followed them into the buiding and spoke to the officers. They explained that she had robbed someone and so had been arrested. I peered down a small hallway and saw her pacing in a tiny jail cell. She looked tired and disinterested. Fabio asked if we could speak to one of the officers on camera but to no avail. We didn't want to push these guys, so left it. An hour later Cynthia was out, still sniffing her scarf. 'I was scared,' she said, 'I didn't want them to take me'. We ended things there and joined Monique and Guillermo. Guillermo is the cousin of Luis. He is a studious young man of 19 and has a knack for learning the equipment. In only four days he has already learnt how to assemble and take apart the camera, set up the tripod, hook up the radio mics, and use the reflector. The guy has become Fabio's camera assistant with no training whatsoever.

While we were shooting the breeze we saw four children playing with two dead rats. It had to be one of the most unsettling images we had seen. They picked it up by the tail and swung it around, and then tossed it towards each other's mouth's to see who could gross the other out most. They started smashing the rat with a huge stone, and then they'd peel off the tiny corpse with their finges. Fabio was horrified, and had them come over, and poured an entire bottle of anti-bacterial cream into their hands. After witnessing that he said he felt like he needed to take a shower in the stuff.

Day 5

Today we spoke to Isabel Villalobos, president of the Fundacion arte y culturas Bolivianos. For the past five years they have been working with the lustrabotas, and one of their most exciting projects is the newspaper they produce, which ostensibly gives them a voice, a means of raising awareness about their circumstances. The papers sell for 4 Bolivianos (around $.50) and the lustras keep all profits. She got the idea from her son Jaime. While a student in the UK he had noticed a similar practice in which newspapers were distributed by the homeless. He brought the idea back home and it has become one of the bright spots of their organization. It is very clear to see this woman cares deeply about the shoeshiners, she looks at them as if they were her own children. She gets particularly upset when speaking of one of the ones that she lost. He was a young man she had been working with for over a year. And he had committed suicide. Another one fell asleep on train tracks and was run over by a train.

Following our interview with Isabel we had some lunch then headed to San Francisco to meet Cynthia and bring her to meet her son. Unfortunately, Cynthia was completely wasted, sniffing glue through her pink scarf. She was totally incoherent and so we couldn't go. Instead we Marlane, a woman of 35 who could easily pass for 55. She is missing all of her front teeth and most of the ones on the bottom.

She is a great character. She introduced herself as Marlane Maria Conshita Rodriguez Marita Bonita Malita Sanchita Gonzalez Santiago, and let out a big old laugh. She has a tremendous sense of humor, a natural performer, constantly playing up to the camera. I'd say as a lustrabota this can be very handy- in the 45 minutes we spent with her she had five customers. She has the kind of charm that can't be taught, and had the men and women who lay their feet on her little box, smiling the whole time. So not only did they get shiny shoes, they also were entertained. I'd say that's a bargain for just a few Bolivianos. Sitting next to Marlane was her son Johnathon, a little rascal who chewed bright pink gum that filled his entire mouth. I think he must have had five pieces in there. He said he wants to be a police officer, which drew a look a shock from Marlane. The police are seen as the number one enemy of the lustras. I asked him if he worried about the fact that his mother worked the streets. He said no, and Marlane playfully smacked the back of his head, 'You don't care about your mother, how dare you!', then threw a playful wink my way. Fluttering eyelashes, cheeky smiles, playful shadow punches, crocodile tears, were all part of her arsenal, all honed and sharpened through the 18 years she has spent working as a lustrabota. It was pure pleasure to speak to her. And then, out of no where, as unexpected and sudden as a lightening bolt, she started to cry. 'It is so hard, so hard. When I have no work it makes me so sad.' And then, just as quickly she stopped crying, and wiped away her tears. There were five shoeshiners to her right; she could not show weakness. As a woman she must be twice as tough as the men. Any vulnerability would undoubtedly be exploited. In fact less than 10 minutes after that moment, one of the men had started harassing her, complaining that she was using the wrong shoeshine box. They cost 300 Bolivianos (about $30) and so she must borrow someone else's. I wonder, though, if his issue was the box, or was it that he saw her 'moment'.

After filming we returned home and almost immediately Fabio complained of feeling sick. He had terrible shivers, so we went to the supermarket and got some medicine. I think it must be a combination of the high altitude, the cold room, and maybe the steak he had for lunch. This place is very hard on the senses. I've been told it takes a week to get adjusted to the altitude, and that's if you use that week to do nothing but rest. And we have been working flat out. So it's been extra tough. Fabio's looking a lot better this morning, but we're going to start a bit later today so he can recharge his batteries.

Day 4

I'm starting to think more and more that this film should be called the Shoeshine Girls. I just can't help being drawn into their stories. The majority of the men I have come across, they have no dependents, no one relying on them to put food in their mouths, shelter over their heads. So if they fall, they fall alone. By no means am I suggesting that the men have given up because no one needs them. But I cannot deny the resilience of the women I have met, all of whom are mothers. The image of a lustrabota cradling her little boy on a street corner, of her trying to feed him whatever scraps she can find, is a testament to the power of the maternal instinct. These women are low, about as low as you could possibly go, and yet, they are still holding on. Perhaps a dream is too far for them to reach. Maybe hope is as well. But they are trying like hell to cling to reality. They can't give their children a good life, but the least they can do is keep them alive. And they keep it together just enough to achieve this.

Day 3

Sleep is still a little patchy. I think it may have a lot to do with the fact that temperatures, in the evening, drop to sub zero, and there is no heating in the room. I have three huge covers made of animal fur, which keep me warm. But if I have to get out of bed in the middle of the night it feels like I have just walked into a pool of ice. The bottle of water I have in the room couldn't be any colder if you put it in the fridge. Fabio and I wake up 8ish and have breakfast with Luis and Martha. We eat scrambled eggs, and bread with delicious home-made apricot jam. Have never tasted anything like it. I tell them that they could make a fortune off it in England.

After breakfast we head into San Francisco and meet Cynthia. She is 20 years old and has been working on the streets for years. Despite her hardship it is easy to see she is a pretty girl. That is not the case for most of them. I met a woman yesterday who was 31 but could easily pass for 55. Men in their late 20s look like they are in their 40s. Children in their early teens look 20s. The streets make them age very fast. I still haven't found stats on their life expectancy but if they look like this in their 30s I can't imagine it to be very long. But Cynthia, despite the scars along her cheek, despite the stains across her hands and face, despite the weathered look in her eyes, has still retained beauty. The interview with her was tough to manage as several lustrabotas stood behind, constantly scoping out our equipment. So I had to keep one eye on the kit and one on the interview. One boy started picking up rocks and hurling them into the air while another kept picking up sticks and swinging them around. It can be frustrating at times but it is hard to get too angry with them. If I were in their shoes I'd probably be doing the same. But somehow we managed.

Cynthia talked to us about how she got started as a lustrabota, and of the discrimination she faces on a daily basis from those who look down on her. And she spoke of her 2 year old son, who lives with her grandmother. She rarely gets to see him. Her hope for him is that he will end up having a life better than her own, that he will go to school, get educated, and have a good job. We are hoping to take her to visit him on Tuesday. Tomorrow she is playing in a championship futbol game. We have been invited to come watch her play.

After Cynthia we interviewed Ines again with her family. Her husband had a very painful wound on the left side of his face, the result of a beating he received earlier. He could barely open his eyes. While we spoke to them her children drank little cartons of juice. They'd race around, fall, cry, then pick themselves up and dust themselves off. Whether they wanted to or not they have had to learn to self-soothe. They have no choice really. The plan is to meet Ines and her family again on Wednesday. So the schedule is starting to look set.

After filming we bought some flowers for Martha as it's her birthday today. She put out a really impressive spread feeding about 12, 15 people. One of her sons was sporting the England shirt we bought him as a gift. Shame it couldn't help them against Germany.

Bolivia Day 1 and 2

After a very long 24 hour journey from London, I finally arrived in La Paz, Bolivia. Everyone that has traveled here has warned me of the effects of the altitude (13,000 feet above sea level), so I was very conscious of this. In fact, I put in a little extra training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in the month prior to prepare me specifically for this. Apparently, you are meant to feel the lack of oxygen the second you walk off the plane. I felt ok though, a little short of breath but that was it. As I was waiting in immigration I saw two women receiving oxygen from a mask. And then I met Fabio, my cinematographer, who said that he too had felt ok the first couple days, but was now feeling the effects: rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, soreness throughout the body, dehydration. And sure enough the next day it kicked in. Even the most mundane of activities leaves you short of breath. Also, I always feel thirsty. And I have some swelling in the legs. I am told it wears off after a couple days so fingers crossed.

All symptoms aside, we still managed a productive day. In the morning we went to San Francisco, the town centre, to shoot some shots of the city. La Paz is full of energy. Buses swirl through the streets with passengers leaning out of the doors screaming out the destinations, women stand under large umbrellas offering exotic fruits and home-made juices, drivers beep and honk and cut in front of each other, then curse each other. There is constant motion. And surrounding this place are mountains all around. They are pretty breathtaking. This city is made for the camera.

After a couple hours filming we headed back to our host family to rest and then returned later in the afternoon to meet the lustrabotas for the first time with Monique of Creative Corners, who has been a tremendous help in lining everything up for us over here. We met eight of them, ranging from nine to 25 in age. They were a great group, tremendous sense of humour despite the sadness they live with. And boy what sadness. Many of them are self-harmers and showed us horrific scars across their arms and faces. They are all homeless and lived on the street. They claim that 'la calle es mi familia'. Due to the extreme poverty they live in many are forced to rob and steal. They tried to pick our pockets while we interviewed them which made for a comical scene if not slightly unsettling scene.

I found it particularly difficult, as a father, to speak to Ines, who lives on the street with her husband and three children. Her son, only two, was eating grains of rice out of a little cardboard container. His hands were stained, as was his face. It makes me laugh a little at myself and my wife at how precious we are at times with our son; the boy has yet to taste non-organic meat in his life! But I know this is all relative.

After our brief interviews with the lustrabotas we met Victor, an ex-lustrabota who is now in university and trying to start a business as a tour guide. Nobody would know those streets better than he would. He was incredibly eloquent and articulate, and spoke very movingly about his past, about the shame attached to this profession, about the secrecy. In essence he had to live a double life because he did not want anyone to know what he did for a living. Many of his friends are now dead either from alcohol, drugs, or violence. He is one of the lucky few that was able to make it out. We plan to meet with him again on Monday in the centre of La Paz where he will give us a guided tour of the streets he once worked. Tomorrow we will return to San Francisco and meet the lustrabotas again.