ONCE UPON A TIME
A trans woman deprived of her freedom in a male prison, that woman had no name or face and I was about to find her to tell her story. That mission had barely begun when the overflowing screams of several women carrying a coffin in the middle of a protest resounded on my social network. Among those women, the slim, tall and dark body of one of them stood out. Rage invaded the veins of her neck tattooed with six stars, her face did not give up, she was about to declare a war but she still didn't know it. The only thing she knew was that her words were worth nothing against a justice system, which despite her statement, released the murderer of her partner who received four bullet wounds inside the car of the man who minutes before had hired her to a sex service. Kenya ran to the car when she heard her partner's cries for help, but the shots stopped her dead. It was too late for Paola.
Kenya raised her cell phone and recorded that scene. "It wasn't me" said Paola's murderer while they put him in a patrol car. This happened onSeptember 30, 2016 in Mexico City, and by October of that year I was already filming Kenya, which did not give a truce to those who took justice from Paola and also from her. She fought days and days, years and years, waging historic battles against the invisibility of trans women in Mexico. "Now screw them," Kenya warned a government official as he held the peripheral paralyzed shouting "They are killing us."
The world of darkness that devoured Paola's life that night began to light up with Kenya in front of an observant camera and complicit in the actions of the protagonist, who in this film opens the doors to a world of solidarity, empathy and a dose of humor. “black” of trans women.
THE ROAD TRIP
I remember that after hours and when we couldn't get the insurance to respond to our distress call and send us a tow truck, Tanya, who was in charge of production assistance, was on the verge of tears with her cell phone in hand talking to an operator who barely if he listened to her Kenya, Sergio and I smoked and laughed while we watched that scene. Added the hours (6) two cranes and an ambulance arrived that brought us closer to the nearest booth with the "Paloma" on our backs. The next day the mechanic filled the old machine of the "Paloma" with oil and when he tried to turn it on, he issued his final sentence: his car is out of gear. After getting over the shock of that news, we took our things out of the trunk and continued the trip with the most essential: our cameras. Fate took us where we wanted to go, each question that we loaded in our suitcases had its answer, the luggage was getting lighter. First we arrived in Pichucalco, Chiapas, the town where Paola was born; then we continue on our way and rent a car to go to Ciudad del Cármen, Campeche. We had been traveling for four days and two of the most important encounters in the film were about to take place. The meeting with Maura, Paola's aunt, with whom she lived before emigrating to Mexico City at the age of 18 and the Kenyan encounter with the sea where she would immerse herself in a deep breath that would help her release part of the heavy burden that it rose on her shoulders after fate put her in front of that hate crime against Paola that turned her life upside down. Kenya already had the answers she needed and so did I. The movie was just beginning.
This is not a love letter
Kenya, you are that hope that from time to time escapes us and leaves us in the limbo of existence. What's the point of living and moving on? How much impotence you will not have carried in your life; how much hate and how much resentment you must have felt in the midst of the darkness that clung to you for years, but now you are here in front of me and in front of the whole world giving us a life lesson, sharing part of your story through a giant screen . I see you and I still get a lump in my throat, I keep seeing you and I can't take my eyes off that character you are in this movie. The heroine of this story called humanity. Thanks for everything Kenya.
