I watched a young boy continuously knock a granadilla on his knee until it broke open, the juice spilling down his school uniform and all over his dirt coated hands. I noticed a young girl wrapped in hand woven throws, surrounded by vibrant fruits and vegetables take a nap that looked like it would last for hours. I saw a woman, older than my grandmother, offer matches at all hours of the night with a small child cocooned in a blanket twisted around her back.
These street vendors are families. There are no hours to their work day. The sun setting doesn't mean it's time to go home and the rain only means toss a tarp over your goods and balance a piece of cardboard over your head. Their profit is so small you wonder how they manage to make ends meet. Nearing the end of the day, one woman shared she had made s/.6 which is roughly $2. She proclaimed, "sopa de verduras para la cena". They work harder and longer than anyone I've ever seen, let alone known. This work is rich in their history, it's their livelihood.
All photographs by Joseph Lacy