For more than three decades, Danish-Colombian photographer Michael José could only imagine the person who birthed him. Discovered on the side of a road at just a few hours old by a startled passerby, he was abandoned in his birth town of Santa Marta, Colombia, for reasons it took him a lifetime to uncover.
Raised in Denmark by adoptive parents, José relocated to Berlin in 2020, where he began to connect with other Colombian people for the first time in his life. Inspired by the community he found there, he embarked on a journey to his motherland for the first time, in search of information about his birth mother and the truth behind his first days on Earth.
Ahead of the launch of his debut photography book Motherland, which documents the tenderness of discovering his true self, his heritage and his mother, José shares an excerpt from the book’s foreword.
In May 1991, I was born in the hills of Colombia, Santa Marta, Garzón; with coffee and plantain trees as far as the eye can see, from the banks of the Magdalena river to the very top of the green hills. It is a breathtaking place to exist within and experience; those unfamiliar with these heights of beauty might even call it magical. Despite being born here, I’m not used to it, so it took my breath away when I was standing at the edge overlooking the immense nature of the area for the first time in my life, in January 2024.
Does that sound strange to you? Didn’t I just tell you I was born in Santa Marta, among these hills? Yes, I did, but a few short hours after my birth, I was taken away from my mother and abandoned on the side of the road, where I was eventually rescued.
The story goes: a passerby heard sounds that, until investigating, he had mistaken for an animal. Upon closer inspection, what he saw was actually a newborn, naked in the sun and screaming for help — and so he helped. Shocked by what he had discovered, he ran to his neighbour in search of assistance. Together, they brought me home, cleaned me up and fed me.
My rescuers were Luis Cabrera and Pablo Martinez. They found me, took me to their home and saved my life. They ‘prepared’ me for the authorities, to whom I was handed over after some days in their home, under their care. During the following months, a foster family took care of me and even gave me a name: Albert José Gaíta. They offered me relative safety, despite the undeniable reality that I was a child torn from its mother — one of life’s ugliest and most unthinkable tragedies.
It wasn’t my mother’s choice. Just as I’ve always known and believed in my heart, she wanted her child, like most mothers do. But in a country like Colombia living conditions are often dictated by poverty or fear. Deeply wounded by its history of violence and corruption — particularly in the 1980s and 1990s — and with the campesinos and indigenous population caught in the crossfire between the government’s US-founded paramilitary, the revolutionary guerillas and the narcos, many of Colombia’s people have been forced to flee their homes, leaving any security offered by them behind. Following my birth a ‘decision’ was made by my abuela; one that I first thought was made out of necessity and circumstance. But, after my second journey to Colombia this year, I can now see the bigger picture. A young mother — her daughter — who at age 19 had now given birth to her third boy. An abusive and alcoholic man, my father, who came and left as he pleased. She saved me from these circumstances, a reality and a life that wasn’t looking bright at that time. My abuela — Osana was her name, meaning ‘God save us’ — saw a light in me when I came into this world and gave me the chance for a better life. As my sisters have told me, my mother has changed since we reunited. She has lit up. She smiles more, and I see the same light in her eyes that I believe my abuela did in mine.
According to an article by Richard McColl, published by Colombia Reports in 2017, the Colombian Institute of Family Welfare reported having 11,000 children available for adoption, and, since 2010, 3433 adoptions had been authorised. He writes, “While adoption laws are more demanding and stringent today than they were in the 1980s and 1990s, there is so much to be investigated in a country partially emerging from a conflict of more than 50 years.” The results thereof were inevitable, with around 40% of Colombians living in poverty, from the streets of the capital Bogota, to more rural areas.
Years of relentless impoverishment have resulted in a societal state of desperation, with increased crime and corruption tainting every aspect of society, including adoptions. Mothers are deceived into giving their newborns up for adoption, with some infants even being stolen from birthing rooms as they arrive into the world. According to McColl’s article, “Some babies were obtained through nurses and doctors who told mothers that their child had been stillborn and passed the infants along to a lawyer. Others were simply kidnapped or bought from impoverished women.” In poor countries around the world this has become a lucrative underworld blackmarket, with money coming from the western world in particular, where people who can’t have babies themselves — such as my own Mom and Dad — will go through what can be years of preparation, and are ready and willing to spend thousands of dollars to finally adopt a child. Largely, of course, these people are unaware of the exploitative, cruel and criminal stories behind the voiceless children that are offered to them. The ‘lucky’ ones are placed with loving parents, like mine, but the darkest and most gut-wrenching end to this story is that many of these children go on to be sold for their organs, or into sex trafficking rings. The result of this being legitimised by governmental institutions, clinics and adoption agencies is a form of legalised human-trafficking, which has led to some countries, Denmark included, halting all international adoptions.
I was one of the lucky ones. My papers were produced true-to-reality, giving me the chance to use them later in life, leading to me now being able to tell this story.
Published by WeMakeIt & SANTA MARTA, Motherland will launch in Copenhagen, May 24, 12pm – 3pm at OpéraSport. An exhibition and launch event in Berlin will follow, on June 6, 6pm – 10pm, at Backhaus Projects.
