Ochoa - Yo no soy un santo

This photo series tells the story of a survivor. His name is Ochoa Bernal, and he is now 65 years old. Ochoa's life resembles a Hollywood movie: Growing up in a slum in the Colombian city of Medellin, he learned to play the trumpet from his father, came into money, gained some fame, traveled with orchestras throughout Latin America, and played in the house band of the legendary drug lord Pablo Escobar. These were golden times for Ochoa, but soon after his rise, a dark period began to loom: The drug war in Colombia started, the cartels terrorized the cities, and all of Colombia lived in fear. In addition to music, wild parties dominated Ochoa's life. The gifted musician eventually succumbed to drugs, was betrayed, and betrayed others. He left Medellin behind and moved to the capital, Bogota, where his vices followed him, but so did the music: Ochoa reinvented himself, becoming a mariachi.

Mariachi culture has its origins in Mexico. These are music groups that interpret traditional folk music and play at festive events such as weddings, birthdays, or funerals. In the 1960s, the first groups came from Mexico to Bogota and taught Colombian musicians their songs. The ensembles became famous in Colombia for their versatile performances but also for their extravagance: The kings of the night wore striking costumes, always donning vests, jackets, and often the iconic, oversized sombrero hat on their heads.

The mariachis of Bogota gather at a shady street corner in Bogota's city center. They call this place "La Playa," the beach. The mariachis, in their glittering costumes, stand in contrast to the gray tones of the asphalt—yet they are an integral part of this ecosystem. It is both a workplace and a meeting point for musicians, survivors, and creatures of the underworld. Framed by taverns, cafes, and arcades, they "fish" for customers here, often being hired directly on the street after a brief performance.

Ochoa has spent over 20 years of his life here; it is his home. Here, he has loved, made friendships, lost friends, and almost lost his life. But Ochoa is not the man he once was. At 65, he completed his university degree, left drugs behind, and tries to avoid excesses and alcohol—with varying degrees of success. "A reformed man, with a slight weakness for liquor," an old friend describes him with a wink. Few who have been here so long manage to get off the streets. "They usually die of drugs, alcohol, or a broken heart," says Ochoa. But he has a chance to escape this fate: Elsa. Part of this photo book is dedicated to her as well.

For over a week, we followed Ochoa every step and had long conversations with him, his partner Elsa, family members, and old friends. Photos were taken at "La Playa," in Elsa's family home, during club visits, and during nocturnal city tours.

This book is dedicated to Ochoa and Elsa, with deep gratitude for their friendship and trust in two curious gringos!