Cirila Martínez works on reforestation and protection of the mangroves in the Chacahua lagoon, a vital ecosystem for local biodiversity. Faced with pollution and the progressive drying up of the lagoon, mainly due to tourism, she participates in community projects aimed at restoring marine habitats and preserving natural resources for future generations in Chacahua, Oaxaca, Mexico.
As a fisherwoman living in the heart of Chacahua National Park, Cirila has been fighting for the survival of the lagoon for years. Since authorities built infrastructure in the early 2000s that blocked the lagoon’s mouth and altered the balance between saltwater and freshwater, the ecosystem has deteriorated: fish have died, the “tichinda” clam has disappeared, and the mangroves have begun to dry up. With the support of NGOs and local authorities, Cirila—who learned to fish out of necessity—has dedicated herself to restoring the lagoon, even managing a mangrove nursery for over a year, despite bureaucratic obstacles. Recently, the reopening of the lagoon’s mouth has rekindled hope, as seawater has reconnected with the lagoon, revitalizing marine life and attracting fishermen and tourists once again.
The impact of pollution and drought is becoming increasingly evident in this wetland, which was once a source of life for local inhabitants. Tourism, the region’s main economic driver, has contributed significantly to its environmental degradation. Lack of fresh water, closure of river mouths, and infrastructure are destabilizing the fragile balance of the aquatic system. Like the Chacahua lagoon, many ecosystems—and the livelihoods of local communities—are threatened by drought, urbanization, and intensive agriculture.
In Sinaloa, women from three Yoreme-Mayo indigenous communities have been resisting a petrochemical megaproject for more than ten years. Around Ohuira Bay, some 600 people from the towns of Lázaro Cárdenas, Ohuira, and Paredones formed the collective “Aquí no” (Not here). Despite constant threats and intimidation in a region marked by organized crime, the women have taken the initiative. GPO, a subsidiary of a multinational fertilizer company, plans to build an ammonia plant that would extract large volumes of water from the bay and return it warmer and saltier, threatening the fragile ecosystem and endangered marine species. The company has already cleared two hectares of mangroves in an area sacred to the Yoreme-Mayo people to build its offices. “We have to ask permission even to cut a twig, because everything has life,” says Lolo, leader of Ohuira. After a decade of resistance, the women have organized, trained, and built a scientific base to defend their rights, with the goal of saving the bay and their interconnected community, Anya.
A plastic art installation made from tichinda mussels by Cirila Martínez, a member of the Mujeres del Manglar cooperative, was placed on top of a photograph of her daughter Judith Martínez, who supports her in her work to protect the environment. The Mujeres del Manglar are fighting back with a gender perspective, battling against ecocide in their community.
In Ich-Ek, Campeche, Avia Sarita Huchin has kept around thirty colonies of melipona bees, a stingless species sacred to the ancient Maya, for more than twenty years. Known as “xunán kab” in Maya, these bees were fundamental in Maya rituals and traditional medicine. Their honey, renowned for its therapeutic properties, was used to heal wounds, soothe the skin, and treat various ailments. Today, threatened by deforestation and habitat loss, meliponas symbolize the resilience of nature and ancestral knowledge. Sarita founded a breeding and training school to pass on this living heritage and promote honey for its moisturizing and healing benefits, connecting past and present to preserve both the environment and culture.
Ahuehuete leaves are displayed on the banks of Xochimilco. This majestic tree can live for over a thousand years. In Nahuatl culture, its name means “the ancient one of the water” or “the wise one of the water,” reflecting its deep connection to aquatic environments. Its submerged roots help stabilize the chinampas—floating gardens created by the Aztecs—playing a key role in regenerating the region’s aquatic ecosystem. (Xochimilco, Mexico City, Mexico.)
Gabriela Alejandra Morales Valdelamar, inspired by her grandfather’s practice, preserves seeds in jars, including a variety of corn adapted to the saline waters of Xochimilco. The area, known for its ancient chinampa farming system, has lost approximately 90% of its agricultural capacity due to drought and urban expansion. A biologist, Gabriela returned to the family chinampa after it had been abandoned. “I realized that two hands working the land are worth more than university textbooks,” she reflects. By reviving ancestral knowledge, learning traditional agricultural techniques, and planting again, she launched her Tlazolteotl project, named after a goddess of life and death. The project symbolizes the cultural resilience of Xochimilco. She now teaches plant and rowing workshops to women, while planting seeds of change for future generations.
In Tsajalch’en, Chiapas, María López Ruíz and María Pérez Pérez weave textiles using ancestral Tzotzil techniques. Rooted in a land where the pine tree—a sacred symbol—connects the earth with spiritual forces, they maintain a weaving tradition deeply linked to the Tzotzil worldview. By founding a collective to protect their creations, they defend their community’s collective intellectual property against large fashion brands that have appropriated Mexico’s indigenous craftsmanship. Zinacantán, Chiapas, Mexico.
Beneath María Teresa Bravo Perucho’s footsteps, black sand crunches in the dry bed of Angahuan’s main water source. Deforestation has weakened the soil layers, which wash away during the rainy season. “We’ve seen it wake up like this, without water,” she recalls. Today, the community faces a severe water shortage. Located at the foot of the Paricutín volcano, in the avocado-growing region of Michoacán, the forests of Angahuan are being destroyed by avocado cultivation—threatening the balance of this autonomous Purépecha community. “Even though we call ourselves a community, everyone believes they own the land,” says María Teresa. As the first woman to lead the Angahuan indigenous council, her mission is to unite the community in resistance against deforestation. “It’s about dialogue and reflection with the community,” she explains. She gave up her career in orchard management to return to Angahuan, inspired by the women in her family, especially her mother, whose dream was to care for a piece of forest.
Mexico, a land of unparalleled ecological diversity, now finds itself at the center of critical environmental challenges: industrial megaprojects, deforestation, water crises, and the effects of climate change are altering ecosystems and threatening traditional ways of life. In this context, defending the land becomes an act of resistance, often carried out amid widespread violence. According to the Global Witness 2023 report, Mexico remains one of the three most dangerous countries in the world for environmental defenders, with 54 murders in 2021. This violence weighs even more heavily on women, who also face systemic gender-based violence.
And yet, they resist. Across the country, women are working to preserve the balance of ecosystems and protect the memory of their territories. Among them, indigenous and Afro-descendant women play a fundamental role. Their practices, rooted in non-Western worldviews, link cultural identity with the defense of the land. They embody a way of relating to the world where rivers, mountains, trees, and winds are not separate from the self, but are an integral part of life itself.
If humanity has tended to leave its mark on the earth, nature, in turn, has left its mark on these women, shaping them as allies. They move with the landscape, extending it, protecting it—in a constant dialogue between memory and presence.
Built through collaborative processes, Huellas gives full agency to the women portrayed. They choose the natural elements with which they feel the greatest connection, and together we reflect on how to interact with them and how to construct the image that best embodies their relationship. By superimposing physical materials—earth, leaves, stones, water—onto the photographs, the project seeks to merge their bodies with the landscapes they inhabit and protect. The image becomes a space for dialogue between memory and presence, between gesture and territory.
Huellas explores this deep and intimate relationship between women and their environment. The project weaves sensory narratives where natural elements intertwine with human bodies. It is an invitation to rediscover our connection with nature in an organic way, awakening the senses to the texture and physical presence of the world around us.
