Doris Ríos ducks gracefully under barbed wire fencing, wearing knee-high black rubber boots, a black dress, and the black horn of a beetle dangling from a beaded necklace. Until recently, this barrier would have kept her out of a ranch operating on Indigenous Cabécar territory. Now, the fencing protects rows of young guava trees that she and other Indigenous women planted on land they took back from the company that once illegitimately occupied it.

The land is healing. Ríos’ dark eyes are piercing as she stops to survey the terrain, her jet-black hair falling gently in layers from chin to collarbone. She looks out over a green hillside where young saplings are just starting to peek above tall grass. The trail on the other side of the barbed wire is orange dirt; it kicks up into dust when dry and cakes into muddy clay when wet.