The earth here has a way of remembering the footsteps of those who have left a piece of their soul behind. This month, we welcomed back Mary Beth Koeth for a homecoming that not so long ago seemed improbable. Her presence was a quiet victory, a return to the light after a year spent fighting her way out of the dark.
Mary Beth’s story with Ishara began in 2022. She arrived from Miami for our very first content shoot, stepping into a landscape of raw potential to capture the initial imagery that would come to define us. In the shared vulnerability of creation, and under the spell of Ishara, a quiet alchemy occurred and we all quickly became family.
She came back a year later to collaborate with our expanded creative team to tell more stories. Mary Beth was never just a visiting photographer; she was a friend, a mentor, and a deeply loved member of our family.
Then, in late 2025, we received shocking news. She had been involved in a near-fatal accident.
“I had no idea where I was or what had happened,” she says, recalling the fog of the aftermath.
“My sister looked at me and said: You tried to commit suicide.”
“No, I didn’t,” she replied. “What happened?”
Mary Beth had gone to a ketamine clinic while in a severe medication-induced depression after months of telling multiple psychiatrists that something was deeply wrong. She didn’t feel like herself and couldn’t access her creativity, her work, or her mind the way she had before.
She fell from the seventh floor of that clinic, waking up from a coma a month and a half later with both legs destroyed, fractures throughout her body, and metal replacing parts of her bones. She relocated from South Beach to her parents’ home in Dallas, facing a mountain of surgeries, intensive rehabilitation, and a painful road to recovery.
From thousands of miles away, we watched her fight for her life, sending love and prayers as she navigated the long journey back to life. When she told us that she was feeling strong enough to travel to the people and the place she loves, we knew her presence would mean more than any project ever could.
On previous trips, there had been a flurry of activity—cameras clicking, lighting setups, studio sessions. This time, the lenses were mostly put away. The studio remained silent. Beyond content, this was about the restorative power of nature, the soothing embrace of the wilderness, and the profound medicine of human connection. It was about letting go of grief and gaining perspective.
It is a helpless feeling watching someone you care about rebuild their life from the ground up. You want to fix the world for them, to erase the trauma, but you quickly realise that isn’t your role to play. All you can do is show up, hold the space, and let them know they don’t have to carry the weight alone.
In the vastness of the savanna there was room to breathe, room to think, and room to simply be. We talked about how this ordeal had reshaped her personal relationships, deepened her appreciation for life, and forced her to finally put herself first.
In listening to her, it was clear that surviving the unthinkable had brought her a rare kind of clarity. It had taught her to silence the external noise and honour her inner voice. She spoke of choosing to surround herself only with people who anchor her peace, shedding those who no longer do. Resisting a commercial mindset that can sometimes demand work that is soulless, she is fiercely following her heart again and doing only what she loves to do.
“A year later, I’m still healing physically, mentally, financially, spiritually,” she says. “But I’m here. I’m lucky to be alive. I’m lucky to be walking. And strangely enough, I’m lucky for all of it,” she continues. “Sometimes the thing that completely breaks your life apart is also the thing that returns you to yourself.”
We are so grateful that Mary Beth is here, continuing to shine her light on this earth. To see her back, embraced by the warmth of our family and the restorative energy of this place, was more meaningful than any photograph could ever be.
Ishara will always be a sanctuary where the heart grows still enough to listen and the spirit remembers what it already knows. After all, the truest masterpiece is not what we capture, but the breathtaking gift of being here, fully alive to it all.
Photo credits: Mary Beth Koeth, Japheth Supeyo, Ian Wesanza, Joseph Njenga, Altaf Jiwa, Eric Averdung
