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Every match the Wigudun Galu volleyball team competes in is like a party. Beneath the hot Panamanian sun, players laugh and gossip, some wearing vibrant jewelry or sporting iridescent manicures. Their partners root for them from the sidelines, drinking beer and listening to music. “When people see us play, they are happy,” Joamir Mojic, 29, says from his home in Panama City. “It makes me feel like we’re part of society, because people accept who we are.”

The volleyball team was founded in 2018 by the , a nongovernmental organization comprising people from , an Indigenous territory in northeast Panama where gender diversity is venerated. The Guna Nation’s origin story recounts the arrival of three brothers; one of them, named Wigudun, was said to possess both masculine and feminine spirits. By identifying themselves as Wigudun, the members of Wigudun Galu build upon an ancestral legacy of gender fluidity that predates Spanish colonial binaries.

The Wigudun Galu team quickly gained a reputation for their jovial presence as they played in various leagues around Panama City. “As long as I can remember in Guna Yala, volleyball was a popular sport, as popular as baseball, basketball, and soccer,” says association president Yineth Layevska Muñoz Avila, 40. “There were always men’s and women’s teams, but there were never Wigudun teams when I was growing up.” Despite the discrimination that trans and gender-nonconforming people commonly experience in Panama, Muñoz Avila says the Wigudun team has always been accepted by the teams it competes against.

After the pandemic cut the 2020 season short, the Panamanian government’s policies left many Wigudun players vulnerable. As COVID-19 spread across the globe, Panama implemented lockdown measures that stipulated which days citizens could leave their homes according to the sex listed on their national identification cards. The protocol , who police and civilians accused of being “out on the wrong day” as they tried to buy food and medication.

In February 2021, the lockdown was lifted, freeing up the members of Wigudun Galu to start competing again by spring. , who is from Massachusetts, became acquainted with Wigudun Galu while volunteering with the local , which distributed food kits to trans people during lockdown. “There was this switch, seeing people I had met in really difficult situations suddenly outside and jumping in the air,” the 29-year-old says of attending her first match. “It was a freedom nobody had experienced in the past year, but especially the trans population.”

Photographing the players, Katzman says, was a visual way of showing Wigudun strength in the face of adversity. “But they’re also just there to have fun,” she says.