Daily Inspiration: Meet Mariama Braima

Today we’d like to introduce you to Mariama Braima.

Hi Mariama, it’s an honor to have you on the platform. Thanks for taking the time to share your story with us – to start maybe you can share some of your backstory with our readers?
I remember the first time I held a camera in my hands. I was fifteen, fresh off a summer spent working at the local zoo back home in Columbus Ohio. Every dollar I earned had one purpose: to buy my first DSLR. I had my heart set on the Canon T5i, a sleek piece of machinery that felt so far out of reach. It was close to a thousand dollars, but I was determined to buy it.

All summer long, while my friends spent their money on clothes and whatever else teenagers do, I saved mine. Every hour in the blazing sun, the endless cleaning, the constant “hi, what can I get for you?”—all of it was worth it because I knew what I was working toward. But the waiting didn’t stop when summer ended. I knew if I could just hold out until the holiday season, I’d get that camera at a discount. And so, I waited. Fall came and went. The chill of winter set in. I kept my eye on every sale, every advertisement. But I wasn’t just waiting for any deal—I had a strategy. I knew that right after Christmas, prices would drop even further. That was my moment.

I remember sitting at the computer two days after Christmas, hands slightly shaking as I refreshed the page on Amazon. There it was. The camera of my dreams, nearly half off. My heart raced. I couldn’t click “Add to Cart” fast enough. The deal was too good to be true—my Canon, once almost a thousand dollars, was now within my reach.
But there was still another test of patience. My aunt, who I ordered it through, didn’t have Amazon Prime at the time. Five days. Five long days of anticipation. I could barely focus on anything else, imagining how it would feel to finally unbox my Canon, the weight of it in my hands, the endless possibilities ahead. I knew this camera would be my gateway to capturing life in ways I’d only dreamed of. And when it finally arrived, I felt like I was holding more than just a camera—I was holding the beginning of my journey.

From that day on, my camera never left my side.
It became a part of me. I took it everywhere —to school, to random hangouts with friends, to every chaotic family gathering.
And I clicked. And clicked. And clicked.
I was teaching myself in real-time—learning light, angles, and timing without even realizing it.

Back then, I didn’t call it photography.
I didn’t even dare dream of being a photographer. To be honest… I hated being in front of the camera. If someone pointed a lens at me, I’d duck or turn my head or throw my hand up like a shield. But there’s one photo—just one—that exists because, on that day, I lost the battle. I didn’t say yes to the camera. I just couldn’t say no to my grandmother.

I must’ve been seven, maybe eight years old. It was one of those Sunday mornings that felt like a production. She dressed me in this white Cinderella dress, stiff and itchy at the seams, like it was made from clouds and sandpaper. My little heels clacked awkwardly beneath me—too grown-up for my feet, but mandatory for the look.

Standing next to me was my brother, the complete opposite of the fairytale fantasy I’d been forced into. He was rocking an oversized T-shirt that looked like a borrowed tent and jeans that sagged so low they gathered like puddles around his sneakers.

We looked like a Disney princess and her reluctant bodyguard.
Me, polished and posed.
Him, disheveled and irritated.

But we stood still.
And we smiled.

Click.

It wasn’t a perfect photo.
But now, it’s one of my most treasured ones.

Not because of the outfits.
Not even because of the smile.
But because for once… I wasn’t running away.

It was one of the first moments I understood what a photo could hold.

A feeling.
A story.
A memory that would have otherwise faded.

And maybe that’s where it all began—not with me chasing a camera dream, but with a photo capturing me before I knew I’d be the one behind the lens.

Years passed, and I forgot about the photo—until I didn’t. In college, my friends would pass around their baby pictures, laughing at old memories, reminiscing about family trips and childhood birthdays. I would sit there, feeling a strange twinge of jealousy. I didn’t have those pictures, at least not many. I’d spent so much time running from the camera that there were hardly any to look back on. That’s when I remembered that photo—the one my grandmother made me take.

Now, when I look at it, something inside me shifts. I can still see the reluctance in my eyes, the way I’m standing just a little too stiff, not fully smiling. But I also see a moment that I would’ve forgotten if it weren’t for that picture. I can almost hear my grandmother’s voice again, reminding me that I’d thank her someday. And she was right. Don’t tell her I said that.

That single snapshot has become so much more than just an image. It’s a piece of my childhood that I didn’t appreciate at the time but cherish now. It reminds me of those simple, imperfect moments—how my brother’s shirt was way too big, how I couldn’t wait to get out of those heels, and how my grandmother knew better than I did that some memories are worth saving.

Fast forward to today.
Before I ever picked up the camera again, I went quiet. I entered a strange in-between season—the kind where life feels paused, but your mind won’t stop spinning. I was trying to figure out who I was, what I wanted to do, and more importantly… where to even begin.

See, I’ve always been a people pleaser. The type to smile through discomfort, nod when I really wanted to scream, and follow everyone’s advice—except my own. Growing up, I never really had the space to become who I wanted to be. I was shaped by expectations, not dreams.

I still remember my first dream, though. It was vivid and loud—fashion design. I could see it so clearly: the sketchbooks, the runway lights, my name embroidered into labels. I told everyone that I was going to be a famous designer one day. And for a little while, I believed that.

But dreams can be fragile things in the wrong environment.

Without the money to keep going, and under the weight of family pressure, that dream got traded in for something “safer.” Nursing.
I didn’t choose it—it was chosen for me.

By my sophomore year, I was knee-deep in anatomy textbooks and clinical labs, pretending to care, pretending to smile. And honestly? I was doing well. My grades were solid. To everyone else, I looked like I was on the right path.

But inside?
I was a ghost of myself.

Then came the interview—the final gatekeeper before getting into the nursing program. I sat across from this older man in a tidy office, and he asked me a simple question:
“Why do you want to become a nurse?”

What came out of me wasn’t a rehearsed answer or a fake passion speech. No.
What poured out was something raw. I talked about creativity. Art. Emotions. I didn’t mention medicine once.

He just listened. Quietly.

When I was done, he leaned back in his chair and said, “You don’t belong here.”

I froze.
“What?” I asked.
“You never answered the question,” he said. “You talked about art the entire time. Not nursing.”

I stared at him. Silent.
Inside, my mind was unraveling—
What is he saying?
What will my grandma think?
How do I tell my family that this isn’t for me?

Then I asked him, almost in a whisper, “What should I do?”
He smiled gently and said, “You already know the answer to that.”

And I did.
But I was too afraid to listen.

So what did I do?
I went home and kept studying for the nursing entrance exam.

Yep.

Even after that wake-up call, I was still too scared to face my family—to say the words out loud:
“I don’t want this.”

The day of the exam came. I walked into the testing center with a strange calmness. For the first time in a long time, I prayed.
I said, “God, if this is meant to be… let me pass. Let this path open up for me. But if it’s not, please close the door.”

I took the test.
I failed.
And to my surprise… I felt peace.

I called my grandparents. Told them the news.
They were disappointed, of course. Told me to study harder and retake it.
But something shifted in me.

For the first time in my life, I said “No.”

Just one word. But it felt like thunder coming out of my chest.
No.

And in that moment, I met a version of myself I had never known before—the real me.

After that, I took time off school. Not because I was lost… but because I was finally ready to be found.

It took a while, but one day, the answer hit me as softly as light through a window:
Photography.

A path that let me blend art and people. A career where I could connect with real emotions, raw stories, and fleeting moments that deserve to be remembered.

I realized—this wasn’t just about taking pictures.
This was about giving people a reason to see themselves as worthy.
It was for those who never had family photos. For those who hide from the camera. For those who don’t think they’re beautiful enough, interesting enough, or seen enough.

And now, when I look back at that confused girl in the nursing office, I smile.
Because I’m finally living the life she dreamed of.

Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Has it been a smooth road?

I wish I could say yes. I wish I could sit here and tell you that chasing my dreams felt like floating—but the truth? It’s felt more like climbing uphill… barefoot, in the rain, with voices behind me yelling, “You’re going the wrong way.”

Becoming an entrepreneur—especially a creative one—was never part of the blueprint my family handed me.
So when I first said out loud, “I’m starting a photography business,” I was met with silence… followed by concerned stares and a few words I’ll never forget:

“You’ll struggle.”
“You won’t be able to sustain a good life doing that.”

That stung. Not because they didn’t believe in photography—but because they didn’t believe in me.

And still, I started.

Not because I had all the answers.
But because my soul wouldn’t let me quit this time.

I had no business background.
No mentor.
No one showing me how to turn a passion into a paycheck.

So I became the student of everything:
Business. Branding. Finance. Customer service. Communication. Lighting. Editing. Camera settings. Contracts.

I was googling terms at 2 a.m.
Watching free YouTube tutorials like they were college lectures.
Learning on the fly—and failing on the fly too.

One of the hardest lessons?
Learning that just because someone likes your work doesn’t mean they’ll book you.
And learning to be okay with that.

I had to stop taking every “no” personally.
Had to remember that rejection doesn’t always mean you’re not good—it just means you’re not for them.

What kept me going was the small pool of people who saw me before the world did.
They never asked for the backup plan.
They just said, “Keep going.”
And I have.
Those are the people still in my life today.

The road hasn’t been smooth.
It’s been bumpy, unpredictable, and lonely at times.
But it’s mine.
And I’d choose this uneven, beautiful road over anyone else’s “safe” path—every time.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I’m a photographer—but more than that, I’m a storyteller.

I specialize in capturing people the way they want to be seen—not how society tells them they should look. Weddings, portraits, maternity, branding—I document the real, raw, and radiant moments that people didn’t know they’d cherish so deeply until they saw them frozen in time.

I’ve photographed couples whose love feels like poetry. Mothers who are meeting themselves again through motherhood. Business owners ready to show up boldly. And individuals who’ve never seen themselves as “camera-worthy”… until they did.

What I’m most proud of isn’t just the photos I take—it’s the experience I create.
People come to me nervous, unsure, guarded… and leave feeling confident, seen, and celebrated.
I hold space for every emotion. I don’t just click the shutter—I listen. I affirm. I connect. That’s the part no one sees, but it’s the soul of my work.

What sets me apart is that I never see this as a transaction.
It’s personal.
It’s purpose-driven.
It’s healing.

This is especially important to me because I know what it feels like to grow up unseen, unheard, and misunderstood. So when someone steps in front of my lens, I don’t just see a subject—I see someone with a story worth capturing beautifully.

That’s the legacy I want to leave behind: not just pretty pictures, but proof.
Proof that they were here.
That they mattered.
That their light deserved to be remembered.

Any big plans?
When I think about the future, I see peace—not perfection.
I’m not chasing fame or flash. I’m building a life that feels like me.

One day, I want to open the doors to my very own studio—a two-story creative haven with rooms filled with light, texture, and stories waiting to be told. Each space designed for a different kind of magic: one for portraits, one for creative concepts, another for quiet moments that need no explanation.

Outside, I imagine a garden blooming around it—not just for aesthetics, but for those who feel most alive in nature. Maybe it’s for my clients. Maybe it’s just for me.
Either way, it’s a space that says: you belong here. Take a breath. Be still. Create.

I dream of living a simple, grounded life. I don’t need the luxury car or the high-rise apartment. Give me something reliable that gets me from point A to point B, and I’m good.
Give me a cozy home with a big backyard where I can plant things, watch them grow, and feel the soil between my fingers. A home where laughter lives, and peace lingers.

I want to travel—not just for vacation, but with purpose.
To photograph the beauty of different cultures. To meet people who’ve lived lives so different yet so familiar to mine. To document their stories with respect and curiosity. To learn through my lens.

There’s so much I want to do.
So many dreams scribbled down in journals and whispered to God in quiet prayers.
And honestly… sometimes I wonder if there’ll be enough time to do it all.

But I’m planning for it.
I’m moving with intention.
And I’m trusting that every step I take is leading me exactly where I’m meant to go.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.veenostudios.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/veenostudios?igsh=NDFoczE3djU1eWI1&utm_source=qr

Image Credits
Profile picture of me was shot by Patrick Cazer