Papayas grow on tall tall trees

The rains that just don’t seem to stop have stopped, or have at least let up a bit. This is a good thing because while walking up the other day I choose poorly and stepped into extra deep mud and my next step brought me right out of my boot. Some not-so-graceful balancing along with Mayra’s help brought my vulnerably socked foot back together with my entrenched boot. (Here a picture of Mireille not getting stuck in the muddy path, she is way more agile.) Life in this campo continues to be full of strange and wonderful missteps and moments like I have never known before. Yesterday we walked down the way to welcome the newest member of the Peace Community, a baby girl born just five days earlier. She and her mom had been brought up in a hammock just yesterday and are both in good health. The baby is so tiny and innocent. Birth in a community so afflicted by violence seems to me a hopeful testament reaffirming life. Yes, death and violence seems to pervade every aspect of life in the campo, but people are still being born into, what I like to think is, the promise of a better future.

After visiting with the tiny newest addition to our community, Mayra and I went over to Doña Lola’s house, the community’s second-to-oldest resident. Doña Lola’s face is filled with the enchanted crinkles and lines of a life lived in spite of obstacles and hardships. Her eyes twinkle with love every time she leans up to give you a kiss, regardless of how sweaty your condition. She pads off to her kitchen and back to offer us agua panela when we arrive from the hike up the mountain, opens up her kitchen and offers up her hands to us when we want to grind cacao or coffee, feeds us even when we aren’t hungry and gifts us the papayas that grow in her garden tree. Earlier that day we had passed by to poke some papaya’s out of the too-high-to-reach-or-(for us)-to-climb tree. I accidentally poked too hard at one and speared it on the stick, causing it to slide down the long pole I was using and land at Doña Lola’s feet. As papaya splattered at her feet and onto her apron, she just looked up at me, laughter in her eyes, and patted me on the back. It is so wonderful to have a grandmother here.

(Here is Lola´s porch in the daytime)Last night, we passed as night had just overtaken dusk. Doña Lola and her son, Ricardo, who is also old enough to warrant a “Don” in front of his name, sat eating dinner by candlelight. Their electricity was cut off long ago and they instead use candles to illuminate the dark night. Candles always seem to add a bit of romance to any ordinary night. The radio was tuned to the news station and Don Ricardo told us about the news of the massacre that had just happened the day before. This seemed more than the usual amount of senseless in scope as two drunken soldiers gunned down six civilians, including a little boy at a school outside of Bogotá. The soldiers were caught by the military and no motive was given other than alcohol mixed with an argument. Doña Lola shook her head and commented on the evils of liquor while I thought about a system so entrenched in violence that claims even the drunken soldiers amongst its victims.

Doña Lola brought out some café and a canister of dried milk for us to mix into it as the news turned to the upcoming games in the national soccer tournament. I looked out to the firmament from their open porch and was amazed to see the stars brightly shining down at us, unencumbered by celestial fog. The night was crisp and cool after all day rains and I realized that the recent constant rain had also translated into consistently cloudy night skies. These were the first stars I had seen in some time. The clear points of light reaching down were a perfect compliment to the café con leche, the unhurried conversation and the flickering candle light of Doña Lola’s inviting porch.

As we walked back to our house I thought about the jumble of news that had come out of the Colombia media in recent days; President Uribe’s out-of-nowhere announcement to release over 200 incarcerated FARC members (more on this news here), a confrontation between FARC and National Police that lead to deaths of 2 policemen and took place on a road to Sante Fe de Antioquia (where we just recently were for our retreat) the recent protests all over the country against the decision by Congress to shift money away from public education, and rumblings that the US Congress seems to be delaying a vote on the FTA giving we opponents hope that it might not pass.

So much is happening here that I can’t soak it all up from my technology-challenged perch let alone comprehend the meanings and implications of something as mind-boggling as Uribe’s decision to release FARC prisoners. And the robbery of our office/apartment in Bogotá somehow fits into this tangled landscape. (For more on the robbery, check out my teammate Janice’s blog) It is much easier to sit with community members on a clear-sky night and sip at a coffee while listening to their tried and true tales of life in La Unión. It should be as simple as that uncomplicated kind of communion with one another. But at the same time it is fast-paced and utterly incomprehensible in its grand scope. Sigh. As my teammates and I have taken to saying (stolen and adapted in good faith from a line in Blood Diamond): TIC, This is Colombia.


One teammate who I no longer get to exchange shrugs of “TIC” with is the one with whom I have shared all of my time until this point, the irreplaceable and utterly amazing, Mireille Evans. She is taking some time to travel around Colombia before heading back to Canada to find new ways to share her unflappable good spirit with the world. I miss her. Here she is walking off into the night, guiding one of the kiddies of the community back home.