Adapting and learning

The view is spectacular as I hiked for a good two hours wearing a free sun shawl over my shoulders covering me where my blue FOR tank top doesn’t (fellowship of reconciliation) on my way to La Union. If you are lucky it won’t be muddy but the rainy season has just begun and I am so grateful for the rubber boots that have unofficially been en vogue in el campo. With fresh air and river water singing its way down the stones, it is so easy to forget why I am even here in the first place: conflict in the country. It is mind boggling to try to understand how two such different worlds can exist, or how Mother Nature becomes the haven for defense and a battlefield for the offense. And I hike and ponder as I arrive to a small town where folks are going about their daily lives in the most humble and beautiful way. Children playing in the mud, adults carrying their harvest, some coming some going, young girls and boys going to school, old womyn cooking, and everyone is always doing what they need to be doing. Even the animals are busy: pigs dirtying their piggy selves, horses shitting outside the front path of our house, dogs barking at lizards, roosters waking me up at 5.00am, ( I’ve learned to ignore them). And what is a picturesque moment without sound? Nonexistent. So I hear rancheras and vallenato blasting at all times from radios and speakers of all kinds. I hear the good old Mexican songs my own father would play when I was growing up and it feels a step closer to home. I am finally here in la Comunidad de Paz de San Jose de Apartadó where everyone has lost the life of one or two, or three of their family members. And if you ask anyone of them, they would say they have lost almost two-hundred in the last 10 years because they consider themselves a big family and a loss for one is a loss for the whole community. I ask myself how is it possible that people have the courage and faith to stand strong against forces that seek to destroy any attempt made to live without threats of violence? The answer is ever so present in their loving way of being, in their expressions about solidarity, and in their conviction that justice and peace should reign over violence and impunity. And I ask myself: If they have faith, why shouldn’t I? And I am here eager to learn as a human being and as an international accompanier; to witness this growth and to consciously participate in the progress of a peace movement that has managed to stay alive despite all the deaths; one that is present and spreading peace where there is conflict; one that has enough faith to create an ocean of hope. It is contagious. It has been difficult to say the least, for all its members, the need to keep strong is omnipresent. I don’t want to oversimplify the situation here. It is a daily gain when the sun rises in the morning and everyone knows that nothing/no one has threatened their well-being; that everyone is alive and safe. Colombia as a country has long history of violence and San Jose is part of a largely contested region due ot its geographical location. This Uraba region, bordering Panama, the Carribean, and the Pacific has been exploited for its rich lands and convinient ports. The death toll concentrated here is high and the level of impunity is even more appauling.

Yet, it feels like a blessing to be here: A paradoxical experience where the nude beauty of the green hills juxtaposes with the raw reality of histories of mass violence; a reality that is so far from my L.A. rhythm. A blessing because I am learning about hope as I talk to the elders who share their stories and yet they still smile because they are grateful for this beauty called life.

As a U.S. citizen I can’t help but over analyze my position here as an international accompanier. In particularly as Plan Colombia is being discussed in Washington and in congress. What does it mean for the Colombians to have a millions and millions of dollars invested in their country annually in the form of military aid? I ask myself that question every time I am passing through the men in uniform with their weapons strapped to their shoulders. And I am reminded of why I am here when I talk to the many little ones who explain to me how their parents died.