Happy Campo-B-Day

So I am 25!!! Wow, a quarter of a dollar old, although, I like the perspective presented to me by Aj: "You can know rent cars for cheap!" That made me feel great, although, considering my volunteer position, I doubt that I can afford to really rent a car at any age-given rate.

What happened on this very day, while in La Union? To start it off, one of the young moms in the community came and surprised me in the morning as I laid on the hammock. She handed me her gorgeous baby and without hesitation and much joy, she cracked an egg on my head! It was gross and funny, but more gross than funny. I got up and had to take a cold shower way earlier than planned and dedicated a good 10 minutes to scrubbing my scalp and picking out the eggshells. I figured I was already going to have a unique 25 since I was away from a city, from home, friends and family, so I went with the flow and figured that I might as well have a full appreciation of my day of birth (egg or no egg).

In any case, my daring egg-breaker friend also baked a cake in my honor. I still have not figured out how they manage to bake cakes without ovens and have vowed not to leave this place until I develop some non-electrodomesticated baking techniques. It was a delicious cake with white swirls all around. I was a bit worried about the size of it since I could have eaten the entire pie on my own and there were more people showing up at our house as the afternoon approached.

So I spent my birthday with about 25-30 folks from the community who came to share about 2cm of a 18cm cake with some gaseosa (soda;pop) and enjoy a few evangelical birthday songs. The music was made possible thanks to Pedro who brought his bible and his guitar to say a blessing in my honor and sing some happy-clapping birthday canciones! I never expected to have such an experience on my 25th birthday with people of all ages sitting around the living room, a tiny cake, and a guy with a bible and a guitar singing for me. I was in awe of what music can bring to a celebration since people here were incredibly shy to sing Feliz Cumpleaños but were so willing to clap and dance to whatever rhythm available.

To add some color to the scene, we bought some fluorescent glossy masks (zorro style) and had folks wear them throughout the celebration. It was such a gift to see the most random folks willingly wearing the mask. I mean, people who are usually serious and shy were asking if I had extra masks. Not to say that everyone was that willing since some folks refused to "be such kids" as they were "too old for that". In any case, it was so hilarious and fun to share masks and take pictures...yeah, let me remind you that this was not necessarily a kid's party.

Speaking of kid's parties, we also had a pinata! I have to say it was a week after my birthday though. In my words, "it was a really ghetto style one." AJ had the brilliant idea to make a piñata out of a balloon. Well, after plastering it with a newspaper and a sugar and flour mix, we let it dry for a few days. The paste did not turn out to be as effective as we hoped for, so we grabbed the roll of duck-tape and tape the hell out of it. It was a fabulous tuck-tape piñata about fifteen layers of grey tape all around it. It was a great idea though since it probably received about 40 hits before it actually tore. There was a line of kids and then some of the adults volunteered to try to knock the candy out of it. I was not to eager to hit it but ended up accepting the challenge. Aj, on the other hand, was more than happy to give it a good hit or two.

Well, so I am veinticinco años now. I don´t know that I feel this old, or young depending how I wanna look at it. I wonder what kind of behaviour I should be expected to have, I mean, I have now begun the aging process of the late twenties. This is the middle point. This is when those grand plans for the adult age are put in practice. Geeeezzzz.

As of now, I will enjoy the rest of the year and go with the flow...

To see my birthday picture album go to this link:

http://picasaweb.google.com/myra2m/MiCampoBirthday

It´s been 3 months

Bueno, tanto tiempo que no escribo nada en mi “blog”. Sera porque los dias se pasan tan rapido? Será porque aun estoy absorbiendo estos instantes tan nuevos para mi ser que necesito más semanas, más noches y más dias para hubicarme y entender lo que sucede a mi alrededor? Tál vez es por todo lo contrario: Porque ya me “amañe” y los días se pasan y me visita la lluvia de esta temporada, estos inviernos que me parecen caer de las mismas nuves que me miran en Los Angeles, bajo el mismo cielo que se disfruta desde culaquier parte del mundo.En realidad, prefiero pensar que es un poco de todo. -May 28th

It is extremely challenging to try to conceptualize all that has been absorbed and felt in my being since I came here to the Urabá region of Colombia. It has been twelve weeks and I don’t know if I should phrase this introduction as, “It’s only been twelve weeks”, or “I can’t believe twelve weeks have already gone by”. In so many ways, I am still foreign to this place. I am the newest FOR team member (although I’m not so new anymore) and am still in the process of resolving what all of this experiential learning entails. So many events have taken place in these past few weeks that only little time was left for me to write in my blog. Recently, the community released a Comunicado (public notice) regarding Francisco’s death, (former leader in a Humanitarian Zone which are regions designated as being conflict-free zones and are protected by the Inter-American Court on Human Rights). My teammate has been recovering from the lingering typhoid she acquired sometime in December (along with leptospirosis and dengue) and has had to go numerous times to town for check-ups and updates on her health (she all better now). Two weekends ago the entire kick-ass team FOR got a chance to finally reunite during a retreat in Medellin. Nonetheless, on early Sunday morning we get a call informing us that the FOR office/home got robbed in Bogota. This forced us to reschedule our plans for the next couple of days, cut our retreat short, and get back to where each team member needed to be (Please see AJ´s & Janice´s Blog for more details). Right after we came back from our retreat, we had to say good-bye to our senior team member, Mireille, who spent a year living here in La Unión and is currently traveling across the country. And while all this has taken place, so many other things have remained unchanged. I am still getting bitten by mosquitoes, the rain continues to wet our grass and nourish the fincas (land plots), the mountains are still forest green, and the armed conflict continues.

Being here can be so contradicting and paradoxical in so many ways. Some days are so tranquil, full of life uninterrupted by any worries—days when I just enjoy the gifts of nature; fully satisfied while listening to the pouring rain and the variety of animal sounds nearby; admiring the stillness of a sky that could easily inspire a masterpiece on a canvas. And there is the counterpart to this with active days of continuous phone calls, pending emails, meeting notes and weekly reports. Weekends here are usually spent with both children and adults visiting us for the most random reasons. The kiddies come to borrow a puzzle, soccerball, crayons, dominoes, or simply run around our house. One of my favorites visitors is little four-year-old Esteban who comes in with a line of gooey green buggers dripping from his nose. After I get some tissue and wipe his runny nose, I can’t help but pick him up and give him a tight hug and a piquito (little kiss on the cheek). And, we have our regular guest, Miss Bruja, who comes daily to chitchat about the latest gossip and to have a good laugh with the FOR team (aka the gringas, well I am the not-so-gringa-gringa). Her visits usually include laughter, lots of jokes, some cigarettes, and a running around the house. Oh, I forgot to mention how she continously patronizes us for speaking “incorrect Colombian-campo Spanish.” This is usually followed with AJ singing with her amazing opera style voice (which means really loudly) provoking laugher in all those who witness or hear it from a distance. Miss Bruja has to be one of the most unusual/unique individuals I’ve ever met (and believe me, there are many “weirdoes” in my life J). She epitomizes the non-conventional femme in La Unión with her 4ft’9 petite self, a to die for smile that includes four missing front teeth, a boy-style haircut consisting of shaved sideburns, a tiny duck-tail and an almost Wesley Snypes early 90’s movie hairstyle that she likes to style with some gel. Her wardrobe consists of ONLY dresses and she looks like a tiny doll when she wears her blue and white strawberry dress along with her black rubber boots and walks around with her machete on the side. Who said that females in La Unión are not allowed to have ducktails and shaved sideburns? Apparently no one. And no, she is not butch, although could easily be judged as one in my hometown.

Other busy days includes going to Apartadó to either accompany someone from the community or run errands. We have to hike down for about an hour and half (depending on the trail and on our energy level). We walk through grass fields, green mountains, horses, cows relaxing on the grassy or muddy earth, and a few isolated houses along the way. We jump across puddles, and skip on stones to avoid the groovy mud, often trip and sometimes fall along the way. The hike down is sometimes interrupted to have a quick “pee break” or to chug some water but mostly to take a drink of fresh campo air. We have to cross the river in three different locations (some are small crossings). Consequentially we end up walking with wet socks and ounces of water inside the rubber boots that inevitably make gushy sounds as our wet feet rub against the water and creates friction. After finally arriving to La Holandita (the community settled here after they were displaced due to the establishment of a police post San Jose in 2005) and greet every one in the caserio, we make our way to the international house and remove our rubber boots and change into some dry clothes. All this is done while we are on the lookout for the next Chivero (public transportation which costs about $1.75) to pass by. One usually passes through every hour. When we finally hear one coming we run out and crowd in it along with 13-14 other travelers (technically the chivero should only fit 11people) including the driver. The Chivero goes to Apartadó but usually stops along the road to load sacs of yucca, avocado, and/or other goods. Apartadó is the largest city/town closest to us and where we go to buy supplies, groceries, pay bills, eat cheese, and try to make it back to La Holandita before 3pm. If it did not rain a lot and the river is not too high, we load up our backpacks and start the two-hour hike back to La Unión. Sometimes we make it before dark (my personal preference), but often times end up walking through the muddy paths with our headlamps for what seems like hours and hours under the night sky. It feels like an adventure every time despite the fact that I’ve done it way more than what I should admit to. I usually arrive back hungry, wet, and tired and call it a day!

Being here has enabled me to embrace mother earth on a daily basis, which is difficult (if not impossible) to do when you live in south-central L.A. and have to drive across the 110 and the 101for most of the day. It is makes me feel weird at times (for lack of a better word) to be so far away from urban demands such as beating traffic, showing up to a designated workplace, pumping gas, picking up the homie, meetings with people in offices, waiting in line for hours at such and such place. My body is somehow used to the city noise, the traffic lights, the gray air, the dusty windshields, and of course the city rhythm. But there is another kind of busy here that is just as real and can be just as demanding. I have to wash my FOR shirts and my five other (non-FOR t-shirts) garments almost every three days, not in a Lucy’s or a local Lavanderia, but in my own living room! Which actually takes a while and this requires time to soak muddy clothes in a plastic bin, scrub it, rinse it, and then put it out on the clothesline. My clothes usually stay out for two or three days for a couple of more rinses since the rain unexpectedly shows up before the clothes get a chance to completely dry. And to prevent bringing in damp clothes, I leave them outside overnight, and over days. You can't imagine how mold can actually can be quite awful when it mixes with your own sweat. I have learned to accept my new scent here in Lau Union: sweaty person, with strong B.O. wearing a moldy-smelly FOR shirt. That is me about 7 days a week.

Then, of course, there is the imperative office work that we must execute with unreliable dial-up Internet and an old laptop that still has a few viruses. Sometimes there are “errors” and “failures” on our Outlook Express service and we just have to patiently wait until the dial-up works and the internet stays on for us to successfully accomplish something that would have taken 15 minutes back home. So what do I do while I wait? Probably fill up the water tank, clean the bugs off my mosquito net, or cobwebs from my bedroom walls, burn the toilet paper in our back yard, cook some quinoa for lunch, and/or all of the above. All the necessary activities we must carry out makes work here far more interesting than working in between clean white walls, on an actual desk with fast-speed internet on a new HP wide screen laptop inside an air-conditioned office. “How sterile,” says the up until 12 weeks ago city-gal Mayra. I like to think that our office is a good “el campo office.” It is about 6X12x14 ft in actual space and is all made out of wood (including the desk and shelves). By wood I mean large pieces of wooden boards that are in their natural color and texture (with uneven surfaces and splinters). We have old ID’s on the wall of former FOR teammates, a stack of CD folders with a variety of music (including some country but please note that it is NOT mine), a collection of “Arrested Development DVD’s that good ol' teammate AJ recently brought from home, heart stickers, a list of people’s birthdays from the community, and a snowman key chain hanging off a rusty nail. There is also a cluttered corner with a poster, pens and markers in an old Nutella jar, a cell phone and random pieces of papers with doodles or important notes on it. On the left corner there is a poster of a woman with vines growing across her torso and face with the words Fumigation = Miseria (misery) written on it. And well, there are spider webs, old nails still piercing our walls probably since the house was first built, cables and electronics with dust on them, four rolls of duck tape, flat soccer balls in a corner, and stacks of SEMANA (weekly published political articles) magazines under our desk. The space is far more interesting at night when the light bulb attracts flying ants, mosquitoes, wasps, beetles, and who knows what other unidentified insects come to visit the working FOR team once the sun sets and we are still trying to send out an email.

And, so the days continue, some seeming like only 10-hour long days when I end up wondering where the other 14 hours went and others seeming like 40-hours days where I wish I could just crawl under the mosquito net and place my head next to my moldy-smelly pillow. And as I end this blog entry, I scratch the mosquito and bed bug bites that have my body looking like a minor case of chicken pox. Feeling sexy these days? Not me !

EL ENCUENTRO: THE GATHERING

My dates will be a bit of a mix due to the lack of internet availability but nonetheless, read on...

March 22, 2007
A child stares into one of the many candles lit this night in La Holandita which is here the members of the the Peace Community displaced to after a police post was established in the center of town. The community members preferred to move away to another place and start building a community from scratch, rather than to risk their security by living next to a police post due to the fact that this increases the chances of combat between armed groups in the zone.

There is one candle for every small coffin aligned in straight rows along a grassy area where a monument will be created. This monument will represent the many dead that have been brutally snatched from their families and loved ones. Dozens of people from the community and from different parts of the world stand in solidarity ready to participate in the outdoor mass held in honor of all those who have been killed. A song begins to play with melodious words of love that bring to life the memory of one of the leaders who was killed in the massacre on February 21, 2005 Luis Eduardo Guerra, his partner Bellanira Areiza Guzman, and their child Deiner Andres Guerra. Their bodies were found mutilated and buried by the river in another vereda/settlement known as Mulatos. Tears were seen on faces of all ages as I saw them roll down to wet the Earth; and the female voice was heard loud and it attempted to sooth away the immeasurable suffering. The honorable father began to pray as he opened the space for mass and the candles burned while the audience offered a moment of silence…
Mass was followed by the community’s own theme song, composed by another member whose name was on one of the coffins. The lyrics read:

Vamos todos adelante, con cariño y mucho amor, con los suyos y los nuestros, y toda la humanidad. Vamos todos campesinos para ir fortaleciendo la comunidad de paz, del derecho de gentes y la libertad (Let us continue going forward with tenderness and great love, with your people and my people and all of human kind. Let’s continue fellow peasants to strengthen the community of peace, our rights as people and our liberty).

And little by little everyone began to sing along as a single voice developed out of the lips of many. Their beliefs and faith were expressed as they sang away in unison. These lyrics expressed those ideas that have lead myriads of Colombians to become martyrs in the struggle for peace. People’s uncles, mothers, cousins, godmothers and neighbors have all suffered for believing that they should be dignified to live in peace, as a neutral community that does not take part in the armed struggle. Nonetheless, the pride in their eyes and the humble way they embody their extraordinary hope is bold. Their convictions have paid a price too high. People have died manifesting what the lyrics read. The vivid image of the crowd singing will forever remain in my mind when they sang as the energy shifted around us. The courage and strength represented by each community members was felt in the air, under the night sky, through the burning candles surrounding the dozens of coffins. And this is how the outdoor mass culminated: in front of a mixed audience composed of fellow Colombians of all ages, Spaniards, Germans, Italians, Canadians, and other internationals. Everyone encircled the coffins and was able to notice that despite the suffering there are strong spirits of the dead and on that particular night, they were incredibly bright. I felt very honored to be part of a gathering that was meant to embrace the sacred memory of the dead so that the living will not allow it to dissipate. A celebration of the dead through the living.

This Encuentro (gathering) was also organized to celebrate the 10th year Anniversary of La Comunidad de Paz de San Jose de Apartadó. On March 23, 2007, everyone from the community gathered in San Josesito to take part in the 12 kilometer Caminata (march) to the city of Apartadó. This caminata was an active non-violent form of resistance. It was also a way in which the community members could somehow shed light to, in my opinion, just a small portion of what the community members have experienced in the past 10 years. People for all the surrounding veredas (settlements) that are part of the Peace Community came to support and march. Some were barefoot, others were wearing shoes, rubber boots, or chanclas and hundreds of footprints were left behind as everyone marched down the dirt road from La Holandita across banana fields, homes, and children playing in the grass. Sweaty silent faces of foreigner delegates and campesinos marched as the sun burned our skins. Community members said that silence was the only way they could communicate the lack of words they have when trying to explain the pain and suffering that has been recklessly slapped in each of their homes and into their hearts by the paramilitaries; silence was they only way to express all the cruelty they have endured.

Community members of all ages walked carrying the cardboard coffins in their hands. It both perplexed me and brought a sharp pain to my heart as I watched the little kids carry black coffins in their arms under the heat. One imagines that children carry balls instead of a something that symbolizes a cruel and unjust death. I watched how passersby observed diligently and I could hear their curiosity mumbled: What is this march about? Oh, about their dead, oh, it’s the peace community. And as the crowed marched holding banners and pictures with words and names, the entire town seemed to have experienced a moment without time: the freezing of an emotion as they witnessed the silent march and listened to how La Comunidad de Paz expressed their decade of anguish.

The community members led the march towards the Fiscalia’s office (Attorney General). One by one, people begin to place the coffins in rows in front of the building. Each box had a name written on it, each the barrier of her/his own story and together they created an encyclopedia of the violence that has been shed upon the campesinos by legal and illegal armed actors in the region. The Fiscalia has not yet followed any case completely and not a single person has been prosecuted and/or jailed for the crimes against the community members. Community members stated that leaving those coffins in front of the Fiscalia’s office was a way of informing those in charge that they have not been fulfilling their job and that the Comunidad has not forgotten their dead; that they still wait for justice to be carried out. They symbolically asked for the termination of all the impunity that has managed to prevail over justice for far too long. Day by day, they hope for peace and for a lawful prosecution of the guilty parties and individuals that have successfully managed to carry out these awful acts against humanity. Day by day, the community hopes for officials to cease ignoring their suffering. How can you ignore a mother’s pain, as she is unable to give proper good-byes to a desaparecida/o? How can family members cease wondering what was the fate of their loved ones despite the long months and years without answers. How can there still be hope that one day they can see them again when hundreds of bodies have been mutilated and thrown in rivers to ensure that they are never found? How can someone accept that a person is dead if there are no bodies to prove it? And yet, thousands of people in Colombia and in other war-torn countries have to succumb to such a cruel reality. Year after year, they worry and hope that all those who have been forced to disappear will somehow reappear.

This community works through a peaceful form of resistance. They ask for respect for their living and justice for their dead. Their determination and conviction has no alternative: The community members want to live with dignity and respect without the presence-interruptions from the armed groups. They have lost almost 200 members in the last ten years as they have struggled in the middle of an armed conflict that has succeeded in making the civilians the middle target. No longer do they want to become desaparecidos (disappeared), desplasados (displaced), or victimas (victims). “The Peace Community,” they say, “has to be kept alive to be able to guarantee a safe future for the next generation of Colombians: one with dignity that embraces and honors peace and freedom.” The kind of life that we all deserve.

No more threats and violence against humanity. No more coffins with victims of this six-decade poly-headed war that gobbles anything that stands in the way of its power and control. Struggles are stronger when they embody peace and this community is playing an active role to be able to fulfill the promise of a peaceful Colombia.

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.