Marissa and Patrick came up to the community to visit while on their Colombian summer vacation. They brought good luck. I do get slightly nervous bringing my loved ones into a war zone, but I was excited to show them my life and where I lived and it’s great to have people in your life who can picture where you live and what you do. It is, afterall, pretty impossible to describe. The whole thing could not have gone safer/better. We had dry days for the walks both up and down with low river crossings, even though it had been raining up until they arrived. We had strangely cool evenings (I saw Sean in a sweater for the first time!). When the torrential downpour did happen, the light didn’t even go out (!!!). And when the rain stopped, there was a rainbow. It looked like it ended at the FOR house. When I said, “the end of the rainbow is at the FOR house” Marissa thought I said “whore house” and this still cracks me up when I think about it. We went to the poza and talked about life in the war zone and life not in the war zone. We ate nummy chocolates that they brought me and we hugged a lot and lay in hammocks and cooked meals and visited neighbors. And then they left. And I miss them.
Sapa moved her babies out of my room. I am beginning to think they shit where they sleep until they can’t take it anymore and then move to another room to do the same. It may be about time to get knee-deep in bleach in LU. Sapa is the only cat I have ever met who doesn’t like to chase string. I don’t think the babies got that gene. After all her tender loving care, Emily may kill them with her knitting needles.
One thing that’s difficult about this job is that there is so much pain in a war zone. I may be ready to drink my morning coffee and laugh at pigs chasing their mother, but a neighbor may feel like talking about a massacre. And conversations end up being pretty heavy pretty often.
It was us and a few PBIers talking about our lives and siblings. He was the only community member in the room. When we asked him about his siblings, he said he didn’t have any: “I used to, but not anymore.” Sensing he wasn’t up to telling the story, we asked him about his kids. He said, “I had four children. They were all killed by paramilitaries. The last one three years ago.” He was crying, the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but he wiped them before they could drop down his cheek. He is alone. Everyone in his life is not only dead, but has been killed.
She tells us about her children that have been killed. About the lies told about her. About why people want to kill her. She talks easy and tells it like it is. In the end she says, “If I am honest and die for the truth, that’s ok. Dying for the truth is ok.”
This job constantly brings to mind the difference between international human rights defenders and local campesino resistance.
This month there is a FOR volunteer reunion. We will hear more stories and meet the people who came before us in this accompaniment program. This afternoon I am meeting up with the first to arrive. Historical memory.
We get three days off a month. I am taking mine right now. I am staying in an airconditioned room. It is amazing. And skyping with my family. They are amazing. And listening to Lou Reed sing Street Hassle. He is amazing. It’s called a “salida de contexto” and is supposed to remove us a bit from what we do all of the time. Even that is difficult, though. I find it hard to remove myself from the context of life here. The stories and the people and the tears, they are always present.
I have updated the slideshow, for those of you who are interested in seeing some new photos from the field.
