Thank you to everyone who responded to my last blog and politcally supported the community last month by contacting your representatives in regard to the Dear Colleague letter in Congress and by signing the petitition against the U.S.-Colombia Free Trade Agreement. We are following the developments here, and hoping for the best.
To all of my fellow fans of snail mail: I now have an address in Apartado, as the post office has officially re-opened after their move. The name on the box is Susana Pimiento, so your letters would have to read:
Gina Spigarelli c/o Susana Pimiento
P.O. Box 25008
Apartado Postal
Colombia, Sur America
My first jeep ride up to the communtiy post-vacation had me sitting next to a neighbor of mine. Four to a row, facing the four on the other row (that’s four adults- not counting bags, children, chickens etc.) and packed in pretty tight. About fifteen minutes into the ride, the woman across from me’s face went slightly whitish. I thought perhaps she had motion sickness. She did not. She saw the notedbook sized spider located behind my head. (Note: I think most spiders here are large. Most locals think most spiders here are invisible, so the fact that the four individuals accross from me were concerned about this spider suggested it actually bites.) As everyone in the jeep noted the size and “anger” of the spider, I tried to wiggle my way further away from it (futile). My neighbor, bless her, realized I was not going to be the one to deal with the situation, even if I was the closest. She asked the driver if he “had a tool with which she could kill a large spider” and he stopped the car to remove his boot. I was instructed to lean forward and I lept to Emily’s lap, a feat in and of itself since she was kiddy corner two people away. The spider was hit. The spider did not die. In the end I think it was a mixture of boot, pole and random sharp object that took him down. I have not ridden inside the jeep since. Hanging off the back of the jeep as it bumps up the mountain has the extra advantage of a quick bail out if the whole thing goes off one of the cliffs (also likely).
Coming back to La Union after vacation took a few days of readjusting. Luckily, Bendy is the most amazing friend ever and brought me curries, soap, sriacha and music to ease me back into war zone living. I found myself reacting fiercly to the surroundings- jumping back and forth between slightly relaxed and severely stressed- depending on the activity. At one point Emily looked at me and said, “I think you need some hot chocolate.” So wise. And then things fell back into place and I stopped startling myself at the helicopters and gunfire and I stopped losing sleep over my neighbor’s stories of death and destruction and historical horror and injustice. I started to enjoy weeding the garden with Emily and (far more effective than the two of us combined) one of my favorite teenagers, and I laughed at my grandmotherly neighbor whipping chickens to get them out of her house (yes, with a horse whip), and I joyfully shook popcorn in a plastic bag full of salt to share with the kids, and I watched a confused hummingbird watch himself in our mirror, and I relaxed into the rythmic sound of Emily juggling bowling pins outside my window, and I listened to neighbors whistle communication across the canyon, and I lectured loud cow’s mom when she woke me up at 5:30AM (she, obviously, just continued chomping away, staring at me with eyes half-mast and jaw slowly circulating), and I visited one of my favorite families at sunset and sat on their porch and gorged on the last mangos of the season while they reassured me that the zapote and mandarine seasons that came next were also deliciously fun.
June was full of hot days and balmy nights. In town the shop owners sat directly in front of fans, and left the freezer open an extra second when they sold ice cream. In the campo people scrubbed their water tanks more often than normal and took multiple showers a day. My hair had to go. Emily cut it in front of our house while I overlooked a country mountain landscape, dotted with horses grazing and children chasing piglets. I wanted her to shave it (it was so hot I thought I could not go on), but she refused. Instead it now hangs shoulder length. A foot and a half of my redishblonde hair was piled in front of our house for a few weeks, admist cowpies and horse poo. Just when I thought none of it was going to go to use in a bird nest or the like, a puppy arrived to play in it. He wanted to be blonde.
Sapa gave birth to two babes in Emily’s bed. Between Sapa and Emily, they were protected for weeks from any and all threats. The kittens have now officially grown out of the blind rat stage and are furry and open-eyed and pretty frickin’ cute. They have also officially moved from Emily’s room to mine (Sapa, uninvited, carried them there a couple weeks ago for some unknown reason that apparently was not up for debate) where they play in my arts and crafts bag and sleep on my clothes shelf and dart out from under my bed to attack my feet when I walk in. There were a few nights of constant struggle with Sapa, who was convinced my bed was actually hers. The nightly battle went something like this:
Gina: (delicately sleeping)
Sapa: Jumps on Gina’s head with baby in her mouth looking to take over the bed, simultaneously breaking the mosquito net.
Gina: Violently removes Sapa and gently sets babies on ground then gets up, cursing, and reties mosquito net.
Sapa: (after waiting patiently for mosquito net to be retied)Jumps on Gina’s head with baby in her mouth looking to take over the bed, simultaneously breaking the mosquito net.
Gina: Violently removes Sapa and gently sets babies on ground then gets up, cursing, and reties mosquito net.
(Repeat until dawn or until Gina is so tired she doesn’t mind choking on mosquito net.)
There were a few nights of lost sleep, but I think we understand eachother now. We were feeding Sapa while she was pregnant and first nursing. She is now back to the hunt; last night I woke up to the sound of crunching on bones. Poor little field mouse.
One thing every member of the Peace Community does is participate in weekly community work days, where everyone gives a day to work on something that benefits the entire community. This month they spent several weeks in a row improving the walking path from La Union to San Jose. It’s pretty awesome now… enough rocks jetting out of the mud that you pratically don’t ever have to step in it. Parts of it are nearly (gasp!) cobbled. How do they do it!?! In other community work day news, there have been Peace Community sugar cane harvests and honey making. Check this out- throw a little baking soda in freshly made Peace Community honey and voila- you have malt candy. Campo tricks = so good.
I have been up and down a lot this month…
The first time we met on the path he jumped out at me. I nearly had a heart attack. But he was unarmed and familiar looking and had a nice smile and told me where he lived. Another time he and his sister were knee deep fishing in the river with translucent line while I clumsily crossed it trying now to get wet (fail). They waved and smiled. One time they ran down to the path to bring me coconut for a snack when I was walking by their house. I think they find me strangely intriguing. They comment on how sweaty I am and ask me how to say things in English and compliment me on how “quickly” I walk (note: we are but gringo slugs next to the local campesino cheeta). I like them because they are nice to me. And because it is nice to have friends outside the community. And because they are siblings who get along, and I miss mine.
You always here about them- here and there, killing a chicken or killing a cat. Emily saw one once. The first time I saw a snake on our path,I was moving pretty quickly. I was on my way to a meeting and I wanted to arrive with enough time to shower. The snake wasn’t moving at all. It was just in the way. I watched it watch me for a moment and then walked far around it and continued on my way. About 200 yards down the path I ran into a family on horse back:
Me: There is a snake on the path.
Son: Where?
Me: Just up there. I don’t know if it’s poisounous.
Mom: What does it look like.
Me: Yay big, head like this, red.
All: Nervously laughing.
Mom: Is it alive or dead?
Me: Alive. Why would I tell you to be careful of a dead snake?
Dad: Oh my child, that one will kill you.
Mom: Are you alone?
Me: Yep.
Dad: You need to carry a machete.
Yes, I can see it now. The machete wielding peace working gringa in the war zone, taking on poisounous snakes. Since then I’ve seen a few more, but that red one was the coolest looking.
A new jeep record was set: 12 people hanging on to the outside.
I took antibiotics on vacation, but apparently they didn’t kill the infection because I just got gradually sicker upon me return to La Union. This culminated during the week my boss and a former FOR volunteer where here visiting. We managed to get quite a bit of work done, but I was nowhere near feeling well. Liza, my boss, is lovely. We talked about many things and how to make them even better. We got approval for pending requests and we ate delicious food. She even brought sundried tomatoes without knowing my obsession for them. Paul worked for FOR in La Union in 2005, just after a masacre. We talked about how quickly things change in a war zone and he told us story after unbelievable story from his time here. He told us about accidentally meeting the FARC under a avocado tree while on the way to the fields and the Military walking straight down the street next to the FOR house. It was nice to have visitors. Particularly these two. They are what I may call gems. Unfortunately I missed a lot of the lively conversation while either shitting, puking, feeling faint, laying feverish in a hammock, listening to sounds I’ve never heard coming from my stomach, or otherwise in pain/delirium.
Eventually I was thrown over a donkey which Paul and Liza alternatively led down to town. When I visited the doctor she was surprised I wasn’t complaining of a sore throat. I told her, now that she pointed it out, it was pretty difficult to swallow. I had strep. She asked if I had a fever. I told her I was hot. She took my temperature and told me that was because I had a fever. I told her I was always hot and slightly delirious due to the climate. She told me if I was this hot and delirious, it was because I had a fever and not because of the climate. I also had leptospirosis. It’s a nice little disease contracted by ingesting urine from farm animals. I dare you to google it. I spent five days in Apartado sleeping and drugging myself and visiting the clinic. Once the fever subsided, I visited the PBI house and they made me tea. I went to the internet mid-day because it has airconditioning. I watched so many sitcoms I never knew existed. I was sick and alone and sad.The worst thing about being sick far away from home is that sickness is always pumped with homesickness. It was pretty lame. One evening Forest Gump was on (dubbed in Spanish, mind you) and I cried when Forest told Jenny about the beauty he could see in the war zone. Then I got better and felt like a Whole. New. Person. I realized I’d been sick since my arrival in La Union, at least at a low-level. Strong kill-all antibiotics are amazing. Now there is just the conundrum of finding local probiotics so that I don’t catch the first thing that I come in contact with now that all of my nice infection fighting bacteria are, like the infection, dead.
When I came back up to the community, I heard my name shouted accross the canyon. I waved at the lush green hill from which the shouting came. Later I learned it was some neighbors, traversing the mined hill, looking for a rogué pig. I couldn’t help the flash of a scene from the movie Los Colores de La Montana when it crossed my mind.
Eating is even more fun when your stomach acts like it should. The papaya grew on our garden tree for more than a year. We ate it in less than a half an hour. Sean says, “fried yucca is the closest thing to a campo pretzel” and our neighbor makes them so well you could sell them at a traveling carnival. Garden vegetable soup is so good when the vegetables actually come from your garden. I love soup. Palomas, the Italian accompaniment organization, invited us to a dinner meeting- their pasta dishes = . Emily accomplished the imposible: she made a loaf of bread without an oven. I could have died from happiness.
Emily’s birthday week kicked off with a trip to the swimming hole. The wáter was high from rain and more than 10 of us were in one pool, playing tag on a hot Sunday afternoon under the mini waterfall. Our full visión for Emily’s big 3-0 was that she would be “princess for a day,” wearing a chiffon dress and a crown while riding around on loud cow and shouting orders to all her humble subjects. In the end I did make her a crown, but the chiffon dress was unattainable. When she went down to town for some food for the party, kids gathered at the house to make decorations. At the party we made empanadas and covered crackers with homemade fudge and danced to vallenato. Neighbors passed by and hung out and danced a song or two. It was a wild ragin’ succesful campo celebration. At one point a neighbor turned to the birthday girl and said, “you know, we usually only have birthday parties for the children.” In fact this worked out fine, because Emily and I had previously decided she was actually celebrating the quinceañera she was denied during her childhood in the states.
Emily and I did an accompaniment to Mulatos, another of the Peace Community villages that’s a 6 hour horse/mule ride from where we live in La Union. The path is beautiful. You climb and climb and climb and at the top of the mountain, there’s a view of the caribbean bay. We passed the most picturesque of places. We saw land that belongs to our neighbors, where they hike everyday to work. It was a good thing I practiced riding a horse with a neighbor before going (a thought that randomly occured to me a few days prior) because it was an intense ride. The up is UP. The down is DOWN. There is mud and horse flies and biting ants and the horses are tired and they look for ways to avoid the knee deep mud by walking on the edge of the path, dragging you through trees and bushes and thistle. We arrived in Mulatos with new bruises and cuts and saddle sore. The Mulatos Peace Community makes La Union look like a bustling urban center. There are seven families there, Split 3 and 4 by a river. It is quieter. Emily and I even managed to take a nap one day. The stars are clearer. The roofs are made with palapa, which makes the terrential rains sound more gentle. One of the community leaders there has the most infectious of laughs. The war there is louder. We went for meetings. We went to see the military presence in the zone. Our first night we heard land mines being disactivated. We listened to stories of the various armed actors and what they were doing and where they were. We heard helicopters and saw single soldiers on the path and knew in the back of our minds they were backed by entire tropos, hiding in the jungle and watching us.
And then, unexpectedly while we happened to be there, a neighbor (note: “neighbor” implies anyone within two hours walking for this community) was taken by the military and didn’t return home. His wife called. It was decided if he didn’t return home by dawn, the community would go look for him. At 6AM we took off on a 1.5 hour hike/rescue mission to locate the mobile counter-insurgent troop that had this man. Some 20 campesinos met on the path along the way- men, women, children, babies- some on horse back, most walking, all with complaints they intended to bring up to the troop commander in their backyard. We walked past the sight of the FARC planted, military disactivated land mines. They were no more than 30 feet off the path and left large cráter holes. Spooky. We hiked up to the top of a hill where the troop was last sighted. There, soldiers appeared from behind banana leaves and disappeared again behind them. Eventually the commander agreed to talk with the community and emerged from the lush jungle. On behalf of the two groups there was a lot of talking. There was a lot of discussing. On my behalf, there was a lot of furious note-taking. On Emily’s behalf there was a lot of satalite phone-call making. In the end, the man was returned to his family. We felt pretty good about international accompaniment. We left our friends in Mulatos blowing kisses into the wind and promising to return soon. We half hiked-half rode back home. The last 30 minutes we followed a man bringing his cherry tomato harvest down to town to sell. We bought some. I’ve never had better cherry tomatoes in my life. The hike/ride was long and we arrived in La Union exhausted.
July 4th passed without incident here. Sean, Emily and I did our June finances. We wished eachother a lacluster ‘Happy 4th of July’ whenever someone asked the date.
July 8th however, the 11th anniversary of the 2000 La Union massacre, did not pass without incident. The day brought in a low fog and an oppressive humidity, and of course, an emotional heaviness that lasted a few days longer as people remembered the massacre of their family members and community leaders. On that day in 2000, a group of military backed, paramilitary soldiers entered La Union, gathered everyone in the center of town, and massacred the community leaders.
Emily knits with her natural died wool. The bag she is making now has wool dyes made from avocado, marigold, fruits and other campo seed delights. Sean plays Silvio Rodriguez songs on his guitar and jams with our neighbor. He has also been playing on the La Union soccer team in the Peace Community ternament and they have been winning, although he says this is not due to him. Emily and I got up to our knees in bleach and scrubbed out the shared accompaniment house in San Josecito. We now itch less when we sleep there. A boy turned seven and Emily had no problem being the only non-organizing adults at the party. Parties are fun. This one came chalk full of fun- piñatas and balloon games, and young children dancing vallenato and reggaeton with more finesse than I could ever dream. We also played community bingo, which we lost. One afternoon I pulled out my clown makeup and let the little girls do my makeup and their own. Emily looked at me and said, “frightening.” Last night we attended a party at the PBI house down in town. Attending parties full of OEA and Doctors without Borders and the UN Refugee workers makes me feel like a foreign diplomat. Then I remember where I live. And what I do. And I find life all the more strange.
Two friends from Guatemala arrive tonight. Friends are so good.
