mikeShriver

I seem to be perpetually short on cash when I travel. Poor planning and difficulty with the math of currency exchange usually leave me with fewer rupees, dirhams, pesos and etc. than I need.

The ATMs in Colombia are freezing cold, especially compared to the tropical heat outside. They are like single-occupancy pods of A/C. Stepping into one feels like stepping into a walk-in refrigerator. I sampled many of them in my short time in that country, due to the trial-and-error inconsistency of a my debit card. Anyone who has travelled with me could probably tell you a story about my money problems on foreign soil.

On one occasion toward the end of my stay with Torin, we caught motos into town to pick up some supplies and get me a little cash for dinners and the trip home. I latched myself into the tiny environmentally controlled pod and began to push buttons at random on the kiosk. Almost as soon as Torin and I stepped into the box, a man came up outside the glass window and wordlessly began staring at us. His eyes were enormous, and I don’t think he blinked once during this entire episode.

With him standing out there, and my inability to figure out how to make the machine spit out currency, I pretty quickly decided against the original plan, and packed my wallet deep into my bag and exited the cash-pod.

As soon as we exited the ATM, the man, still silent and with no emotion on his face, outstretched his hand in my direction. It made me pretty uncomfortable to have his attention focused on me like that. Torin looked at me with a look in his face that said ‘I have no idea what this person wants’ and gave out a little laugh that revealed he was as uncomfortable as I was. We made our way pretty quickly to the nearest main road, where we could find some transportation. The man followed close behind us, hand outstretched, eyes wide, the whole time.

Transportation is simple to come buy in most every place I visited. You simply have to choose a motorcycle, and climb onto the back of it. We jumped onto the two closest motos and spit out the usual: ‘Mampujan.,’ and off we were, on our way out of the town. The man stood on the corner we had just departed, and continued to stare at us with his hand outstretched. Torin and I exchanged looks from out motos and watched him as we rode away.

He wasn’t left completely empty-handed. As we rode off, someone thoughtfully deposited an empty paper cup into our friend’s outstretched hand.

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I recently took 6 weeks off from work to visit some friends in South America. When I got back, I dumped 9 rolls on the counter at my local Bartell’s. I’m dedicating this post to my favorite shots from the trip.

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Tags: AE-1, Eyes, fuji superia 200, Fujica, Hobbies, N60, Photography, ST-801.

Yesterday was the first day of the Hearing. It was pretty rough going most of the day. We were awakened by news that some people had showed up with machetes and were threatening to take down some of the facilities. That incident turned out to be some of the youth in the community expressing a payment dispute, but it rattled some of the organizers and made for a frustrating scene. The event has so much to worry about coming from outside the community that it doesn’t need the infighting and quarrels of those inside the community.

The day was plagued with technical difficulties, issues regarding the distribution of meals and the terrible mud. The mud was slowly taken care of throughout the day, as trucks began arriving with the sand they should have laid down in the first place to take care of it. After the days events ended, the organizers had a big meeting during which they discussed major changes to the way food was distributed, that being the major hangup in the day. Far fewer people showed up today, and it is noticeably less chaotic. They have also managed to clear up the major technical issues, and there are a good number of people who seem to be legitimately attentive to the events in that courtroom in Bogota.

The last remnants of fear that I had from the weekend completely vanished yesterday. Perhaps the amount of nonstop work distracted me enough that I didn’t dwell on it. I think that seeing the community (try) to organize this event and plan through the threats gave me a feeling of implicit safety here. The community once again feels, to me, like a place where I am completely safe.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

The work began to manifest itself in a few more obvious ways today. Simon trucked a large tent into Mampujan for the hearing, and Torin and I were quickly enlisted to help set it up.

I wish I could say that I was useful in situations, such as this, where physical labor is required. After a couple of hours in that sun I largely gave up helping. Toring showed far more grace working steadfastly throughout the day as the sun turned into clouds turned into pouring rain, turned into 3-inches of mud covering the entire field. At the end of the day, he remained in the same high spirits he started out. He even seemed happier with having been given a job that required hard labor.

Halfway through the afternoon, I realized that the last roll of film I had shot hadn’t loaded properly. I lost some of my most anticipated photographs of the trip, so far.

Regarding the events of last night: They have completely changed my entire perspective on this day. Suddenly, there is hushed talk of police excorts and military informants in the community

In a place I used to feel completely safe, I am norewharboring back-of-my-mind thoughts of abductions and concerns for my safety and the safety of the others here.

As much as I was worried last night, I couldn’t stop thinking how awesome a story this will all make once I am back. Perhaps that is indicative of how afraid I actually was, but my most pressing thought was for the story I would have the opportunity to tell when I get back.

Torin thinks very little of the threats, which is somewhat reassuring, but I still slept pretty uneasily last night

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

[Posts from this point on were not posted while on travel to avoid excessive worry they might have caused while I was abroad.]

Preparations for the hearing have been in full swing all day. After dinner and a leisurely sit in the hammock we were visited by four of the women who are working to help organize the event. They spent an hour or so at the house while they arranged for a ride back to their hotel, about 5 km up the road.

While they were staying there they expressed some concern that they might not be safe at the hotel. They asked Torin if he would escort them back to the hotel and help them get checked in. It seemed like kind of an absurd request. These women were native Colombians from the region, and certainly knew a lot more about the area than Torin or I knew. We eventually got in contact with the people that were to take them to the hotel and arranged for them to come and pick the women up.

["I think I was talking in Spanish to a native English speaker," Torin said after he hung up, "He had a strange accent and we both kept searching for words. Neither of us offered to switch to English, though." The man on the other end turned out to be named Simon. He was a Londoner who gave lectures at a seminary in Medellin, and had been living in Colombia for seven years. Spanish was second nature to him, now. In the coming days, I would have to constantly remind him that I don't speak Spanish, and he would have to make a concerted effort to switch over to English when speaking to me.]

“You’re coming with us.” One of the women stated to Torin.

“OK… And Miguel, too?”

“Sure, the more gringos the better.”

And like that we were on our way in the back of a pickup to a hotel that was five minutes from Torin’s house. We pulled into a lot that was, pretty literally, in the middle of nowhere. The lot held a gas station and a short row of locked rooms. There was a small food stand across the street where four or five people sat around a table and chatted. We were assigned our rooms and we settled in, then set off on a small walk to the snack stand across the street.

After purchasing some chips and water we walked across the expansive lot to enjoy the cigars we purchased in Cartagena away from the potentially unapproving eyes of our hotel-mates. We sat there, smoking our first Cubans, ants biting our feet and bugs swarming to the light overhead, when we noticed the red flashing lights of a police van illuminating the front of the hotel. Police in the US make me jumpy, and being confronted by Colombian Police was a terrifying thought. Luckily since I didn’t speak Spanish, I didn’t have to talk to them at all, Torin handled that. In a few moments the van pulled around the lot and stopped in front of us. They asked us if we were with a group of women staying at the hotel. Torin walked back to the hotel with one of the policemen while I stayed and finished my cigar. In a few moments Torin came back and beckoned me back to the hotel.

There had been an ‘incident,’ Torin informed me. While we were out smoking, one of the women we were with had received a phone call from a man who could list her her entire days activities, and the numbers of the rooms we were staying in at the hotel. He indicated that he was armed, and finished his call with the words ‘You need protection.’

We are now back in the hotel room, while several heavily armed policemen sit outside, watching the entrance to the rooms.

I have never been in any situation even remotely close to this before. At this point, I’m not entirely sure how to feel. A lot of common sonse tells me I am in little danger, anyone intent on wounding or killing has had ample opportunities far more suitable than this, with police watching over the room I sleep in. Even so, stories of kidnappings, disappearances, drug and paramilitary violence in Colombia form the majority of my understanding of the place.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

We were halfway into breakfast this morning, when a truck backed up to the house and the house exploded with activity. The hammocks were taken down, and a stead stream of men started bringing five-gallon bottles of water into the room, and stacking them against the wall. It must have been a rude surprise for Raul’s father, who had stepped into the shower while the house was quiet with the sleepy pace of our breakfast routine, and emerged, wearing only his towel, to a house full of activity.

The delivery men, having now finished stacking their product, are engaged in a lively conversation with Juana, newly arrived, regarding what I can only assume to be payment issues (although, with my understanding of this place, it could be anything, including the negotiations for a glass of water for the parched deliverymen on their way out).

Our cinnamon rolls have now finished rising and are now in the final stages of baking, the crowd has dispersed, and Juana, busy with the concerns of the looming event, has been whisked away to deal with some other aspect of planning, or unexpected mishap.

The “Audience” is being watched with interest by human rights groups, the Colombian government, and other displaced communities as it is the first time anything like this has been attempted for a displaced community in Colombia. Depending on the success of the event, it will be a flagship for other communities who wish to repeat it’s significance, or it may be seen as a warning that these communities are not equipped to organize events of this magnitude and importance.

So far, planning and execution has gone far from smoothly. The community has spent a good deal of time cleaning up, clearing empty lots and attempting to make itself more presentable, but the logistics and planning present huge challenges for Mampujan and Sembrandopaz to overcome.

The event will host 1,000 people, and will have to provide one lunch and two snacks per person, per day, for a total of 30,000 meals served over the ten-day event. Sembrandopaz has decided to try to keep as much of the government’s grant money in the community as possible by hiring from the community as much as possible. This means that the women of Mampujan will be responsible for all of the food preparation for 1,000 people. Physical labor in setting up and running the event will also be pulled from the community here. Unfortunately, this means that a significant portion of the people that this event is intended to serve, may be unavailable for the actual video conferences, because they will be occupied serving the event.

The community has been given very little time to prepare for this event. I think that Sembrandopaz has known about it for a while, but Torin was informed it was happening in the time since I have gotten here, and the community has been feverishly making plans for about a week, now. With only a couple days to go, the project is facing miscommunications regarding money, and ill-conceived ideas regarding the mud control at the soccer field, which is the largest outdoor space the community has to set up tents in. Hoping to prevent the field from becoming a gigantic muddy mess, several tons of dirt have been trucked in and spread over the field. Everyone apparently failed to take note that one of the principal ingredients in mud is dirt. One good rainfall will hasten the mess that they sought to prevent. There has been much talk of changing the order of dirt to sand, but trucks of dirt keep arriving and pouring more on, and a storm is brewing on the horizon.

For more information on Mampujan and it’s displacement, see the video Torin has posted here. The video was made before his arrival in Mampujan. Torin has added English subtitles.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

So far on this visit, I have spent most of my days relatively leisurely. We usually go to bed before 10:00 and get up after 9:00. Many days have been spent without leaving the house, merely lying around in hammocks, reading or writing, sometimes waiting for Torin to return from some meeting or interview, sometimes with him as my accomplice in sloth.

Today, though, we got up early (7:00 AM, even) and headed out to a middle school where we acted as honorary judges in the “Festival of Sweets.” It was a lively affair, with middle schoolers everywhere, pushing their sweet concoctions upon us. The sun was hot as ever, and we took every opportunity for shade we could find, but were often crowded out by the children. The long day included a lengthy walk to and from the school, and I don’t think I have ever sweated so much in my life. As usual, I understood very little of what was happening around me most of the day.

Upon our departure we were passed by a group of seven or eight boys at a full run. We turned around to see children flooding from the schoolyard, and hurtling towards us. We just reached the corner that the first group of boys had rounded, when Juana, one of the teachers at the school, frantically beckoned us back that direction.

Somewhere in the space of our departure, and one-block walk, a fight had broken out between some of the school kids and a group of people that lives up the road. The wave of children over took us and reached the corner, all shouting and screaming with excitement. Occasionally the wave would reverse and run frantically back towards us, only to return to the site of the action a few seconds later. Juana advised us to leave by a different route, as fights here get out of hand pretty quickly. The teachers mostly stood around helpless, as the volume of children in the spectacle was far too large to even have a hope and controlling. As we walked the other way, we could see the kids starting to throw stones, some larger than baseballs.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

Suddenly, I have manifested my presence on this house as a plague of misfortune, my domain of destruction so far has been limited to the kitchen, but who knows how it will spread. In two days, I have already broken all the bowls in the house, and I just now spilled a half litre of milk across the entire counter surface and most of the kitchen floor. I have also nearly relieved the residents of all their useable glasses and both mugs.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

Torin has recently been informed of an upcoming event for the community he is living in. He will be helping organize and run an event he has been referring to as ‘The Audience’. The leaders of the paramilitary that displaced this community a decade ago are facing trial for the actions in Bogota, and as part of the proceedings, the community has been presented with an opportunity to confront these men face to face. Sembrandopaz is responsible for organizing the showing, which will happen over a video connection between the village and Bogota where the accused are located. Over 1.000 from this community and another are expected over the 10 day event. Facilities, means and workers will be provided by the government for this event. I am fortunate enough to see and probably assist with the setup and will get to witness first few days of the event.

The event is especially of note because it is the first time in Colombian history that a displaced community will be given a chance to confront the people that displaced it. Because of the uniqueness of this event I think I am going to try to push my departure back a week so that I can see more of it. I kind of doubt I will succeed, though, as my visa expires shortly after I am scheduled to leave, and if I pushed my stay back, I would be in the country illegally.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.

The power was out most of the day so we hopped aboard a couple motos to Old Mampujan, the original village occupied by this community before their displacement by paramilitaries more than a decade ago. The community members were shooting a documentary re-enacting the event that pushed them from their homes.

Most of the day, a looming storm front kept the sky in a brooding darkness while the town was softly, but brightly lit. the lighting was unbeatable for photography, and I burned almost a whole roll of film up there.

Torin took me around to some oft he old locations in the town. I saw the old town square, the school and the cemetery. The town was far more spread out than the losts that the new town occupies, and it had enormous beauty in the way that nature had retaken much of it. The cemetery had been poorly kept, and many of the mausoleums were decaying and overtaken by the trees. In one case, a tree root had completely broken away a corner of a tomb, leaving the remains inside exposed and allowing honeybees to build a nest inside.

The storm, when it finally came upon us, did so almost all at once. We boarded a truck hastily to outrun the heaviest of the rain, which followed right behind us most of the way out of the mountains. It only caught up with us as we pulled into the neighborhood, and we still ended up soaked.

Tags: South America, Travel Journal.