mikeShriver

[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