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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I have got another two weeks here fending off the sun, bloodsucking bus, and energetic children with no-one else to bother. This will probably be the most relaxed part of this trip, though. Here, a lot of time is spent indoors, or swimming at the canal. and a significant amount of time will be spent just preparing food.

At this point in my trip I have broken both my primary and spare cameras, and had to send my beloved Fujica home with Kyle. The Canon backup has to be wound with pliers for now, because I have lost the crank. I can make do with it for now.

While we had internet at a hostel in Cartagena, I purchased a used Nikon F2 on Ebay. It will arrive in Seattle while I am here, but will likely be by photographic equipment for the next year or so. I have resolved to get a case for it so that it doesn’t share the same fate as my current equipment. I will probably also purchase a replacement for the ST-801 because I love that camera so much, and it’s glass is so good.

Torin’s place is surprisingly basic, merely a few cinderblock and concrete walls with fiberglass panels for the ceiling. The plumbing in s minimal, and requires an electric pump be switched on to use. The water is undrinkable, and they collect rainwater from the roof to consume. Electricity is pretty unstable and usually goes out about once a day for an hour or so. Torin’s place is about the most luxurious in the village he inhabits. There is a fridge, which makes it a watering hole for the local kids, at least two of whom seem to be around at all times.

It’s primitive living, although I guess you get used to it. Torin has been there for several months, after all. Three week of this living will be a challenge for me. I’m hoping I will at least pick up some Spanish while I’m here, though.