A Farewell to Quibdo, Back to Bogota, Colombia

Mixed Feelings About Leaving Quibdo

Jim Stipe, Matthew Bristow, Rigoberto Patiño and myself settled our hotel bill in Quibdo before we climbed into the van one last time. I made sure I gave the driver a hefty tip and tipped the bellboy who trundled all of my luggage from the 4th floor of the elevator-less hotel in downtown Quibdo.

Would I have thought I'd be sorry to say goodbye to Quibdo when I was first told of my destination back in Bogota? Honestly, no, I conjured up images of a backwards, sleepy town. It would be dirty, squalid and unlovable. I was wrong, I was charmed and swayed to think that I could fit in there. The people were down to earth and friendly, and there were internet cafes and cell phone service.

Job Desplazado

Maybe, one day I could help with some of the programs going on—perhaps most first time CRS visitors toy with that idea. Yet, becoming a part of the in-country team might be a possibility at CRS. It is the kind of organization that values inventive thinking. They certainly never glamorize or romanticize the life. It is what it is, great if you are resourceful and have an ability to take things as they present themselves. Staying calm, weighing all courses of action, and most of all having faith in your co-worker's ability to do the same.

In three days time I was feeling very far away, geographically and mentally, from my cubicle at CRS' Baltimore headquarters. And today we were going to see one last social experiment in assisting yet another group of desplazados (displaced persons) to assimilate.

The van rumbled steadily over the rolling pavement and packed mud that does double duty as the streets of Quibdo. We passed streets crowded with running dogs and laughing children and blaring salsa. Down one street I saw a funeral procession of pedestrians proceeded by a casket tilted upwards as if this were the last time the dead man would see the lively streets of their beloved Quibdo.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Moto-taxis zipped everywhere and stands of ripe jungle fruits lined the edges of the raised sidewalk. Urban jumble gave way to wooden and tin roofed shacks balanced on stilts over lush overgrown ravines. We continued outside of Quibdo until we arrived at a housing complex of single story concrete block apartments.

Here was the home of thousands of Afro-Colombian desplazados, row after row of grey apartments with holes for windows but nothing in them, and gaping openings where a door would nicely fit if there were one. The complex had concrete paths and large paved areas where communal sinks allowed some women to do their wash. The sinks had a washboard surface built in and they were under a large metal roof supported by metal legs with concrete pilings.

I was given a tour of one of the apartments by a Caritas (CRS' international partner) worker. They pointed out the lack of windows and doors, there were two. The apartment was comprised of two small room connected to one larger room. I peered in one room and saw that a large mosquito net was suspended from the ceiling and draped around the edge of a mattress. And in the other room was a shower stall with a cistern suspended above it.

The Monetization of Displacement

When he told us that the government sold these to the Diocese of Quibdo for $50,000 (US dollars) apiece, I was stunned. Outraged is more like it. Why did they agree to pay that much, I asked? The government said that they would order these desplazados to move again and tear this housing complex down.

The heat of the day baked the houses and in some ways it was good that they had only holes for windows and doorways, because every breeze would be needed here. We said goodbye and move on to visit a school in session. The children in the complex were assigned to this school, built of wooden planks, but painted at least.

These were some of the last images I carried with me in my head and heart as we drove back to Quibdo and on to the airport. The words I had heard from the Diocesan priest, the young men and women trained in human rights, the dedicated workers were repeating in my head. And as we took our seats on the immaculate cool interior of the jet taking us back to Bogota, I realized that I had become part of Colombia.

G.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Una Mujer Desplazada Cuenta Su Historia/A Displaced Woman Tells Her Story

Photos by Jim Stipe on location in Quibdo, Colombia for Catholic Relief Services

Rosa Emilia Cordoba sat on the wooden bench in front of me and matter of factly put forth a story of sheer terror.

She spoke of how her village neighbors in the jungle of Colombia, grabbing children and loved ones, ran to the church buildings for refuge—only to have that become their death trap.

Rosa spoke of her youngest daughter receiving a rifle blast through her home's door frame. At first she didn't realize she had been shot, but her pain increased and later at a hospital, after examination, they still could not find a bullet. Four years later, the bullet, having entered through her arm had been discovered to have traveled to her upper leg.

Was this possible? Could a bullet do that? I chose to believe Rosa. She described her daughter’s pain and the loss of her hearing after being so close to firing guns.

It was this man, the man they called el Aleman, the German, who had shot through the door and wounded her daughter that day. He engineered the ambush of the village church, and later said he had no idea all of those people were inside. He tried to blame the priest for gathering them there. Ultimately his barked orders and ruthlessness was the cause of her family’s flight from a village she called home. She saw her mother and son killed and escaped with her life and with her wounded daughter.

There Are Many Kinds of Villainy

This man was not a part of FARC, he was a paramilitary leader hired to clear the land of inhabitants, probably on the payroll of a large multi-national corporation intent on raping the land of any natural resources they could find.

Rosa arrived here, in Quibdo hoping to start again. She works in the kitchen of this cafe washing pots, making soup, frying fish for a meager existence. She wanted to once again recover her former livelihood as a café owner. For now, going back to her village was not in the cards. Life for the desplazados in Quibdo will never be the same. Their story a small footnote to the larger epic of the displaced persons in Colombia.

The dominant issue of my trip to Colombia has been displacement and its effect on society. The government of Colombia has passed laws that make payments of reparation available.

The Government's Money for Housing is Inadequate

Ms. Cordoba told me that the money simply is not enough to rent a safe dwelling comparable to her former home. She has never tried to get money from the government. For now she is marking time until she can save enough to go into business again for herself. Her goal, what gives her hope for the future is a common one for any parent, she wants a better life for her children.

I often wish, since I went on this trip, that I had a way to get in touch with those I met along this journey. Rosa's story touched me, her strength in the face of a tragedy and resoluteness to make her life better. Fortunately organizations like CRS, and our counterpart in Latin America, Caritas are there to give a hand up to those willing to make a new start. I feel humbled that I play a part of a global effort in the name of love.

G.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Desplazados, Abogados, A Human Rights Case Made Clear

Tuesday, June 17th Quibdo, Colombia

A meeting was set up in this building that Tuesday morning, desplazados and the lawyers representing them were to brief us on a successful human rights training program. That sounds promising, so we stop in La Campesina Café beforehand for some coffee.

This is a cooperative café run by women who have been displaced. The café gives them a chance to make a steady wage, and help them gain some stability. The morning sun pours into the open space decorated with colorful murals.

A week in two days

We sit and are offered some juice, coffee and sweet rolls. It is a chance to collect our thoughts before the meeting. I have only been in this country since Sunday evening and the intensity of Colombia and our mission here is afecting me on many levels, my sense of time has been stretched. The hustle of the café provides a background to collect my thoughts as the staff goes about preparing for another busy day of providing nourishing meals to the busy people of Quibdo.

The meeting is held in a basement room, dank and screened on one side, but open to a view of the Atrato River which flows behind the building. The table is crowded with a large group of mostly men, some of them in suit and tie. The abogados (lawyers) have been filing denunciations and petitions on the behalf of the desplazados.

The lawyers are working for social justice

A smartly dressed young lawyer, Antonio, introduces us to the people gathered here as important people for a powerful organization in the United States. Spanish was becoming more easily understood now that I had been immersed in the language, but I was worried that he was giving the assembled desplazados the idea that we were able to bring about some change because of our affiliations.

When one of the young guys at the meeting is asked what the program has done to help him, he shows a piece of paper with his name on it, it is a certificate from the human rights training he went through. The value of the training is in the empowerment it gives to these young desplazados.

They may not have a great deal of school learning, but they are very well spoken about their rights as citizens of Colombia. Knowledge is power, and it becomes an important part of their new lives.

Some of these young adults have been here since they were children and may have been part of the group that pressed into Quibdo in 1997. The government housed them in El Coloseo (a stadium) for two years and provided no food or water. Now many are living in some of the public housing developments we’ll visit tomorrow before our departure for Bogota.

My sympathies can't right a massive injustice

As they spoke about the situation they were in, I chastise myself. My assumption is that these people, with little education, cannot be speaking in the strings of multi-syllabic phrases used by social justice advocates. But they are, and it’s not rote memorization. It’s practical knowledge to them, the key to their fight for the better life they deserve.

I see the hope in their faces, I feel inadequate, they are well-versed in this complex legal situation. I struggle to keep up with the non-conversational Spanish. I spent several weeks before my trip translating Spanish documents on these topics. It made me a better listener. But it was something that demanded the rapt attention of a student. The more I pay attention, the more I feel the need to do something meaningful to help.

Not just my Spanish speaking and Spanish listening—all senses are needed to comprehend!

I also wanted to absorb the nuances of body language of those around me, again I got the overwhelming feeling that we were the focus of their hope at this point in time. We must be able to help them, I was aware of my own powerlessness in the face of the saga of the displaced.

As my feelings overwhelmed me, the rains began to fall outside the screened open end of the room, the sound of pounding of water on the flowing river. Like a baptism, I imagined it absolving me of responsibility for the hopes of these earnest, smart desplazados. An illusion I can no longer harbor or indulge.

G.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Last day in Quibdó, Tuesday

The photo shown here is of the center courtyard of the Bishop's Residence.

It was Tuesday morning, my watch alarm went off, and I felt too tired to move, I felt as if a week had passed. But our day's agenda was full and the bill for our hotel rooms and driver had to be settled, that was all my responsibility.

My colleagues had to sense not to stay up watching Starsky and Hutch reruns on tv and pondering the odd commercials for jungle herbal remedies that would rejuvenate and enhance one's life. (The jungle is a point of pride here, its fruits and secret herbs are revered.)

After showering in a stream of cold water I dressed and repacked my gear. The most important things I kept with me in a bag that never left my side. The malarone for malaria prevention was always at hand and I made sure to never miss a dose. Mosquitoes were not everywhere here in Quibdó, like I thought they might be. I don't remember being bitten in Colombia. Peru proved to be another story, but I'll save that for later.

We breakfasted on huevos revueltos, melon, juice and coffee and prepared to head on over to the Bishop's Residence for some staff meetings. We would be meeting with representatives of partner organizations working on social justice issues.

I took this photo of an army patrol boat from the meeting room at the Bishop's residence, which had a great panoramic view of the Rio Atrato and all of its activities.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Monday night in Quibdó

Quibdó, Department of Choco, Colombia

Monday night after dinner (fried fish, coleslaw, fried plantains and guava nectar), I spent some time at an internet café two doors away from our hotel. I was catching up on work e-mail and believe it or not, approving my department's time sheets. I was also trying to drop an e-mail to my family at home who I hadn't called since I had arrived

The café was on the second story and the computers were outside on a covered patio tiled with slabs of terracotta. The computers were set up in wooden desks that had high plywood sides for privacy. They were built to allow a padlock to secure them when the place shut down. Some people were online and others were chatting and drinking beer and juices at little tables.

I had a bit of a wait until a computer would be free, the music and talking and laughter made me forget how far away home was. I wanted to relax and forget about the immense problems I was forced to confront here in Colombia. I wanted to make a connection with people who were not involved with the saga of displacement.

The evening shift had ended at the police barracks across the street and young policemen busied themselves online. They were dressed more like soldiers with camouflage uniforms and heavy black combat boots, and they were probably e-mailing their girlfriends back home.

A computer became free so I sat next to Matthew Bristow, our interpreter, who was busy lining up an assignment for himself as a reporter since tomorrow was our last day together. Matthew, an extremely likeable and knowledgeable guy, was somewhat of an expert in the other scourge of this country—coca production.

For many in journalism Matthew is the "go to" person for this topic. He publishes a blog, Colombia News (the last post I saw was dated last September) currently featuring a fascinating video he shot about a paramilitary commander dealing with FARC. This same blog has another interesting piece of footage that he shot about narco-terrorism called "The Cocaine Trail".

Matthew left for the hotel to retire for the evening, but I was a little restless and stayed at the café just absorbing the rhythms of Quibdó at night. When I finally left I paid my bill for the use of the internet and it came to around $3.50, including the Coke without ice that I drank.

When you are wide awake, in a foreign country and it's night time, a hotel room painted turquoise without any windows is really the last place you want to be. But, I dutifully returned, knowing that I had to get up and see more programs in Quibdó before our flight back to Bogota tomorrow afternoon.

Luckily, the color tv was hooked up to receive some English speaking stations. My head ached from trying to speak and think in Spanish. So Starsky and Hutch reruns looked mighty fine to me!

g.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Displacement— A Huge Crisis

This is where many displaced people first get started on the path to justice with the able assistance of Cocomarcia

a grassroots campesino organization in the department (state) of Choco.

Quibdó—Peace Building’s Benefits

The Colombian government has initiated some reconciliations but current estimates of the number of internally displaced persons in Colombia range anywhere from 2.6 to 4.3 million people. The issues surrounding justice and the ownership and right to occupy land is key to insuring peace and stability.

CRS’ programs are not done as a solo effort but in partnership with a variety of groups, often grassroots organizations. Peace-building efforts in Colombia has seen many programmatic successes but the need is urgent and constant due to the changing nature of the displacement of peoples throughout Colombia.

The partners we work with use a strategy based on four main types of outreach:

1) Human rights training workshops:
this includes education of people of their personal rights and collective rights as a cohesive community.

2) ACNUR trains and provides lawyers:
(Alto Comisionado de las Naciones Unidas para los Refugiados)—the High Commission of the United Nations for Refugees

3) Video and Radio Communications

4) Humanitarian Aid: food and clothing distribution and standing up for people when representatives or negotiation

My next post will be an accounting of a visit to a center that helps the displaced assimilate in Quibdó, trains them on their rights as well as gives them basic skills for a better future.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

CyberBridges Story en español!

A link to the CyberBridges story on www.crsespanol! 

CRS' brillant web team has developed a vibrant

presence online, stories from around the world in Spanish!

Saludos—Guy

Indigenous People's Health Clinic, Quibdo, Colombia

These little boys greeted us as we arrived and were more than happy to stand still for a snapshot. The blue stains on their faces are from a berry that grows in the forest used for face painting. The adults have elaborate and intricate designs sometimes—the stain lasts about a week.

Laughing children were our first welcome to a Health Clinic in Quibdo, Colombia. These children and their parents, indigenous peoples, come here from the depths of the Colombian forest to receive health care. Some arrive by boat, some by foot, and its often a two-week journey.

I had a chance to visit this unique clinic supported by Catholic Relief Services recently and found out much about the health care challenges these courageous, gentle people face because of their living environment. One of the biggest health problems is anemia due to a diet of two main food staples, maize and plantains.

The water they drink is usually contaminated with microbes and causes stomach problems and the bloated bellies of many of the children was an indication of this problem. The families arrive here hoping to get care for a number of illnesses, diarrhea, pneumonia, tuberculosis, malaria and leshmaniasis.

I also met two dedicated workers who for the last fifteen years have helped guide sick people from the jungle to the doors of this clinic. And with only four full time employees for an estimated 5,000 people they are very busy indeed. Without the help of Catholic Relief Services and its partners disease and poverty would be the only story to tell about these people. But here, they’ll also get training in hygiene and agriculture to improve their lives when they return to the forests they love.

When I left I thought how the smiles and optimism of the children of the forest was a tribute to the hope CRS brings to the many places we serve.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Peace Building Goes to School

As we pass shacks perched on stilts, no windowpanes or doors, I try to imagine a student climbing the rough-hewn stairs after a day at the nearby high school.

The road heaves our van left and right as we slowly negotiate the uneven road surface. We are heading to a school in the hills outside of Quibdo, in the department of Choco, Colombia to visit a unique peace-building program called CyberBridges.

I’m accompanied on this visit by Jim Stipe, CRS staff photographer, Matthew Bristow, translator and Rigoberto Patiño from the CRS Colombia office in Bogotá.

Choco has the second highest illiteracy rate in Colombia. This school was started in 2002 with funding from USAID to answer a desperate need.

The school educates about 1,000 children between the ages of 14-18,
98% of whom are Afro-Colombian displaced persons or desplazados.*

As we clear the top of the ridge, several large cinder block buildings can be seen scattered across a sun drenched, hilly campus connected by covered concrete pathways. The buildings are designed with open fretwork walls to take advantage of any breeze.

Groups of children are milling about, while others can be seen in their classrooms. As we climb out of the van, curious children and young adults surround us. They smile, but are shy and maintain a polite distance.

Rigoberto greets them in Spanish saying a magic word—CyberBridges. A young woman launches into a welcome speech delivered in English with great pride. She then asks us to follow her on a tour of the CyberBridges classroom.

We cross the campus, now buzzing with the news of visiting strangers. I hear voices exclaiming “¿de dónde son?”. They wonder from where we have come.

Our guide leads us across the campus to a building with locked classrooms. We peer inside and see a dismaying sight—computers piled on top of each other, some gutted, hard-drives, fans and logic boards hanging by loose wires. Is this the CyberBridges classroom?

As if reading my mind, our tour-guide explains, “This is the computer repair workshop, students take classes here on how to fix PCs, next we’ll see the CyberBridges classroom”.

She beams as the door is unlocked, students file in, computers whir to life, and monitors flicker. These kids, from a town nestled in the South America jungle, have made a jump into the 21^st century; this looks like a modern classroom. They are surfing the web, making contact with a group of students in New Haven, Connecticut. The program is in partnership with the diocese of Hartford, and is part of an effort to connect youth from very different cultures.

The value here is the connection and understanding this instant communication brings. Pictures are exchanged, e-mails answered, discussions begun and completed across thousands of miles and a continent away.

How do the students feel about this program? “It’s special because only a select group is chosen; we have to work hard to get into this program” says one young girl, “Plus, the people we meet online are becoming our friends.”

As we are leaving, the principal of the school introduces himself and tells us the program has meant a great deal to the students. He is proud the school can offer CyberBridges in its curriculum. “The students in this program are leaders in our school,” he says as he shakes our hands.

I manage to say, “gracias, con mucho gusto, adiós”, (thanks, with much pleasure, goodbye) not anywhere near the words I am thinking or feeling.

We walk to the van and are accompanied by a large group of good-natured kids. They willingly go along with some requests for final photos and videotape shots, they shout over and over again in English, “We love CyberBridges!”

*Desplazados is Spanish for displaced persons, refugees of armed conflicts involving left-wing guerillas, right-wing paramilitaries, drug cartels and the state that have wracked Colombia for the past 40 years.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Second post for my first day in Quibdo

Human rights training is another important step in helping the displaced. Some do not have an interest in returning they want to make a new start. But for many that is the center of their lives rejoining their community on the land to which they feel tied.

For these people, Padre Albeiro answered that a variety of strategies are used, educating communities to strengthen their knowledge of human rights, and work to empower women and young people.

I was curious to know what these people were walking into when they were able to return to their former home regions. Padre explained that a commission looks at the region before a group returns. The community itself makes the decision to return and it’s not a matter of a single family returning but a community.

The goal is to have any instance of return follow three conditions:

• it should be a voluntary decision,
• the living conditions should be dignified and
• there must be security.

These are conditions set forth in a much quoted Colombian Law #387 (1997).This was a law passed after much pressure from the Pastoral Social. Unfortunately, Padre Albeiro said that he didn’t think there had been one instance of a community returning home in keeping with these principles.

We were told that Colombia was a country where many laws were passed in defense of the rights of citizens but few are enforced. For instance, there is Law 70, passed in 1993 which gives special status to lands in Choco designated for Afro-Colombians and indigenous peoples. It assures that certain parcels of land are protected.

In other parts of Colombia where extensive displacement has occurred, the land cleared of its inhabitants is now held by the well-connected, powerful and rich. Choco has land rich in gold, copper, silver and coal and the companies interested in access to these resources now must negotiate with the communities under the stipulations of this law.

The fact of the matter is, he told us, if you overlay a map of the areas of conflict with a map of natural riches ripe for development, you would find they are in identical locations and that really this really shouldn’t surprise us.

The Church has been able to work with armed groups to negotiate the release of hostages, they are well respected and are able to break through stalemates and negotiate. Pastoral Social is one of the dioceses’ partners but it is all viewed as the work of the Church.

The dilemma of the desplazados is not simple, even when they can return to their land. They face the defense of their land against a variety of outsiders, multi-national corporations, paramilitary groups and guerilla groups—the same entities that forced them out to begin with. Ironically, employment options are often limited to these same groups.

A Full Agenda is Planned Tomorrow, My Spanish is Faltering

We have a busy day tomorrow and true to any CRS visit, it will start early and go on at breakneck speed until evening. We thank everyone for their time, and I am thankful that I can return to the hotel before my grasp of the Spanish language leaves me totally. Instead of saying “when I return” in Spanish I used the word revueltos. One orders eggs scrambled—huevos revueltos, so I said something the equivalent of I would see them scrambled.

“Buenos noches,” I said, as we left the air-conditioned room and entered the dense humidity of a June night in Quidbo. The town buzzed with the sound of motor bikes and motorcycle cab vehicles that zoom people everywhere around town.

Dinner Back at the Hotel

We walk back to the hotel and settle in for the night after a bit of dinner in the dining room. Fried fish and macaroni and cheese, like my family in Florida might fix but served with fried plantains and a tall glass of fresh orange juice “sin hielo” (without ice). Matthew Bristow, our Brit Spanish translator, offers his Amazon sauce to spice up my food, it’s bright yellow and hotter and tangier than any hot sauce I’ve ever used.

Matthew is a translator journalist who is an expert on narco-political topics, giving us insight into much that we hear, its roots and origins. ahe has an easy rapport with everyone we meet and is a font of information about what is advisable during our day to day routine.

The hotel is filled with a mix of guests, I idly try to figure out each group’s relationship and why they might be in a town like Quibdo. There are fellows dressed in polos, khakis and work boots who might be engineers, they speak English, without an accent and seamlessly switch to Spanish when the need arises.

Then there is a family, with their children. The kids are rambunctiously running around the tiled dining room. They’d rather be outside, but the street is very busy. It’s getting dark and a steady stream of armed men visiting the police barracks across the alley would give any parent pause for thought.

Quiet and a Chance to Write up My Notes

I retire to my room, hoping that the air-conditioner might provide a cool sanctuary from the thick muggy air. I know that we have a full day tomorrow so I am trying to unwind, I need to rest, but my thoughts are racing. The political atmosphere in Colombia is electric and I am unsettled by the narrative details detailed for us earlier this evening. It is astounding, the epic proportion of displacement in Soache, Quibdo, and across Colombia.

The politics of greed and disregard of human is played out as the powerful exploit Colombia’s natural riches. The people are merely pawns, their rights, while often acknowledged in grandly worded legislation, are casually ignored. Sleep won’t come easily tonight, I am angry and feel powerless.

Tomorrow we meet again at the Bishop’s Residence with more partners of CRS and then will set off for a day of visiting programs, all very different but all aimed at the huge problem of desplazado resettlement and housing.

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

First day away from Bogota

Quibdó, Colombia

Monday, 6.16.08

Quibdó is sitting in the middle of a department that became a battleground between government forces and paramilitary groups. The years between 1996 and 2008 saw
a huge displacement of 90,000 within Choco. This was coupled with huge displacements of people from the department of Antioca, east of Choco. CRS and Caritas have worked together to help people return to their original home regions.

We land at the airport and catch a cab to the hotel we’ll call home for the next couple of nights. The ride from the airport wasn’t too long but it was rough! The roads aren’t paved
in most parts of Quibdó. We pass all kinds of housing on the way, from tumble down shacks with rough plank floors and no windows in place to stucco homes with masonry walkways and lawns. 

A Room with No View

At the hotel we go to our rooms to settle in but we can’t get too settled in—we have a meeting at 6p.m. Our meeting is at the Bishop’s residence with Padre Jesus Albeiro Parra Solís. We meet in the lobby and walk over to the Bishop’s residence just a couple of blocks away. The humidity has now become a steady drizzle and the town silhouettes of the buildings are defined against a darkening sky.

As we walked down the ramp to a patio entrance we can’t help but notice a sign, it’s an international emblem, recognizable anywhere, it says no automatic weapons.  Now I know why I’ve been asked to where the tan field vest with CRS and Caritas boldly embroidered on the back and front. They told us in Bogota at the briefing that morning that it would be recognizable and many factions had a respect for our joint efforts.

I looked at the inky Atrato River reflecting the lights of the waterfront walk and saw a hollowed log boat crossing to the far side of the river. Bogota seemed like a distant memory, yet I had been in Colombia for a little over 24 hours.

A receptionist showed us into a room where Padre Albeiro Parra was already seated at a table in a large air-conditioned room. When we exchanged business cards I noticed Padre’s was beautifully designed, bright orange with an image suggesting a sun, a visual play on his last name Solís. His title was Director Pastoral Social—Diócesis de Quibdó.

We were joined shortly by Yesenia Cordoba Cordoba, and Yaneth Moreno Rodriquez as Padre Albeiro began telling us about some of the people we’d visit the next day. They are displaced peoples he said, Afro-Colombians, campesinos, and indigenous peoples. They were from the region of Choco. I asked him how CRS and Caritas help them when they arrive in the area.

They are given aid and legal advice that can help them qualify for governmental aid as a displaced person. This process is often lengthy and but entitles a qualified person to three months of housing and food aid. The housing stipend is less than adequate and often people live with extended family.

Photo Web Album - Soacha, Colombia 6.18.08

Photo album: Soacha Colombia 6.18 Soacha Colombia 6.18 Soacha, Colombia - Jun 18, 2008 by Guy Arceneaux Photos from CRS trip, June 2008 View Album Play slideshow

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

Notes from my trip to Colombia

The sense of a town under siege is shown by this photo taken on a Monday afternoon. Colombia was a very tense place but the people were very friendly.

Photo: Guy Arceneaux, taken in Soacha, Colombia, June 16, 2008

Bogota, Colombia: Monday, June 16^th, 2008

The Bogota, Colombia CRS office was first established in 1959 and demonstrated continuous service until 1990 when the office was closed. In 1992 the office was reopened and is now involved in extensive human rights awareness efforts and partnering with groups involved in the considerable problem of displacement of people throughout Colombia.

Partner organizations within Colombia are the SNPS, Caritas and Colombian Dioceses as well as other ecclesiastical agencies. Working with this coalition CRS has developed a common set of programs and policies.

The office is in the midst of a 3-year program focusing on this issue with an annual operating budget of approximately $1 million dollars. The primary efforts are, peace-building, human rights, building solidarity and advocacy in the United States.

Soacha: A common displaced background, but life at two extremes

After a briefing at the CRS Bogota offices, Jim Stipe, CRS photographer, Matthew Bristow and myself accompanied Maria Elisa Caresani to Soacha, an area that has seen explosive growth due to the influx of desplazados (displaced persons).

Our first visit was to a housing complex in Soacha inhabited primarily by families of desplazados. We met with Aminta Baquiro and her children. They were very welcomingvideotaping an interview with Aminta and her son Diego Armando Escobar.

Their home was very comfortable with tiled floors and nice furniture, the neighborhood felt secure and quiet. This family had made the adjustment very well, but it was evident they harbored insecurities about their standard of living. Diego, the son was especially intent on making things better by becoming a policeman, securing a salaried position of power.

We were taken to visit a woman, Luz Miriam Anzola, who lived in Soachea with her two daughters aged 15 and 6. We took a cab to their habitat, which was in a very desolate part of Soacha. The woman's living quarters were at the end of an alley paved by loose rubble including broken tiles, brick fragments, stones and concrete chunks.

It was typical of the type of dwellings desplezados in Soacha build, using land on which they are squatting. Entire neighborhoods have sprung up, some become established and housing develops over time.

The cab driver waited for us at the entrance to the alley as we walked towards a patchwork home of plywood, corrugated metal and scraps of plastic sheeting situated
next to a marshy field filled with marsh grasses and bushy growth. The shack was situated across the alley from a soap making operation that was belching an acrid smoke that drifted into the open door as we were greeted.

Truth be told, we were not expected, this woman was obviously not feeling well, coughing intermittently while making quite a fuss about clearing a space for us to sit.

We wanted to hear her story and I spent a good twenty minutes interviewing her through
our interpreter, Matthew Bristow, in Spanish. We heard a very sad tale of displacement and loss and an existence that at this point in time seems uncertain to her.

During the interview she revealed how her asthma is aggravated by the smoke that drifts into their home. Even with the door closed the smoke comes through the cracks between the ceiling beams and the gaps in the metal siding. That day was dry, clear and windy, but I wondered how different things might be during the rainy season when the waters from the nearby marsh rose, easily turning their earthen floor to a mud.

She described nights when young men prowled the alley and sometimes banged at their door, frightening them all, keeping them from sleep, in fear of their safety. She does not work, afraid to leave her young daughters alone, consequently, she can't afford the tuition for her daughters' education.

Despite the grime that covered almost everything inside the house, the cheerful girls were
clean, well dressed and certainly loved by this single mother of two.

The Director of Pastoral Social Caritas, Fr. Ricardo Martinez Gonzalez, told me that they were trying to place her and her daughters in a more suitable shelter. The temporary shelter was built by acquaintances of the woman when she first arrived in Soache.

It was time to leave Soacha for the airport, but we would return in a few days time. Jim Stipe, Rigoberto Patino, our CRS host, and Matthew Bristow, intrepid translator were off to a very different environment—hot and steamy. We were headed to Quibdo in Choco on the Atrato River in western Colombia, the jungle!

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved

2009? Give it a shake!

There is a movement among Sharky's Circle of friends to take control of this new year,

make it work for them. It's like childbirth, the child must be manhandled a bit to wake it from its dependent complacency.

What are the things you would shake up to get them "on track" this year?

I can put it in a few simple words write, paint and design, MORE!

But under writing I'll include language learning. Spanish and French.

Also working on a story that keeps popping up in my mind, and trying

to shake that into existence.

Painting? Well there is the kind you do on canvas and the kind you do on your walls.

I see me painting on canvas with oils this year, oils are a luxurious medium.

We did enough painting on walls in the closing days of 2008 to satisfy me for a while.

Design? It has to move, so I'll shake up my Flash skills.

That is as far as i will go towards the traditional New Year's Resolution List.

Someone might hold me to it. In this case I'll put forward a 2009 Motto:

No excuses!

Sharky

© Copyright 2009 Guy Arceneaux All rights reserved