Internal Displacement

Due to its very violent history and high prevalence of armed groups, Colombia has the highest rate of antipersonnel land mines and the second highest rate of forced displacement in the world behind the Sudan (source: Refugee International). Sadly, this number does not seem to be lessening, and ReliefWeb even claims that the country currently has the highest number of war refugees in the past 23 years.

One of the most worthwhile Rotary projects that I’ve witnessed supplies prosthetic limbs and training on how to use them for victims of antipersonnel land mines. It is certainly life-changing in many ways for the recipients, and I've been really impressed with what the Rotarians have been able to accomplish for these innocent victims of this conflict.

Another related project that I recently undertook was translating accounts of displaced women who’ve arrived here to Cali from Buenaventura. It was a little challenging because the women spoke in their own informal vernacular, but here are some of their testimonies:

INTERVIEW 1
Name: Sandra
Age: 23

“The reason that I became displaced with my three kids and nephew is that my husband was shot three times in a shooting in La Independencia. I was living in La Independencia when the shooting began. I was on my way with my son to buy some medicines for my daughter because she suffers from asthma. The shooting began in the neighborhood of La Independencia, and by chance, some shrapnel hit me... They killed a boy, and by chance, my son left running and hit his forehead really hard on the ground, and the shrapnel got me, and I knew because I felt the heat... I want the community or some group to collaborate with me because we are displaced; some days we have absolutely nothing, we are passing a lot of time without work... My cousin is the one who helps me, but she is not working now because she had an accident; now we are going through a very difficult situation; I am going hungry...I want to work, but now nobody has given me work because of the problem that I have in my leg; I want to continue studying and begin to work...

INTERVIEW 2:
Name: María
Age: 55

“I lived in Buenaventura in the neighborhood of Unión de Vivienda; I lived with my son. My son was formerly of a group [the Colombian government has a program to get young men reintegrated back into normal life if they vow to leave their past in armed groups behind], so the “paras” [paramilitaries] of the other group attacked us; they shot at us, then they destroyed my house; my son belonged to the FARC, but he was demobilized by the government and wanted to start a new life, but they were after him... I got myself out of there, and he left, too... My son was 32-years-old; they killed him here December 2nd in Cali in the neighborhood of El Refugio [by the way, that’s MY neighborhood!!] , and since then, I am fleeing from one place to another to another; I live in a shelter now... They call me to the telephone, saying: “Watch out, if you accuse us of killing your son, we will kill you.” I am threatened; I spend all my time shut up; I don’t go out into the street; my neighbors give me food; sometimes, they take my clothes to iron because if I leave with the clothes, I’m surely going to get killed. For seven months, I have been threatened; they call me, saying they’ll give it to me; whenever they see me, they’re going to get me. And where there are people that know me, they tell them, “Tell that lady to take care because we’re going to kill her. Until we have gotten rid of all of them, we can’t be at ease,” and I don’t even know what group it is...”

INTERVIEW 3:
Name: Yamileth
Age: 34

“They killed my husband. I lived in Buenaventura; I lived with my husband and my three children in Bellavista, then soon after they killed him, they continued after me... I got out of there; I left the house because they chased me, it was just unbearable there...I worked in Buenaventura selling “chontaduro” [a chestnut-like fruit]; I left my work to come here...I don’t leave the house now because it scares me that they call to threaten me; I had to change my telephone number; in the race to get away, my phone fell, but they call me where I’m at now...Now they aren’t shooting people in the street like they used to do all the time; now, they are making people disappear and taking them to whatever beach is nearby. They ask you what you know, and sometimes what you know is nothing, and so they keep asking you things that you don’t know how to respond to, and if you respond in any way, the person kills you because you’ve thought of something like that...”

INTERVIEW 4
Name: María
Age: 41

“We lived in Buenaventura: me, my husband, three children, and mother-n-law. My husband worked in a launch boat; he was the owner of this little boat that loaded passengers for coastal trips…. The FARC began to chase him, or at least that’s the story I got about who they were, and the story went that they already waited for him there. In his business where he worked, they stalked him; he could not come out to the business any more; we just left it alone. They came to look for him in the house; they called his cell phone and told him that they already knew him, and people said that strange people were around, and they came and knocked on the door of the house. Because of all that, we left and came out there. We lived in La Independencia, near where they threw a bomb that shattered all the glass in our house; we were not super-close, but it was able to break all the glass in the house and everything, and already the kids could not sleep peacefully... For that reason, we moved and now we are in this neighborhood here... We arrived that day to the place of one of my brothers, but we were so many people in one house—him with his family and those daughters and me with my family. We arrived to the neighborhood of Manuela Beltrán, and from there we looked for a little room and pawned everything we had, so we have been able to survive from then until now, but we don’t have anything anymore...Everything that we had there was damaged, and now we are renting a house in Manuela Beltrán; neither my husband nor I is working... This is horrible...”

INTERVIEW 5
Name: Anabel Gutiérrez
Age: 45
“A year ago, I left my homeland of Buenaventura; I left with my three oldest daughters: they were 13, 10, and 2 years-old when I left. I left from the neighborhood of Panamericano. The dad of the girls had disappeared 2.5 years ago when I was pregnant with the last one, when he left one day for a trip to Panama... I started working selling food in the neighborhood of Palo Seco. Every once in a while, the police had search warrants to search around because in Buenaventura they’ve said that the guerillas are in one neighborhood, and the paramilitaries are in another. And the neighborhood where I was supposedly had the guerilla fighters, and I put my little food shop there, and I had my friendships with people there, and I had no problem. And, even though everyone there was completely civil, one day they did a search with a search warrant, and they searched the house where I was living, and the same police told me that it was very dangerous for me and my girls to be there; that the neighborhood was a hot zone for shootings that could happen at any time. And, as the house was on the corner and made of wood, they said that a bullet could bounce over to us and could hurt me or one of my daughters, so they suggested that I look for another neighborhood. Nothing was happening to me in this neighborhood, but no one can be saved from a stray bullet, so I found a friend in the Panamericano Neighborhood who let me rent a little place. I began to sell food again...Then, day by day, my sales lessened and lessened, and soon I was only selling about 10,000 pesos [about $4.75USD] worth in a day. I was asking God with all of my heart what was wrong; the children didn’t play with my daughters anymore; no one came at all; those who came were those who came from far away and didn’t know anything. What happened is that my same friendships from the other neighborhood where I had lived before came to the new neighborhood saying that I came from a neighborhood of the guerilla, and that I was a member of the guerilla forces; they said that I was a spy, that I was an informant. They said I had an alarm that I could set to make a bomb explode, so the people became afraid and didn’t get close to me. The few people who bought were those who had not realized this yet, and thank God, they didn’t see a man in the house, and nothing happened to me...

There was a festival in Cali, and so I left in one of the small buses with my three daughters, and I came here. I left with the bag of my daughter; I just put in an outfit for each one of us. This was on the 28^th of September, 2007—a Saturday, the day that we came here. At one in the morning, the pastor was sending me back to Buenaventura with everyone else, and I told her, “No, pastor. Please don’t send me back there because I’ll have to sleep on the docks. I’m not going to Buenaventura. Everything of mine is damaged in Buenaventura...”... And that’s when here in Cali I learned what hunger and humiliation are. When they hear my age, they deny me work. I am 45-years-old; I have three daughters who look like they’re my granddaughters. My suffering has caused me to age prematurely; my stress has damaged all the fillings in my teeth; because I was skinny, I’m lacking calcium…. I am doing a Project that SEDECUR, an entity that performs social action, is arranging for me. They give us a little training so that we can start a little business, so that we women can get started. Meanwhile, we have to be paying for our bus rides; they don’t give us money for transportation or food or anything; you just have to put up with it, as there’s not anything else to choose from. My daughters can’t pay the 5,000 pesos [about $2.41USD] for school supplies for each one, and for not having this 10,000pesos [about $4.81USD] to pay the school supplies for the two of them, they won’t accept the girls in the school...

It has been hard in Cali because I didn’t know anything about living in a city. I didn’t know how to catch a ride; I didn’t know how to catch a bus; I didn’t know anything, and they had to pick me up and bring me home. During the first few days, they help you, but then after a week, you become a nuisance… They have trained me in fast food preparation, and through the SENA, the Carvajal Foundation, and the Bienestar Familiar [Institute of Family Well-Being], they have the girls in a home…What the Bienestar Familiar [Institute of Family Well-Being] told me was that, if things continued as they were, I could give up the three-year-old, but I didn’t come to give away my daughters. The problem is the house; I don’t have money to pay for rent—because you can’t just go to live anywhere with three girls. Asking God for permission, I hope to find a place to live for me and my girls…”

Although I am far-removed from a lot of the violence and suffering, reminders like these regularly keep me aware of the many problems found in this country.

This little piggy went to the market.

Most of the time, I purchase my weekly groceries in the "normal" setting that I grew to know and love in the USA: the supermarket. Although this familiar environment is somewhat different here in Colombia (i.e.: there are women who represent specific products around every corner, and I often wish they'd leave me alone!), I still enjoy the feeling of pushing my cart around, selecting what I want to eat for the next several days, and purchasing my goods in the orderly lines at the cash registers in the front of the store. It feels just like home.

HOWEVER, once in a great while, I venture to another much more exciting and chaotic setting to acquire my food: the markets, otherwise known as the "galerías." This has proved to be a much cheaper, yet much more over-stimulating, environment to acquire my items of essential nourishment. I think it is certainly something to be experienced by everyone... yet it's not something I can handle experiencing on a weekly basis!! Please let me take you on this virtual tour through Cali's galerías. :)

The galerías themselves technically consist of an indoor maze of stands selling anything imaginable, yet the cost of renting a stall causes many vendors to create their own spots outside the actual galerías. The streets are full of people selling all sorts of meats, fruits, vegetables, loofahs, cleaning supplies, and used clothing. From kilometers away, one can see the hoards of people and smell... well, the scent that you might imagine a place with so many people and food products together would have. People carrying large bags on their shoulders or heads dash in and out of traffic as they make their way home, content after a productive day of shopping.

Once one enters into the labyrinth, one is greeted by all sorts of yelling. I am usually greeted by people yelling, "Mona! Mona!"-- which is the term Colombians use for lighter-haired or lighter-skinned females. "Mona, look at what I have for you! Mona, come see my beautiful fruits! Mona, mona, mona...!" People promote their products by shouting about what a great deal they are and repeating their prices over and over and over again. Children (like the little girl in the center of the next photo) are particularly good at this. One must push through all of the people to get to what one wants. Personal space does not exist. (Some, however, do not seem to be bothered by the hustle and bustle that surrounds them. I took the following picture of this small boy who had climbed into one of the food bins and was happily playing by himself within it. I liked the image because he looked like he was for sale =) ).There are sooooo many types of tropical fruits on display throughout the market, like the plantain-- which is a staple food of the diet here.There are also many types of caged animals for sale-- including chickens, ducks, goats, etc. One can buy a live animal for 5,000 pesos (about $3USD), and then, right next door,.................. ..............one can get his/her new animal killed, plucked, and roasted in a fire (to seal the pores) for only 1,ooo pesos (about $0.60USD)!! Such convenience.
I always attempt to try at least one new product. Last week's selection was this tasty fruit called the "chirimoya."

Thus, the galerías have provided me with much excitement, fun and cheap purchases, and interesting observations-- although this "mona" usually requires a bit of recovery time after each galerías experience. =)

Sleep patterns = Abnormal

I have really felt like I've missed out on all of the excitement lately. In addition to sleeping through the bomb of two weeks ago, I slept through an earthquake in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Although it wasn't exactly catastrophic (measured 5.2 and, thank goodness, left no victims), I definitely felt left out as I listened to tales of thoughts, reactions, and experiences of those who felt it all day long on Saturday. I was the only one who had nothing to contribute to earthquake-related conversations. :(

These sleeping patterns have me perplexed: Why is it that I can sleep soundly through a bomb and an earthquake, yet I've spent many sleepless hours due to insignificant, unexciting noises? For instance, I have had a few nights during which I've been terrorized by the "zzzzzzing" of a mosquito, and the meowing of the cute little kitten featured below (whom we found residing in a gap in the wall outside my room) kept we awake for several hours for three nights in a row. Perhaps I have a special sleeping defense mechanism that allows me to block out anything that could potentially be scary??? Maybe I should not complain... ;)

No aneurysm = :-)!!

I am very happy to report that I was able to pick up all of the results from my tests of last week, and I have absolutely no sign of an aortic aneurysm-- hooray! Although no medical expert has explained anything to me yet, it looks as though my "pulsating mass" may have been caused by a curvature of the spine that pushes the aorta forward. I suppose that no one likes to hear that her back isn't straight, but this news pleased me very much.

Here I am proudly displaying my fully functional blood delivery system. Note my huge sense of relief!

One benefit of this whole ordeal is that it has allowed me to get to know myself much better, from the inside out. I was given a package that contained several print-outs of blood tests, many of those see-through black and white photographs of my innards (perhaps I'll hang them on our apartment walls???), and a CD containing almost 1,000 photos of my internal organs.

This allowed Carlos, Olivia, Carmen, and I to take a journey through my mid-section parts. We realized that not one of us has a good anatomy background ("Are those your ovaries?" "No, I think they're her kidneys!"), but we really enjoyed the beautiful pictures of "what lies beneath" my outer features. There were tons and tons of neat pictures, like these ones:

Check out my perfectly healthy and normal aorta! :)

I'm not exactly sure how the medical system works here, but I believe (or at least I hope) that I will be speaking with my doctor at some point this week. This will allow me to properly interpret and appreciate the information about myself that I was given (if not, Carlos' mom has offered to explain it all to me). But, until then, I'm just resting assured that everything in my body is functioning properly, and no more visits to Colombian medical clinics will be necessary in the near future. =)

Firsthand Experience with Colombian Healthcare

I started off this week with some of the typical "stomach problems" that one often experiences while in another country and soon found myself in the office of a cardiologist. Here is the story:

I feel like I've been fairly fortunate with avoiding those horrible stomach reactions that can plague some travelers (like my dad); I have only had one major episode of "Moctezuma's revenge." However, during the past few weeks, I have had some unpleasant digestion problems-- although nothing too bad. Carlos' mom is a doctor and kindly agreed to check it out for me.

As she poked, pushed, and prodded on my stomach while I lay down on her bed, she came to the conclusion that I simply needed to eat better, and she prescribed me a diet of papaya (the ONLY fruit I do not enjoy) and saltine crackers.

HOWEVER......... she found something that sent her some red flags: a strong pulsation coming from the upper part of my abdomen-- near the Aorta. Pretty soon, news of my oh-so-strong pulsating Aorta spread, and others were all putting their hand above my stomach-- agreeing that my pulse was far heavier than normal. She asked if I had ever had any sort of evaluation of my heart or blood system (which I had not), so she recommended that I see a cardiologist.

Therefore, on Tuesday, I found myself in the office of Doctor Ramiro Gonzalez, who thoroughly interrogated me about my complete medical history and performed an extensive exam. I was very healthy.... except for one thing: a "masa pulsatil" (pulsating mass) above my stomach. The detailed printout came to the conclusion that I could possibly have an "aneurisma de aorta abdominal."

An Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm????? Yikes! That sounded pretty serious. That couldn't be me. I read all about it Online as soon as I left the hospital and discovered that I have none of the risk factors. However, Doctor Gonzalez recommended that I return to the DIME clinic for extensive blood exams and an abdominal CAT-Scan on Wednesday.

So, there I was once again early on Wednesday morning-- following my new cardiologist's orders. I got all of the tests that he recommended done (fun, fun, fun!) and am currently waiting for the results. I am sure that I will be fine (hey-- maybe my little Aorta is just a very diligent and dedicated worker!!), but it has been a very crazy process.

I can now completely empathize with those who must enter the medical system in another country. I mean, I am sure that Colombian doctors are good and have all of the right equipment, but it definitely isn't the same as being treated in my own country. Carlos and his dad have been great at taking me to my appointments and helping me figure out where to go and what to do... BUT... If I do have something major wrong with me (which I do not think is the case), wouldn't it be nice to be surrounded by my long-time friends and family?

It is also surreal to have everything transpire in another language. I have understood pretty much everything, but there are times when I've been a little slow. For instance, as the doctor was telling me that I needed a TAC (pronounced like "talk"), it took FOREVER to figure out that it was a CAT-Scan.

I remember one particular moment when I was in my little medical gown, with an I.V. in my arm (which sends a liquid throughout your body that makes you want to pee, by the way), laying with my arms above my head, inside a cave-like machine that was telling me, "Tome aire, sosténgalo, exhala, resuma respiración normal", that it hit me: "Holy cow! I'm in a hospital in COLOMBIA!"

I hope that this will be my last visit to the DIME Medical Center, and I vow to keep you posted as to what they discover about my body.

Teaching English: Trials and Tribulations

I have really enjoyed all of the international volunteer work that I’ve been able to do over the past several years, but I think that my teaching of English classes here is one of the most difficult forms of service I’ve ever done. As opposed to the time I spent in Casa del Sol (Mexico) and Casa de María (Honduras), where I just played with kids, changed diapers, held babies, etc., I’m actually expected to teach my students something. This means I have to plan my lessons, and keep them on task, and troubleshoot if an activity doesn’t go as planned, and repeat myself lots and lots, and analyze all of the basic rules of why we say things in English the way we do, and make sure that the girls are actually learning.

This is all complicated by the fact that I’m teaching in a “home,” instead of a school. The girls come to my classes in their free time (and it is my free time, too—might I add), and I am not given any sort of supplies or support. It is all up to me. I suppose it could be valuable to have this sort of freedom, but I often wish that I had workbooks, or dictionaries, or worksheets, or an overhead projector (or just a projector), or even those “listening activity” audio tapes. Furthermore, the girls have been taken away from whatever home-life they previously had because it was deemed “unlivable,” so they sometimes lack the basic skills and instruction that children from “unchallenging” situations may have received. And, finally, I have no training in teaching English as a second language. Therefore, I just do the best that I can with what I’ve got!

This has meant lots of innovation and investment on my part. I purchased notebooks and pencils for each of my students, and I often find that bringing in little treats can create lots of unforeseen inspiration. :) I do have one little blackboard and chalk, which I certainly use to the max.

Here are some videos my (taken several months ago) of my English prodigies:

"Hello. My name is Luisa. I am happy. My house is in San Antonio, and I am from Colombia. Good-bye!"

"Hello. My name is Jennifer. I am from Colombia. I am fifteen-years-old. Good-bye!"

"Hello. My name is Nygeli Daniela Velasco Rodriguez. I am happy. How are you? I hope you are well. Bye-bye!"

"Good afternoon. My name is Marta. My house is in San Antonio. I am happy and intelligent. I have been here for five years. I have studied in the school Nuestra Señora de Pilar. Good-bye!"

I recently started a new class of the younger girls-- due to popular demand. The Director of Hogares María Gorretti had originally told me to only teach the older ones, but the younger girls felt very left out. They often tried to sneak into my classes, and some even cried when they were told that they were not allowed to participate. Perhaps they were solely motivated by the treats and brand-new supplies that their older counterparts were receiving, but I increased my “supply” to meet this “demand.” There are two girls (both of whom are eight-years-old) who have never learned to read or write. I still try to have them copy the letters that they can, and I teach this class almost entirely with games and songs.

Here are some of my students on day one, proudly displaying our “Hello. My name is” cards:

As draining as my classes may be, I really do enjoy them. I also feel like I have become a positive presence in these girls’ lives, which makes the time very worthwhile.

Yesterday, I was teaching them the concept of “to have,” which I was combining with the vocabulary of family members that I had recently taught and the usage of numbers (see above blackboard picture for more information). One student borrowed my dictionary before writing the following sentence on the board: “Miss Hilary has eight boyfriends.” I told her it was a very good sentence indeed. ;-)

La gringa goes to aerobics.

This semester, I became inspired to partake in multiple weekly group exercise classes/teams—including yoga, spinning, swim team (very humbling!), pilates, and “futbol” (soccer, although I am rarely able to attend the practices). Each activity has provided me with its own humorous, insightful, embarrassing, and memorable moments. However, I’d like to dedicate this entry to a class that I took for the first time today: kick boxing aerobics.

For once, I was able to get up on time to attend my gym’s Wednesday morning kick boxing program, although I was running just a little bit late. The participants of the class (who were all women) were already hopping and bopping about when I arrived, and I attempted to jump right in and blend in with those in the back. This, however, was easier said then done-- as I was about a foot taller than any of my classmates, and my skin was about 10 shades lighter. Furthermore, instead of the brightly-colored, fashionable matching spandex outfits that they wore, I was wearing large mens’ basketball shorts and a baggy t-shirt.

A lot of Colombian women wear trendy outfits like these at the gym.

The instructor noted these differences right away and was soon paying lots of extra attention to me, which is exactly what I had not wanted. He was quickly right in my face, asking me in English, “What is your name? Where are you from? You like Colombia?” as I tried to stay with the rest of the group and keep from accidentally punching him in the face or kicking him somewhere unpleasant. It was quite awkward, and I wasn’t sure if I should stop a moment to converse with him, but I continued with the work-out while throwing in short responses to his questions periodically. He also decided that he needed him to show me each new step or move individually.

Whenever the teacher returned to the front of the class, he incorporated as many English words as he could into his instructions: “Up, down... Strong... Four, three, two, one... Drink water!” The other ladies shouted at him (in Spanish), “Why are you speaking English? Are you crazy? We’re in Colombia!” I felt that maybe they resented me because it was my fault their aerobics instructor suddenly felt the need to show off every English word he knew. I attempted to be friendly and agreeable and focus on my kickboxing aerobics skills, yet I was tempted to run away from the group and get my exercise for the day on an elliptical machine— alone.

I share this story because things like this happen to me all the time. I certainly don’t mind that people want to practice their English, and I am glad to help them out. But I can speak Spanish. And I do not enjoy being set apart from everyone else or treated as though I am in need of lots of extra help. Colombia may have some very confusing things that do require me to get assistance from a local (and I really do value everyone who has helped me out), but I think I’m capable of handling simple tasks like air punches and leg stretches by myself, right? :)

Yikes!

The U.S. Embassy sent me the following little note on August 22nd:

This Warden Message is to alert American citizens traveling to or residing in Colombia of increased terrorist activity. Several bombings of public facilities and increased seizures of explosive materials have necessitated a review of security procedures for U.S. Embassy personnel. On August 9, a bomb was detonated in north Bogota resulting in the injury of eight persons, including one American citizen. On August 16, several small explosions occurred in large grocery stores frequented by foreigners. The Embassy has noted a significant increase in security incidents in the Tolima Department, which demonstrate the capacity of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) to conduct attacks. Due to the recent security incidents, the Embassy prohibits personal travel by Embassy personnel to Tolima Department. The Embassy urges all Americans to avoid travel to Tolima until further notice...etc....

Being the great rule-follower and U.S. citizen that I am, I vowed to stay out of the department of Tolima. However, this violence came a little closer to home recently.

Last night, I was sleeping soundly in my apartment at about midnight when a large "bang!" erupted in the city of Cali, waking everyone from their slumber. I reacted with my normal speed, quick-thinking, and agility-- by continuing to sleep soundly right through the whole thing! I was completely oblivious to the event that was ensuing until I was awakened at 1:00am by various friends and neighbors who had discovered the source of this loud, rude noise: a car bomb in the center of the Palacio de Justicia. We have since learned that officials are blaming the FARC, and that the explosion killed four and left 26 injured.

Just in case you have heard about the occurrence (which I doubt you have), I just wanted to let you know that I am absolutely fine and was not directly affected by this act of terrorism in the slightest. In fact, unlike most of my neighbors, I got a full night's sleep. :)

More Photos of Our Trip!