In the months that I've been here in Colombia, I have been a little frustrated by how insular I feel like my existence has been. The reality is that I spend most of my time at school and work a LOT at home. Many of my friends live on the northern side of Bogotá, where I do. We mostly go out to places on this side of town. So, getting out of my convenient comfort zone means making a deliberate point to take the time to get out and explore different parts of the city.
A couple of my friends and I did that last weekend. Even though it may sound funny since we actually live here, we went on an organized bike tour of Bogotá. It was great. It was the most perfect, sunny day, and we started down in La Candelaria, the lovely old colonial center of town. We wound our way through the colonial and government buildings, in and around a n
umber of parks (at least one of which was made way for by razing a crime-ridden neighborhood, of course) and through bustling neighborhoods I had never been to or heard of. We made a stop at the central market, called Paloquemao, where I had one of the best arepas I've ever eaten and where we snacked on tropical fruits ranging from mangosteens (my favorite), to pitaya, to passion fruit. It made me so envious of my friend Moira, who gets to do her fruit and vegetable shopping there. From the market we continued on to the Central Cemetary, which is just as segregated by social class as any other one I have ever visited in Latin America. Next door was a series of crypts that had been emptied in preparation for demolition, but not before they were painted with silhouettes of bodies
being carried on stretchers -- representing the dead of Colombia's armed conflict. We wound down our trip with a stop at the National Park before heading down the Ciclovía (the route of streets that are closed on Sundays to make way for bikers and pedestrians) back to La Candelaria. It was a perfect way and a perfect day to see other parts of the city. Turns out that it was also the perfect day to get the kind of sunburn you can only get by forgetting to wear sunscreen at 8500 feet.
umber of parks (at least one of which was made way for by razing a crime-ridden neighborhood, of course) and through bustling neighborhoods I had never been to or heard of. We made a stop at the central market, called Paloquemao, where I had one of the best arepas I've ever eaten and where we snacked on tropical fruits ranging from mangosteens (my favorite), to pitaya, to passion fruit. It made me so envious of my friend Moira, who gets to do her fruit and vegetable shopping there. From the market we continued on to the Central Cemetary, which is just as segregated by social class as any other one I have ever visited in Latin America. Next door was a series of crypts that had been emptied in preparation for demolition, but not before they were painted with silhouettes of bodies
being carried on stretchers -- representing the dead of Colombia's armed conflict. We wound down our trip with a stop at the National Park before heading down the Ciclovía (the route of streets that are closed on Sundays to make way for bikers and pedestrians) back to La Candelaria. It was a perfect way and a perfect day to see other parts of the city. Turns out that it was also the perfect day to get the kind of sunburn you can only get by forgetting to wear sunscreen at 8500 feet. My tour around Bogotá got me thinking about my insulation on a bigger scale. I think it was partly a question of timing. In the couple of days following that bike ride, I read about a new Human Rights Watch report about the successor groups of the paramilitaries here who continue to commit atrocities, got an update from a friend attending the trial of 10 army officers for complicity with paramilitaries in a massacre in a peace community a few years ago, and met three members of the U'wa indigenous group who are engaged in a struggle with the oil company Ecopetrol to prevent oil drilling on their native land. This is the country where I live, and I have been woefully uninformed about events here.
So I've made a belated New Year's resolution to commit myself to learning more about Colombia's history and to staying much better informed about what is going on here today. It's fine that I got a book on Colombian history recommeded to me by the woman in my department who teaches that class at school, but I know better than anyone the best way to get a first-hand crash course in the reality of any country in Latin America: go on a Witness for Peace delegation. I am so incredibly excited since I have decided to join (OK, I have to apply, but I am hoping that as a former staffer I will be accepted) a group in July that will travel to the Urabá region to learn about the situation facing people living in so-called humanitarian zones. According to the description on the Witness for Peace web site, "A humanitarian zone is a living area of a few acres surrounded by a barbed wire fence. The community puts signs on the fence proclaiming that this is a civilian zone, and nobody with a weapon is allowed inside. Because threats [from paramilitaries and the army trying to take over their land] continue, these communities rely on international attention for their survival."
I know I have a lot to learn, but I feel good for having committed myself to taking active steps to really remember where I am.
(To see some of the testimonials from the Human Rights Watch report, you can follow this link: http://www.hrw.org/en/feature/colombia-deadly_threat)
