First part of the Easter Holiday

Last week, being Easter and all, saw millions of Colombians swarm to church (that is the catholic church of course) in order to beg forgiveness for their otherwise sordid lives. Well it kinda seemed like that with everyone being the picture of innocence and lily white virginity, at least until the church service was over and the drinking could commence once more.

I was lucky enough to head into the nearby countryside with some mates who had rented a cottage close to a small town called San Jeronimo. The weather was bloody good out there and we spent a couple of days soaking up the rays next to the pool and laughing more than I can remember doing for years. It is possible that this was because of the alcohol being consumed at all hours.

This is Tamarind country with every kind of sweet thing you could imagine!

This little town is very close to Santa Fe which is where I was a couple of weeks ago with some other mates (my adopted mommies in Medellin). Both towns are built in the old Spanish style with the church and plaza in the centre of town. You really have to remind yourself that you're not somewhere in the south of Spain because the similarities to those towns are striking.
Santa Fe is undoubtedly the more popular of the two and this is where loads of Paisas (the word used for people from Antioquia) from Medellin head for the Holy Week. When I first travelled there with Paula, Juan Pablo, Clara and Cata, we spent a relaxing afternoon watching the sun slowly sinking behind the mountains that encircle this little colonial town. I destroyed another Bandeja de Paisa which is a traditional meal from these parts made up of Frijoles (beans cooked slowly for almost a full day), chicharron (kind of like crackling but thicker and with more fat), carne de rez (beef steak) with a huevo (egg) on top, chorizo, arroz (rice), patacones (flattened plantain), ensalada and an arepa (maize flat bread) on the side. Not for the faint hearted I can tell you. This is almost always consumed with a selection of juices made of Lulo, Papaya, Mango, Tamarind and at least ten other fruits that I still don’t know. I loved it but walking was tough afterwards.

This is Bandeja de Paisa. Yummy!

This link is a good one to check for an idea of the kind of food and drink you get here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuisine_of_Colombia

There is loads of info on the fruits, soups, meats and booze (I.e. Aguardiente, Ron, etc.)

Chilling out after lunch in the plaza of Santa Fe

As the sun dipped further behind the mountains we stopped at the nearby and famous wooden bridge called Puente Occidente (Western Bridge). It is quite an impressive structure which still takes traffic and spans the massive Rio Cauca. Colombianos are quite proud of this engineering feat and why not!? Its kinda strange standing in the middle of it and feeling it sway and shake with the wind and cars. Like all the rivers here Rio Cauca is large and mighty impressive. Africa has some biggies but they really do not touch this continent for sheer size and power.

The Medellin Mommies, River Cauca, Antioquian countryside and some views of Puente Occidente

This time around my trip was with Ruben and the two Natalias who I had literally met two days before. Ruben is another one of the geologist crew (and a sick salsa dancer) who I have met here in Medellin. He recently returned from a two year stint in the UK. Chatting to him has made me grateful for having an SA passport, which I would have never have thought possible before. There are only 4 countries in the world which do not require visas for Colombians!

Ruben and I in front of the church in Santa Fe

Nati Number 1..always close to shops and markets.

Nati number 2 in her natural environment...pool side!

Their mates and significant others made up the rest of the group travelling to the country cottage which they amusingly all refer to as a farm. Maybe farms are different back home but seriously, a house on an average sized stand in a fenced off resort with a pool is not a farm. What the hell do they farm with? Grass and empty beer bottles? Anyway, shopping was all done beforehand and a worrying proportion of it was made up of 2.5 litre bottles of Aguardiente, beer and that devil's broth known as Ron de Medellin. Yuck. Something that I had not seen before are the wildly popular litre boxes of booze being sold over here. They look identical to milk cartons at home (like Everfresh I think) and are obviously made for rapid consumption. I mean it is kind of strange to see apparently good 3 year old rum being sold in a box? Damn near killed me the first time I took one of these cartons out of a fridge, thinking that it was milk for the tea I sorely needed, due to another pounding hangover! Imagine the horror!

Having arrived at the cottage it quickly became clear that this group was made up of the rich local kids. Paisas generally have quite an inflated opinion of themselves compared to the rest of the country and feverishly hold onto all the things that somehow make them different to other Colombianos. This includes their accent (which I am apparently picking up...in Spanish!) and the general perception that Paisa girls are the best thing since sliced bread. It also means that some serious stereo types exist where the ladies and gentlemen over here generally have very specific roles to play. Think of your average Pretoria braai with more makeup and drinking. The ladies make the salads here too! I had a good laugh listening to some of them referring to people from other parts of the country as 'garbage' and generally making sweeping statements about everything from Africa to the local football. The girls had such a strong Koogal accent that it was like being in a Spanish Sandton and the fellas pretty much sat around and plotted around what they wanted to do next. I laughed really hard at times as this was almost as strange for my friend Ruben and Nati as it was for me. At stages the ladies all sat around me and giggled uncontrollably as they tried to teach me more words that would make me undeniably Paisa. I was also incessantly questioned about what I thought of Paisa girls. I generally tend to get mighty uncomfortable at questions which really only have one 'correct' answer that is at odds with what I really think! The cackling applause to my answer seemed to signal that all was ok though. It must be said that once again the levels of general friendliness and warmth were unlike anything I have experienced outside of this country.

The cottage / farm trip gang

Its really strange to be in a place where many cities are literally and quite famously rated according to their women?! The other day I was telling someone that I was maybe going to another town called Pereira. The immediate response I received was that Pereira girls are the easiest in Colombia and I kid you not that every response after that was exactly the same, from girls and guys alike! Must be tough being a girl from Pereira!? I do think that very similar comparisons exist in parts of SA but I reckon that I was lucky enough to personally not have too much exposure to that, due mainly to the places I liked going to and more generally the people that I was close to.

Beer and Colombian Cafe in Santa Fe!

Santa Fe at night with some of the bustling markets

It was good Friday on my second day in San Jeronimo and we moved off to Santa Fe for some late afternoon drinks and to watch the Holy Procession of those guys who look like scary KKK druids. Damn frightening I tell you and made worse by the sickly looking Jesus and Mary that are being carried around with them and the haunting music that this bit piece band plays during the procession. The town is beautiful at night though and everyone had a calm happiness about them which was great to be a part of.

Quite a sight as thousands line the streets for the procession

Yeah this looks a little scary...better not to provoke these fellows

I wonder who washes their robes? Quite impressive really, but is it Mary or Jesus?

One of the stunning Churches in Santa Fe!

I enjoyed the spectacle and we returned home that evening for a massive braai and loads of merriment. I tell you, it was super close to home for me with the meat sizzling away and the drinks flowing. I could almost hear Hugh Bladen’s drunken rugby commentary in the background! Everyone made sure that plenty photos were taken of me supposedly showing off typically Colombian attire and accessories.

Just like Home!

New mates and my Sombrero!

I must confess to knowing very little about what is going on here

Sombrero, Hammock and box rum...distinctly Colombian!

After dinner a pack of cards was produced and a table cleared for the serious business of drinking games. I was already quite tanked at this stage, but the confidence was there and I was sure that I could prevail in these circumstances. Once again I underestimated the Colombian ability to imbibe alcohol. This was also made worse by the games being played in Spanish. This friendly lot actually offered to speak English but I was far to stubborn for that and told them not to be ridiculous…in Spanish of course. At one stage we all had to count and, my abilities now impaired by alcohol, I was taken to the cleaners as maths and counting in another language all became just a tad too difficult for me. Presented with my first tumbler of rum that I had to throw back, I naively asked for a chaser. I was literally handed half a lemon to suck on if required. This was serious stuff and I rolled up my sleeves and silently resolved to take this game by the scruff of the neck as it was now becoming a matter of survival. My head was swimming and I could feel that name-throwing was minutes and not hours away. I picked up my game but was still shown up far too often to really make a recovery. Next a game with cards and 8 spoons was revealed and this became even more complicated. I tell you, the laughing was hysterical at stages and the tears were literally streaming. The vast array of games was impressive and thoroughly enjoyable even if it was interspersed with further revolting shots. I wish I could remember more of them! Obviously my condition was deteriorating and I looked around to see if others were at least struggling somewhat. It seemed like it but I couldn’t be sure. I quipped to Nati, who was sitting next to me, about how roasted we were, so that I could gauge some sort of a response. She replied that in Colombian terms this was getting tipsy. I went cold with fear and it took some minutes for me to accept that I had been thoroughly routed in this battle. I went to bed (first!) about fifteen minutes later and almost broke my neck as I repeatedly tried to get onto the top bunk bed that was assigned to me. Outside, the raucous laughing continued unabated until 6:30 in the morning!

Another Colombian pastime...riding a saddle minus the horse.

The spoon drinking game...absolutely ridiculous!

The next morning, or early afternoon, we headed back to Medellin. A great time was had by all and I thankfully had started to develop a tan again. It has to be said that I was not really contributing to conversation in the car as I hid behind my shades and Ipod, trying desperately to string a thought together. I guess I’m finding it tough to accept that I am now some sort of a geeky foreign lightweight.

Musings

I recently started reading some poetry by the famous Chilean, Pablo Neruda (Nobel prize in literature - 1971). Its called El libro de las preguntas (the book of questions) and was given to me by someone who knows me very well, better than I would even admit at times.

The publication’s introduction by William O’ Daly, immediately grabbed my attention, as it referred to things like ‘revisiting the deep well of perpetuity’, ‘radical trust in the quest to know himself’, ‘by vocation seeks the roots of belonging’, ‘beyond rehearsed patterns of thinking and feeling’, ‘when we run in place’, ‘what we learned was forgotten so that we might learn it again’, and ‘only he can rightly accuse himself of being many men, of never knowing “who I am, / nor how many I am or will be.” It struck a chord with me at a time when my own questioning process felt more like a desperate wheeze than a righteous roar .

Surely one of the greatest challenges I face, when running my life’s race, is to not look behind me or around me at where everyone else is. After all its not really a race is it? That is tough and no man is an island as they say, but I’ve learnt more and more that life is filled with much that is temporary and only our fear (sometimes panic) convinces us otherwise. That being said, we surely shouldn’t let the fear of change or the pain of loss hinder our ability to embrace, love and cherish that which is still there and more importantly, what is still to come.

We’re all kids when it comes to facing the unknown. I can see it in the old man who shakes and trembles uncertainly at the supermarket check out, for instance. His already dented pride evaporates in the daily challenges which he used to skip over without a second thought. Never could he have imagined asking for help to pick up a packet or suffering the humiliation of having to ask twice about the price of what he is buying, seeing as his pension won’t cover what the till flashes brightly for all the other shoppers in the queue to see. I see the same trepidation in the small girl on the Metro, from the poor Barrio on the edge of town, wide-eyed and questioning her acceptance amongst richer classmates, based on what her working class mom can afford for her to wear. So it goes, over and over again. I see all the everyday cycles, as the poor work harder for their kids to have a brighter future and the rich kids squander their gifts as poverty has now overtaken their hearts and minds.

When we get shoved onto the path of this involuntary journey, I believe that all of us have the key that unlocks our ability to feel all that pain, loss, insecurity, loneliness. To feel it all, and to move forward without carrying it with us, while still having allowed it to affect us. Problem is that when one feels a certain kind of pain for the first time, the fear of it often becomes bigger than the pain itself and hence, we carry a little piece of it forever so that we can always remember and ensure that it never happens again. Some of us carry more than others and when we do, that drowns out the spaces in our hearts which could be filled with the wonderment, love, and exhilaration, but also the pain and sorrow, of the here and now. Very much like the passage on Happiness and Sorrow in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. The choice then becomes about whether we would rather feel less in general than risk more of the moments where there is pain in the same form as that which we felt before. Here I must add that I really don’t think many of us consider the pain that we have not felt yet. Moreover, we also surely wouldn’t last very long if we knew what lay ahead in advance, right? Life is certainly not a bed of roses and within the smaller lifetimes that I seem to have navigated up to now, I am often struck, in the reflective moments, by 1) how much harder the experience was than I could ever have imagined and 2) how I would never have made it through had I an inkling of what lay ahead. Climbing Kilimanjaro is a great analogy here. That in itself should be encouragement for what we can cope with though.

So how does the questioning thing tie into this? Well it really boils down to whether we are optimists or not. Let’s use the analogy of walking along a previously undiscovered jungle path, for instance. Walking, in this instance, is analogous with a healthy outlook on life and a general openness to that which comes across our path. We are thus always moving forward. It implies security in oneself (to maintain a healthy attitude towards the journey and the unknown) and a level of introspection (which allows for us to see what the path offers us daily and to question how it affects us). We have a small bag with us (our heart). We then might come across something beautiful along the way, if we‘re lucky. I reckon that we mostly are, and that it’s a question of seeing rather than luck. Anyway, it fits neatly in the bag and we hastily (or sometimes carefully) stick it in there along with the couple of other belongings we hold dear. Bear in mind that family are generally sewn into the seams of the bag, but they tend to take up space nonetheless. This is important to realise seeing as some of us are blessed with bigger bags than others.

Seriously....I carry this thing with me everywhere!

So, you keep walking and as you do it becomes obvious that what is in the bag affects the way you walk and starts to literally make an impression on you. That’s the bit we can’t really change and control. But, maybe some way down the line you start to see new things and what you find beautiful changes, or maybe what is in the bag starts going bad cus it was never meant to be carried around anyway, or maybe your bag just starts to get a little heavy to carry and you realise that if you want to keep walking, something is going to have to stay behind. This is where the choice and the questioning comes in. Can you, in other words:

1. Question yourself to the extent where the reality of these scenarios becomes something that you can accept?
   
2. Consciously make the necessary choices e.g. to leave something behind?

Here it becomes important to clarify that leaving something behind often means that the space in the bag will still be there and the impression on you (e.g. the way you now walk) will be there possibly forever (not always)?

Not half full yet

You see, being affected and holding on are two different things, in my book. Being affected is like coastlines getting affected by the sea. The impressions can stay there forever, but the elements which affect us never go away, so that, at some distant point in the future you might only see a small crack where there was once a gaping crevice, violently torn open by a stormy sea of the past. Hardly anything is permanent as long as the weather keeps changing. Holding on is like the gambler sitting at the roulette table, nervously counting his last chips and consulting his magical sheet of scribbled paper, as if it will now tell him some illuminating truth that it was not capable of doing 10 minutes ago. This then, is where the choice comes in.

Do we carry that something with us, even though it could mean that we have to stop walking, or that we become ill from it having gone bad (or vice versa) or through our own sadness? Do we hold on until the effect is nothing but crushing and painful? Sometimes we hold on so long that what is in the bag can never exist outside of it again. Sometimes we choose to break off pieces to make sure that we carry something tangible with us forever. This however, means that what was in the bag can now never exist as a whole again and we can also never really put anything else in there either. Sometimes we actually do choose to never put something in the bag again out of fear of the same thing happening. We keep an empty space in there and we learn to only look at our feet as we try to become blind to what we are walking past. We then often carry the bag as if it were even heavier than it was before, even though it is now empty! All these scenarios result in a hindrance which often times extends beyond ourselves and has a kind of chain reaction with everything linked to our bag and ourselves.

Sometimes we’re just plain lucky and something fits in there so well, that it becomes part of the seams and material of the bag too. It grows with us and may even make us stronger. It might become so light (supportive, constructive, positive) that we scarcely remember we have the bag on, and quite often (life seems to work in this way) the space inside becomes even bigger. A good sign to me. What many of us forget though, is that world around us and its effect is something quite personal and when all is said and done, there really was only one person who experienced that from beginning to end: You…. with your trusty bag of course. We’re born with it empty and we hopefully die with some things that have travelled a part of the way with us.

When we are free of carrying the bad stuff, and that which we have only affects us positively, we are able to merrily skip along, sticking all manner of other weird and wonderful things in there, as we unashamedly and spontaneously swap, share, collect and take in treasures from our fortunate path. If your bag is open then something can either fit or not. Horrible scenarios do exist where people don’t have something in their bag but something bad still hangs onto some part of them like a nasty parasite. The bag represents the essentials and everything else hanging on you is unnecessary and often destructive. That does not imply that interaction with the world around us does not take place and that we do not gain from many things that might not eventually end up with the essentials.

Look out cus you could be missing some treasures along the way

During this journey there should be no need to close our bag or protect it because everything in there is plain to see, and the effect of anything new can be handled because the choice to hold on is never taken away from us. That gives freedom to what is in the bag too. You’d have to agree that a prolonged outlook like this would certainly result in a fairly interesting and distinctive walk! This is because we do not fear the path or what we encounter / pick up. The ultimate choice of being affected, whilst not having to hold on, is ours.

The truth is that this choice exists for us in all circumstances, but only if we let go of the fear of the undiscovered, as well as the apprehension of what we can and can‘t carry. The key is the questioning and the choice is our freedom.

Let me end with one of the poems by Pablo Neruda:

When I see the sea once more
Will the sea have seen or not seen me?

Why do the waves ask me
The same questions I ask them?

And why do they strike the rock
With so much wasted passion?

Don’t they get tired of repeating
Their declaration to the sand?

The Holy Week begins

I have discovered to my own horror that the university is completely closed this week and that means that my internet access is now restricted to internet cafe´s. This will be the case for two weeks atleast, seeing as I am vamoosing to the beach on Sunday. Not sure where. I am kind of "along for the ride".

As my good friend Tenu would say, "Its all happening at the Gabba!".

Last week I did my groin at rugby practice. I was slightly over excited and didn´t warm up so five minutes in I felt a twang and then I couldn´t run anymore. I still stayed for the rest of practice though and put in some telling hits! Even as a cripple my impact was colossal. Well I´m now out for a week or two and that is ok cus the university is closed anyway and I´m gone for a week after that. The coach cancelled our rugby tour this weekend cus we´re too horrible. He has a point and I must confess to frequently doubting whether some of my team mates passed elementary school. Not the sharpest tools in the shed....and that is tough to coach!

I finished my second level of Spanish last week and that went pretty well too. The progress is good. I am now starting to speak a lot more and with a couple more weeks of practice it should be getting comfortable. I´m able to confidently spend a night out with my Swiss-French classmate (who is picking it up a lot easier cus of the similarities with French), for instance, who can´t speak a word of English. It just feels like I need more fluency, but the speaking itself is not really a problem anymore. It´s cool to notice how you have been talking for twenty minutes, while someone else is listening to you speaking in another language!

I am today picking through the wreckage that remains from a weekend of note, but the pain felt good too!

My Salsa (and the "version" of Meringue that I attempted with that scary Mexican hussy) is coming along nicely. Ya really don´t have a choice here to be honest.

I went to a swanky part of town on Friday night where massiveness was delivered by yours truly to the point where I required a "little nap" in the taxi on the way home. I swear its only because they make you buy a bottle of rum at a time! Being African means that I just cannot bear the waste of leaving any behind!

Saturday I was fighting through the waves of nauseau when another group of mates picked me up for a concert by two of the best known Salsa bands in Colombia, happening at the stunning botanical gardens. I gagged with my first sip of aguardiente, but it wasn´t long before I was back on the horse and marvelling at my own hip-gyrating super smoothness. That stuff literally makes you hot! This dance thing is so damn good and one just gets swept along with it. Wish I had taken photos but predictably and much to the disgust of mates, I forgot my camera again. I am always doing that. Lord knows what other photos I was in though cus I often did not even know who the people were who I was posing with or taking the photos?! Must work harder on keeping a lower profile! A good time was had by all and my second consecutive 4am stint was resoundingly positive...I think.

Another little bit of news is that I am to start giving some English lessons to 3 Geoligist mates over here who are trying to prepare for that ghastly english exam one has to take before starting grad school in the states.

That is going to be it for now I´m afraid. I must run home. Be safe over the Easter and I´ll be recounting more of my recent life in the next while.

One more thing: I HATE the Super 14! My beloved Bulls....the waste of it all...

Francois Steyn breaks through - the Colombian Version!

Hola Compadres!

It has been a while I know. Such has been the frenetic nature of my life that I am now reduced to catching up on emails and making contact with you all on Saturday afternoons at the university. Yes, this is certainly sad in some ways, but it also points to a very full life that has now unfolded for me in Medellin. Not a bad thing!

This post is not going to be about everything that has unfolded in the last couple of weeks because there is just too much to write about in one go. I'm going to try and catch up between now and the end of the Holy Week (Starting next week Friday) seeing as that will be a quiet time with no classes...I hope!

Right, well onto the purpose of this piece then, namely: My 'debut' with the University of EAFIT's rugby team! Yes thats right ladies, Hilton is showing everyone what he's made of in the sport of gladiators, right here in Colombia!

I put off going to practice for a couple of weeks because i was trying to buy myself some time to do exercise and to get fit enough to unleash something close to my true potential. I exercised at home and tried to get as ready as i could before reporting for practice. Well, that possibly did not make that much of a difference when I finally took part in my first full practice this past week.

Medellin has had a sh#tload of rain in the last 3 or so weeks and the field that we practice on (something like a 'B' soccer field) was closer to a swamp than a place to practice rugby on. I attended my first practice with T-shirt and tekkies (running shoes) seeing as i had little else. Most players, upon hearing that a South African was at the practice, came to welcome me warmly and all scrutinised me carefully as if my country of origin somehow gave me superhuman strength and skill in this game. Maybe they weren't convinced instantly. Even though Colombians are generally not that big, these guys were certainly on the large side and various ogre-like fatties crushed my hand and slapped my back as I nervously scrutinised the morass that we were to practice on and waved goodbye to what used to be a good T-shirt. I'm definitely below average size in the team. Everyone wanted to present their credentials to me by either telling me what they knew about the game (e.g. 'eeeeh maaaan! yooooo weeeeenaaaaa theee worraald kaaaap! Cooool! Soowt Aaafricaaa eeeessaaa straaang no?') or by acting super tough or by inviting me to beers later or by talking tactics (?!). During the warm up laps the two or three that could speak english were trying to strike up conversation with me while I was attempting, in vain, to jump over the biggest puddles. Interestingly, I did meet a psychologist from Bogota who works with internal refugees and I'm planning to have a chat to him in the coming weeks. A good bloke!

Practice started fine and after some fitness we started playing - two teams running at each other and 'semi-contact'. Its fair to say that I was on form: breaking line with expert-like dummies, catching the kicks with consumate ease, passing crisply and drawing the man beautifully, beating my opponenents on the outside with my natural speed, coming through at pace! I wish my father could have seen it! Pretty soon I was a marked man and started getting the attention of a number of players everytime I got the ball.

It was at this stage that I started running out of puff and I was wheezing horrifically after about twenty minutes. The captain and coach then also stopped the game to discuss my obvious impact: 'eh heeeeltooon...we starta play feeeerst gaaayam theees weeekend! yooo aaaah fooooooolbak ok?'. I had to protest furiously by telling them I hadn't played in seven years (well more like ten actually) and that it would take me 2-3 weeks to get fit and hard enough to last 80 minutes in a match. The coach would not accept me missing anything more than the first game, to which I reluctantly agreed. He seemed more interested in getting my medical insurance details (actually only travellers insurance but it'll have to do) and all my contact information, including my home address! I understood later that it was to ensure that i will never be able to escape the team. At this stage cramps were setting in and I was not happy with how fresh everyone else still looked!

Pretty soon I could hardly run anymore and pride was getting me through more than any physical reserves i still had left. After my calves cramped like two tennis balls for the 4th time the coach switched me to defense cus that was supposedly easier. At this point it is important to explain that when playing rugby it is not the fatties that usually pose the biggest threat, but more the faster players, and if you happen upon a fast fatty you have real problems. Well I confirmed this old truth when a bald 100+ kilogram grunting brute broke the line and I was all that was left between him and the line. I grimly dropped my shoulders and tried to hit him in the midrif without dislocating my shoulder. To say that he bounced me about 5 metres would be an understatement! Goodness that hurt! Turns out I at least slowed him down enough for two others guys to take him down.

I struggled through the rest of practice and by the time I left for home I looked more like a brown limping and wounded swamp creature, covered in mud from head to toe. Why was I so much dirtier than everyone else? The coach and two senior players then offered to share a cab with me and I accepted the gesture. The coach wanted to see where i lived and repeated continuously how close he lives to me. I smiled weakly and by the time i got home it seemed that rigamortis had set in to my legs.

The next day I was walking as if both my legs were in splints and I'm actually still walking funny and it is now Saturday! I again went to practice the next night after going shopping for some soccer boots (the rugby variety can obviously not be found for love or money), old T-shirts, running shorts and a mouthgaurd which I found at a boxing store. I was severely hamstrung if you'll excuse the pun. More tackling happened and the glossy veneer of my first night's fame started to disappear as I got smashed in the face (another fast fatty), had two of my fingers pulled back in a ruck, bashed my knee something fearful, severely bruised my bicep and ripped one of my precious ears at the back. I started feeling like a street dog that had been in too many fights and I was viewing the other players with a one-eyed grimace as i waited for the next onslaught. No-one seemed to notice though and soon i was practicing with the run-on team. The coach gamely tried to convince me again that i should play this weekend and i just managed to get out of it. I asked one of the other player why the same guys were always having to tackle us and we always got to attack. He said that those were the 'new guys' who had only been with the team for a couple of weeks. I told him that I had been with the team for a day and asked why I was different. I got the now familiar Colombian-shrug in response with a predictable, 'Well, you're South African...right?'. hmmmm. Our first game was the next night at one of the smaller fields next to the big soccer stadium in town and I promised to attend as a show of support, although I could see the coach scheming to find ways of getting me to play.

On my first night I was also roped into a rugby tour to another town called Pereira this coming weekend. Apparently we'll be playing a number of matches and get to do the whole tour thing with a bus and staying in a team hotel. Quite cool and i'm excited to see another city.


After my second practice and once again covered in mud, the coach deposited his precious 'new signing' at home once more and feigned concern as he told me to rest. No kidding @sshole! I needed painkillers to sleep. Yesterday (Friday) was worse and even my spanish teacher was concerned at the visible bruises and scabs all over my body. I soldiered on and dragged my crippled @ss to the match. Thankfully I didn't have to play but the coach made sure that i was taking notes and acting like some sort of 2IC technical analyst.


Here are some pictures of the field for the first match:


You will notice the absence of rugby posts...I asked a team mate about this and he said that they simply 'imagine' them extending above the soccer posts. Quant!






My team is the one in blue.


Well, the team was annihilated and played pretty badly, it must be said. One guy seemed pretty good though and I asked the coach who he was seeing as i did not recognise him from practice. Turns out that he plays for the national team!


The sport here is certainly something different. I can't understand sh#t during the team talks and they have some strange ideas, but I am glad to be playing for sure. This could certainly not happen in SA and more generally I can't spend nearly as much time being active back home. That's because I walk everywhere here and public life is so much bigger and more accessible. Quite seriously, I don't think I've ever been in such good shape. The food is really healthy and fruit is something that you virtually can't go more than a day without here. It has made me realise that I was probably a little on the 'chubby' side in SA! you guys will have to wait for some other posts to see that though!

All for now and look our for more posts in the coming week or two!

PS. I finish my second course this week!

Kind & Generous (by Natalie Merchant) and So Real (by Jeff Buckley)

I had intended this piece to be about the culinary delights of Colombia, but I fear that I still do not have enough facts to compose something really revealing and elsewhere enough has happened to warrant an update of sorts. So, I’ve decided to shoot off another post before most of it slips away and is absorbed by my rapidly forming new life in Medellin.

Hilton surveys the landscape...with tea!

Life has moved quite quickly in the last couple of weeks. I’ve been backwards and forwards between Bogota and Medellin a couple of times, spent loads of time on the phone, or having people phone for me, about accommodation, Visa’s, studies and a host of other things that need to get organised ASAP, spent large amounts of time on buses and in taxi’s, packed and lugged my bags around some more and I’ve continued the sometimes bruising and always frenetic process of meeting new people, making connections and getting by.

Some of the friendly locals here in Medellin

One certainly has moments in between all of this, where you start to see the stark contrast between what used to stress you out and the generally relaxed air that you have now adopted in the face of much turmoil and change. One really has little choice in the matter because massive chunks of your life now relies on adapting to situations as opposed to controlling your environment and carefully planning the boundaries of your existence. I often wonder if a more conformist life would see me loose the ability to adapt in this way because I reckon its quite a nice thing to have and, if nothing else, might save you some dough on the tranquilizers and heart medication later on in life. Quieter moments have been less frequent, but enough to still allow me the space to pose some more questions without real answers.

Adaptation is required to eat coagulated blood sausage and bits of intestine...savvy?

....Entonces...aver...where did I last leave you guys? I think it was just before I left for Medellin the first time. Well the bus trip was long and the countryside beautiful in way that had me putting away the camera after the first hour or so because it really would only do the situation justice if one of you could have been sitting next to me and we could’ve giggled together at our wonderful luck for having stumbled across something that so few others from outside this country have had the privilege to see.

A glimpse of the road to Medellin

By the time I arrived here in Medellin, I was sufficiently dreamy (think of the effect of an opiate, for instance) from all the smiling at myself and that didn’t really let up as the people here just continued the happy high. They are so damn friendly!

It started with a lady who was on the same bus as I and who must’ve seen me looking lost in the bus terminal as she was about to disappear in a cab. She called me over and asked if she could help. I tried to explain where I was going but failed so miserably that it took me calling Sergio’s friend Clara so that she could explain what it was that I should be doing (something that has actually happened on a number of occasions now). all the way there she and the driver tried gamely to pry information out of me in my broken Spanish about where I was from, what I was doing in Medellin, how long I’d been in Colombia and other places that I had seen. Now normally this kind of prying might have you react with some kind of suspicion about the pryer’s motives, but I was instantly so sure of their concern and sincere want to help me, that I stuttered on as best I could. This was confirmed when we stopped at my destination and they then even refused to take money from me for the cab ride and waved me goodbye with a cheery ´Buena Suerte´(good luck).

A view of the city

The indomitable little Clara was waiting for me and we walked through a wonderful little neighbourhood called Carlos E Restripo which is where she lives and where the apartment was that I was going to be crashing in for the next couple of days. This other apartment turned out to be her office by day and had some extra bedrooms, one of which they fixed up nicely for me. I also met Paula who works with Clara and together they ensured that I was comfy and well entertained for the next 3/4 days. I was most impressed at how they patiently listened to all my questions about this new place and always went beyond the polite in trying to explain both what I wanted to know and also what they thought I should take note of. I had flashes of the old team at RMB as they mothered me around the city and seemed to take pleasure in my child like unearthing of local gems and small victories.In the next couple of days, I also got to meet Juan Pablo (Clara´s boyfriend) and Catalina (a mutual friend). Everyone seemed to chip in at some stage to either take me somewhere or to further explain or teach something to me.

Paula and Clara....what lovely ladies!

During my 3 days I went to the EAFIT University where I signed up for my first six courses of Spanish. The spot seemed quite a good starting point and they looked somewhat accustomed to having overseas students. This private university is a quite a good one but has the reputation of being slightly ´Fresas´ or `Yupi´ (local word). This basically means preppy or snobbish.

Practically, it means that all the girls have wonderfully sculpted fake boobs which they use every opportunity to flaunt shamelessly. No problems there although I was often privately amused at my own definition of the ‘chest bum’ which seemed quite apt in most cases. Among the young caballeros it is obvious that the mullet is big business here. The exact look of it makes me want to pronounce the word ‘moo-lay‘. Some of the edgier girls even have this annoying fringe with the wild mud flap at the back. Most thankfully don’t though, but it irks me how the guys get the sides of their heads shaved and then have this long curly monstrosity spouting forth at the back with a fringe and longer hair on top. All of this is carried off with an unmistakable air of coolness and has me in fits of laughter all the time. Seriously, it makes me think of some sort of animal fur as it wiggles about when they attempt to entertain a serious conversation with you.

This man's hair is super cool...in Medellin.

So the university seems quite competent and has a number of extra perks that I now qualify for as a full time student. This includes my being able to participate in a number of sports which even include Frisbee (!?) and handball. The one that obviously caught my eye was the rugby team and I plan to go and check that out at my earliest convenience. I will play if I can be sure that they are not too big and that I will be adopted as the foreign player / coach with hero status among the fans. Yesirree, this could be the start of something special.

Furthermore, I get a Spanish language conversation partner to meet with a couple of times a week. They will be an English student and we will swap between the two languages in various sessions to speed up the learning process. Personally I don’t really need this as I know enough people here already, but my budding friendship with the logistics guys in the head office means that I could be spending my time teaching a lovely young lass (they will allow me to first have a look at the registrations photos of course) the finer side of the English language. The non-american version naturally. Yup, I am certainly trying to ensure that I maintain the necessary sense of balance within these first months of learning the language. no use in going over board just yet and I believe that spending the necessary time on the assimilation process is vitally important for me to gain the skills I need for the coming months. erm…

The one thing the university was not so good at doing was advising me on how to get my temporary student VISA and all the requirements for this process. I ended up going to the DAS offices here (like homeland security) and they look like they are spawned from the same monster that created Home Affairs in SA. Juan Pablo spent an afternoon there with me helping to find out what I should be doing. Thankfully it soon appeared that I was supposed to be reporting to the Ministerial de Relationes Exteriores instead, but they were in Bogota. So, I swiftly started planning my trip back to Bogota, armed with all the documentation I could lay my hands on, in order for me to start classes in Medellin around the 11th of Feb.

On my second night in Medellin, Paula and Clara took me to a Salsa Bar in the downtown area called Eslabön Prendido. A great spot which through some weird turn of events also serves great meals as a kind of side speciality. We had a couple of beers along with the best steak I’ve had since leaving SA. My tummy now full, I shifted my attention to the rest of the establishment and the couple of old-timers gathered at the back bar. They were pounding on the bar in anticipation of what I didn’t know, flirting with the barmaids and threatening to break into a dance at any second. Obviously generous amounts of Aguardiente were also being added to the mix. The dark smoky bar, which was kind of like a long passageway from the street, had such a pleasant vibe that I found myself again smiling at my wonderful luck. A bar at the front and the back with tables in between and against the walls. The music: relaxed and authentic Salsa.

A little later Clara excitedly pointed at a young group gathered at the front bar. They had instruments strapped to their backs and they laughed as the crowd around them seemed to be waiting with baited breath. It turned out that these fellows were actually a well known local band who happened to also be friends of the owner. They had come for dinner but also agreed to play a couple of songs for the excited crowd. We were not disappointed as the crowd swelled rapidly and by the time they started playing the place was packed. The whole atmosphere seemed to perfectly fit that of some famous Latin Salsa bands of yesteryear playing in legendary places that I had previously only dreamt about. People started dancing almost immediately and I was literally staring at this spectacle with my mouth hanging open. One couple moved with such electric pace and energy that I was sure that it was my first encounter with crack cocaine in Colombia. The guy seemed to flip this lady around the floor like a light, but treasured, top that was spinning with almost reckless abandon. I couldn’t believe that they didn’t go crashing into the tables at stages. Their feet a complete blur and the hips gyrated and snapped back and forth in a way that I had never seen except maybe on TV. I was enthralled, if a little intimidated as I wondered what my African moves could conjure up in response. I decided to not test it out that evening as I was wearing my slops and Thai fishing pants. Plenty time left for that later and the disturbing comparisons I had heard before leaving about bad dancing in Colombia being something akin to not possessing the ability to wield the braai tongs in SA, had me carefully studying people’s feet and postponing my unleashing of the ´Johnson Rhythm Hurricane´ for some other night. A great evening though and I often imagined a couple of you being completely dazzled in the same way at seeing something like this.

In the meantime, I started looking at prospective areas of the city in which I could stay. My favourite still has to be Carlos E Restrepo. This charming group of apartments with lush gardens and hundreds of noisy little red and blue birds reminds of some places in the lowveld, but more lush and not so hot., or maybe even parts of KZN around Durban. It is also centred around a two block area that is filled with bars and restaurants. What is most cool though has to be the park and walkway area next to the bars and restaurants where, on every night of the week, old and young sit together and chatter for hours in the balmy evening air. There will usually be someone half-heartedly rapping on a Djembe drum or strumming a guitar and the smell of a brazenly smoked joint is almost always wafting through the air. Apparently this is one place in the city where one can smoke out in the open without incurring the wrath of the law. Well, actually it seems that the law just doesn’t come there? This is certainly unusual here in Colombia. There is also an art gallery with posters of the latest exhibition running along this walkway. People mostly go into a small booze take-away shop where two old ladies serve some of the nicest cold beers around at R5 a pop. Everyone then just sits around outside and tries not to stress out too much. Ya seem to run into the same regulars too and it all just smacks of the good life...at least to me.

That’s not to say that this little scene doesn’t play out in some other areas too and I was fortunate enough to go and hang out in another area of town called El Poblado on my last night before returning to Bogota. This place also centres around a park with bars and fast food joints selling Empanada´s, Perro Calientes (hot dogs) and Arepa Chocolos (local version made out of what seems like sweet corn with slices of a light kind of feta cheese on top) lining the perimeter. Its a charming place too and everyone picks up their beers at one of the bars and then hangs out on the benches and edges of the park gardens. I’ve spent a couple of nights there recently and had an amusing incident take place on one particular night.

Clara, Juan Pablo and I were hanging out after we grabbed dinner nearby and we were waiting for Paula and Catalina to join us a little later. A ragged looking fellow with loads of energy approached us brandishing a piece of paper with numbers from one to ten and some unintelligible things scratched into the spaces next to most of them. I viewed him with typically Saffy suspicion and imagined having to clout him upside the head. After an excited exchange with Clara I was made to understand that he was having a ´beer raffle´. This means that you choose a number and pay 2000 pesos (about R8) after which he has a draw and if you win then you get 5 regular beers or 3 big ones (like a quartz). I was in and after he excitedly shouted ´Bienvenido a Medellin Sudafricano!´ I picked my lucky number 6 and he scribbled some description of me next to it. He disappeared as Clara explained to me that he was a regular and that this was how he made his living and that everyone had a real soft spot for him. I tried to imagine a South African equivalent but could get no further than the weirdness of people hanging out in parks and drinking together, never mind trusting a hyper active small fellow with something as crazy as a beer lottery!

It was soon time for the draw and to much fanfare and excited squealing he was able to get one of the pretty ladies in the park to draw the number out of the empty bottom of two litre coke bottle. I knew in that instant and with absolute certainty that I had just used up my one allotted piece of lifetime lottery luck and I was not mistaken as he excitedly shouted, ´Geeeeltoooon Sudafricano!´ much to the surprise of the park regulars. He stormed over and demanded that we tell him what we would like. We opted for three large beers and a packet of chips which we had him throw in extra. Things quickly returned to normal in the park and status quo was filled i.e. I was fairly Borracho (drunk) by the end of the night! Strangely I have started to drink beer here 1) because its so much nicer than beer at home and 2) its just the perfect thing to enjoy in these social settings. A Jameson’s in the park would look a little weird eh?

Its so nice for me to be in a place where people hang out in public spaces without fear. The worst thing one has to worry about is the odd hawker trying to get you to buy some chiclets from them. Seriously, chiclets seem to be the hawkers choice for ‘lucrative’ wares to sell. The drinking in public is fairly cool too and no-one ever really seems to get rowdy or out of hand. I like people-watching and this means that I can often go and sit somewhere for hours on end, watching people mingle and carry on with the relaxed lives that they seem to live so effortlessly here. I must admit that I seem to get stared at quite a lot too even though I try to ‘blend in’ as much as I can. Much to my own amusement, I get called ´Monito´ (Blondie) quite often. Blonde? This is a first for sure.

So after my first couple of days in Medellin I schlepped back to Bogota to go and sort out my VISA along with a couple of other things. The bus trip is long, so I always and naively imagine sleeping for half of it because I even have one of those handy travel pillows that keeps your head upright and the seats in these buses recline really far. No such luck though, as the speed with which these buses take corners just does not allow for any kind of serious slumber. I’ve tried and inevitably, as I’m about to fall asleep, a really sharp corner makes me jump forward clutching the seat in fright as I am again convinced that we are tumbling off the side of the mountain. It took me a trip to the Ministerio to get the temporary student visa requirements and then I was back there the following Monday. To my surprise they gave it to me right there and then. easy peezy and all I had to do then was change my plane ticket. The Visa is valid till halfway through October so I changed my plane ticket to the start of October but I could change it again as it only costs me $25 a pop.

On my last weekend in Bogota Pollito (Maria Amelia’s boyfriend) bought us all tickets to go and watch the opening game of the new soccer season. The match was ironically between a Bogotano and Medellin team and we trooped into the stadium just as it was getting dark on Saturday night. It was a great show and I could not believe the energy of the crowd as they jumped up and down in unison for the entire match...even when the opposition scored! It was mighty nippy and I was shivering in the stands with a long sleeve shirt and a sweater over that. The Bogota fans were obviously not in the same boat as they madly sang and danced without shirts on and in many cases sporting the local teams emblem boldly tattooed on their backs! The one thing that was seriously lacking had to be the cheerleaders. They were nowhere close to the Blue Bull’s Babes and I even had thoughts of Pretoria exporting this much sought after, but ultimately rare skill to places like this. Ah yes, the Bull’s Babes brought back some fond memories of those perfectly synchronised cowgirl movements that have become so synonymous with Loftus.
Anyway, I digress… The one other amusing thing about the match was how adverts were being screened continuously on the big screen while the match was on. The most famous beer here is called Aguila and there is a yearly contest to see who will be the annual Aguila girls. They then take part in a photo shoot which is something like the Sports Illustrated Swimwear Calendar in SA, except that they are all sporting the same skimpy Aguila bikini´s. Lovely little yellow pieces. I wondered how one was possibly supposed to focus on the match with this ‘behind the scenes’ photo shoot expose being beamed and blared out from the one corner of the stadium. I tried gamely but still missed one of the goals.

The Soccer Stadium in Bogota

Latin football hooligans...deceptively dangerous

This is my game face

So, I’ve said my goodbyes to the big city and now I’m back in Medellin. I’ve got my student card and I am now furiously looking for apartments. The university has not been much of a help as they seem to cater for rich gringo’s who happily pay twice what locals pay for an apartment with all this unnecessary stuff thrown in, like cooked meals and laundry. With the help of mates here I’ve started looking at some locally advertised spots and one or two look promising. Hopefully ill finalise that in the next day or two seeing as my classes start on Tuesday. I also have to get an ID card which is mandatory if you stay in the country for more than 3 months. This will require blood tests and I don’t know what all else. Hopefully I can crack that tomorrow. There is still a lot in the pipeline and I have to resolve where I will be writing my UNISA exams in May seeing as there is no Embassy in Colombia. I am now thinking of Mexico City seeing as Mayra will be there and I can maybe find a comfortable spot nearby for the month or so where I will have to be studying. That’s just speculation right now though. Other than that I am looking forward to knuckling down with the language studies seeing as I am now at a level where my understanding is good but I am still not spending enough time practicing to speak. I’m also keen to see what its like going to university everyday and I will be looking to attend some non-credit courses in the humanities faculty at the varsity once I finish the beginners level of my course.

On the emotional side of things I have missed all of you at different moments in the last couple of weeks. A growing sense of distance has indeed firmly driven the wedge that exists between past and present into my everyday life. I also sometimes miss conversations on the level that I am used to seeing as when one converses in a second language (like the locals speaking English to me and vice versa) the level and depth does tend to drop a little and one more frequently has slightly ‘lighter’ conversations. I have written my thoughts down in the moments where I seem to build up too many that I cannot verbally expel. I received a photo of my old team at RMB this week and that certainly tugged at the heart strings as I recalled the epic last year we had together. I get a similar feeling whenever I get snatches of the lives you are all living now and how it has changed, grown and moved in the last couple of months. I had a great chat with Mayra this last week and one of the things we talked about is the realisation that came to me in the last couple of weeks: That sometimes we travel to move to places where it is more acceptable to feel like a stranger. When you have spent enough time out of the everyday loop, you realise that there will forever be something which alienates you slightly from the places that you find yourself in. Your view is inevitably no longer the same and there is always the knowledge of something which exists beyond that which you live in everyday. That was strangely cathartic for me to think about.

Thanks to everyone who has responded in some way to my last couple of mails. It brings a smile to my face when I get some idea of how my story appears from the other side of the world and, since I’ve posted my stories on Facebook I’ve been blown away by the number of people who, out of the blue, have contacted me to let me know how the pieces have affected them. That is certainly a nice bonus that I get out of something which is more for me to ensure that I don’t forget where I am and what this has moved in me thus far. I often get so absorbed in my furious pursuit of constructive progression towards something generally indefinable, that I forget to sit back and celebrate where I have come from up to now. Its definitely something that my closer mates have berated me for and I hope they can now see that I’m working on it!

So, let me end with another short list of strange things that I have come across in the last two weeks:

• In SA I had become somewhat used to the odd ladies’ undies sticking out from the top of their pants or skirt from time to time. If nothing else it was often a tad amusing especially if it happened to be a very serious kick-ass kind of lady. Well, in Colombia women’s undies NEVER show. This is all the more surprising because of how tight the jean pants are that they wear. But seriously, not once have I even glimpsed the slightest hint of something peaking out. This, from my previous accounts, is quite different when it comes to the blessed Brassiere. This is something for which it seems to be expected to be displayed just as proudly as a nice pair of ear-rings. As I said, no complaints there!


• Antioquian Billiards - This seems to be a traditional game in these parts and is a strange off-shoot of the globally recognised version. there are no pockets on the table whatsoever and the aim of the game, which has only three balls, is to make your ball hit both of the others as well as the side cushions. Successfully achieving that gets you one point and another turn. Seems mighty difficult to me. In the harder version you have to hit the side cushion 3 times before hitting the last ball and some people can do this 20 times in a row! Damn near impossible I reckon, but then again these games seem to go on for hours!


• The other day I got lost in the downtown area and while I was trying to get directions from Clara on the phone I was continuously harassed by the local fruit salesman. This is because, even though they are pushing lowly wooden carts filled with tree tomatoes (lovely things to make juice from), mango’s or watermelons, they still have the means to purchase an extravagant speaker and microphone system with which to blare out the price and quality of their wares. This looked (and sounded) really weird to me as, by implication, when you are merely selling fruit it would appear that electronic equipment of this sort would be slightly out of your reach, right? Well apparently not and I pondered on this while their incessant screeching further plunged me into the darkest corners of the city. A cab rescued me in the end after I stumbled upon a charming live band performance which had the whole street cramming the sidewalk next to the restaurant from which it was emanating.


• Every house here seems to have a blender which people use to make every kind of juice (jugo¨) imaginable for their almuerzo´s (lunch). They all secretly reckon that their technique is best and quite honestly I have never tasted juices this good in my life. Its bloody great having something different with lunch every day. My favourite have to be Guanabana and Tree Tomato (Tamarillo). I’m sad that we don’t have these in SA.


• I recently noticed that most bottles of hard liquor (aguardiente, whisky, vodka being the most common) all have a plastic appendage on the top which looks like those you see in bars (not the long thin ones, but the other ones that allow the booze to come out more slowly), even the small bottles. I also noticed that when a table orders a bottle of hard tack, it is customary to pull the label off after you’re done and there is even a little flap on the label to make it easier to do this. Apparently this is all to stop people from re-using bottles and filling it with ‘fake’ booze which is/was apparently big business over here. Weird.


• I went to a Salsa Bar the other night and in between my floundering through the steps I noticed a big sign which banned Salsa Romantico at that particular establishment. Further enquiries enlightened me to the fact that Salsa Romantico is like a ‘cheaper’ off-shoot of the more traditional form of the dance and it is severely frowned upon by the connoisseurs of proper Salsa. I guess you could look at it as the same bastardising of traditional dancing that Sokkie is in SA. God I hate sokkie so! I can’t imagine Salsa Romantico being that bad. Anyway, I found it kind of weird that a certain way of dancing was not even allowed at this bar! Made me stumble even more and I turned bright red as I secretly resolved to practice in the shower everyday until I get the blasted two step right. What I would give for a good ol’ Zulu high kick or two!

Alright, well that’s it for now. I hope that things are looking up for those of you in SA, although the latest racial cricket row, T-bone’s State of the Nation address and some frightening statements from the ministers would suggest otherwise. The damn currency is in free-fall and I’m taking on water at a rapid rate with the Rand having lost more than 20% to the Colombian Peso since I’ve arrived! Fark!

Talking with Mayra

I reckon that some people travel to be in a place where its acceptable to be a stranger.

I also get the feeling that some really epic things are on the verge of happening and I’d like to be a part of it, although it makes me a little nervous. I can tell cus my dreams depict the various scenario’s as really extreme and always leave me with a very distinct choice between safety or the true test of my convictions.

Erm...is it possible that this is what my dreams are about?

La Marcha Contra Las Farc

This is not really an update as I have something planned for that in the next week or two. I’m writing because I feel like I was part of something truly great today. Yup, today people took to the streets in their millions, not only here in Colombia but across the world, to protest against the kidnappings, terrorism and violence against innocent people.

People take to the streets in Bogota!

Before the march, which took place in every part of every city in this country, I was sceptical about how many people would take part and what impact this could possibly have. I’d heard talk of protest marches in South Africa before, where barely 500 people were able to march against crime country wide. I was always left with a feeling of powerlessness and disappointment at the inevitable muteness of it all. Today was different and truly the most emphatic statement from people that I have ever witnessed.

A demonstration of the Farc's kidnappings as people look on

This was all started on Facebook by a 33-year-old engineer from Barranquilla on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. He created a group and people rallied, signed up and added their voices in support of stopping the situation here in Colombia. There were protests in over100 cities world wide today!


Read about it at:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7225824.stm


This made me wonder why things are so different at home, that people cannot stand together against something like crime, which on many dayskills more people in SA than in Iraq! What or who took our voice away? What made us stop believing and what could possibly ignite that fire again? Elsewhere the situation is the same and it has quite often appeared to me like the entire world is asleep in an impenetrable cocoon of day-to-day, self-absorbed paralysis.

Millions of people gather in Plaza Bolivar, Bogota

However, being a part of this now gives me hope that people, like us, still have a voice and that we can be heard. There is a ways to travel yet for this country, but the people (not just from this country) have decided that they will do what they can to end this war and that they won’t accept the current situation anymore. What a wonderful example of our common humanity! Trust me, these people are not the same and they certainly don’t share the majority of their beliefs, but they were able to put all those differences aside for this worthy and common cause.

Check out my photies and videos.

http://picasaweb.google.com/hilton.johnson/LaMarchaContraLasFARC?authkey=A0cpSJQB7c8

The scale of this thing is unbelievable and I can’t believe I was here!