June 6th , 2004

We head out to explore the village. Dirt paths lead between the houses. The conglomeration of houses looks over a stunning valley. As it rains every afternoon almost all year round here the colour of the landscape is bright and rich. The air smells like blooming flowers. There is not one single house in the village equipped with a garage, I think I only see two cars for 800 people in five days and I like it. We move to Flavio’s house and there we sleep for the rest of our stay. The food is great, we eat three meals in a different house every day. The only difficulty is due to culture shock. For example, to offer the guest the best there is we are sat down in the dining room while our host retreats outside or to eat in the kitchen. This confuses us at firs because in our culture one always eats with the guests, we think that maybe they don’t like us. When your bowl of beans is almost done a woman arrives with a second portion. You can say ‘yes’ ‘no’ ‘a little’ or ‘I’m so full’ and the same response is always forthcoming ‘eat eat’ followed by the service of a full portion. After a couple of days we are decidedly bloated and suffering from digestive problems from a diet that mostly consists of black beans, tortillas, and coffee. Nonetheless our suffering abates and we adapt somewhat. I also become somewhat capable to eat without utensils, instead one must tear a piece off the enormous handmade tortilla and fold it into an unconventional edible spoon.
Our research about a paramilitary attack on the village is somewhat unfruitful, many people don’t speak Spanish that well and others seems incapable to respond or even mistrustful of us. On the last day we meet Eleotereo who is our age and was present to take the pictures of the attackers as they arrived in the village. He has a very clear memory and a good way of expressing himself. He recounts how a young traitor from his village pointed him out as a member of the town authority and how the guy that freed him from his captor’s grasp ended up with seven bullets in various parts of his body and was in a wheelchair for a good six months. Previously the attackers from the neighboring village would have received a “good day” if he had seen one of them around, but at this point a crowd of men with sticks need to charge them to force them out of town. It’s insane to sit here quietly and hear how the man who went running off to see if his sick wife was okay ended up dead. I must admit that it’s hard to cope with this kind of information.

We take a long walk down to the river with Flavio’s son Aciel. He shows us the family corn plantation part of which is at a crazy fifty degree angle (translates to “damn steep). We have a little swim in the rio and on our way back up top are fortunate enough to enjoy a good chunk of sugar cane that pleases our palates and gives us the boost we need to make the climb back up to town.