COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Snapshots of San Pedro Frio, “the world we were made for.”
October 9th, 2008
in:
CPTnet
9 October 2008
COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Snapshots of San Pedro Frio, “the world we were made for.”
by Carol Tyx
[Note: the following reflection has been edited for length. People wishing to see the entire piece may send their request to kkcpt@earthlink.net.]
Just getting to San Pedro, a small mining town in the San Lucas Mountains, is a challenge. My teammates and I begin with a three-hour chalupa ride on the Magdalena Medio River. This small boat functions as a bus service between river towns, so along the way we pick up passengers, produce, and a live pig in a sack. We then take a half-hour taxi trip to Santa Rosa, a small city in the foothills. From there, we travel into the mountains by van. The road ends at La Y, so named for the fork in the road. We learn that the dirt road to San Pedro Frio is dry enough to walk, but I slip into a mud-hole. The thick red muck traps my boot and it takes two of us to pull it out. We’re also gaining altitude, so most of the time we are heaving ourselves up as well as through the mud. But when we arrive at San Pedro Frio, the view is breath-taking, a light veil of mist weaving in and out of layers of mountains. I feel I’ve arrived in a mythical pueblo out of the Colombian novel, A Hundred Years of Solitude…
During our stay there, my teammates and I make the trek back to La Y to talk with the commander of the army encampment there. A few weeks ago, a soldier walked through San Pedro Frio with his face covered, which frightened the townspeople. The sentry is curious about our blue vests and red hats, and we start a conversation about CPT’s work. Although I can’t follow the whole exchange, I’m aware of both the ordinariness of our conversation and the strangeness of explaining the practice of non-violence to someone with an automatic weapon…
For all the astonishing natural beauty of San Pedro Frio, it is a simple human tableau that stands out in my memory. A father and his two-year-old son come to eat soup and a corn meal arepa at Doña Alicia’s*. The boy snuggles against his father on the wood bench. When Maria slides the single bowl of soup in front of them, the father dips a spoon in the broth, blows on the liquid, then holds it to the boy’s lips. The boy shakes his head. “Tome,” the father says gently, urging his son to eat. The boy takes a small swallow, leans his head against his father’s shoulder. The father holds out a wedge of arepa, breaks off a piece, and lowers it into the boy’s mouth. The boy chews the morsel of bread, then reaches for the wedge, breaks off a crumb, and holds it to his father’s lips. And so the meal continues, the father feeding the son, the son feeding the father. I am sitting across from the two of them, sipping hot chocolate. I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t keep my eyes off this tenderness. This is the world we were made for.
*Names have been changed
9 October 2008
COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Snapshots of San Pedro Frio, “the world we were made for.”
by Carol Tyx
[Note: the following reflection has been edited for length. People wishing to see the entire piece may send their request to kkcpt@earthlink.net.]
Just getting to San Pedro, a small mining town in the San Lucas Mountains, is a challenge. My teammates and I begin with a three-hour chalupa ride on the Magdalena Medio River. This small boat functions as a bus service between river towns, so along the way we pick up passengers, produce, and a live pig in a sack. We then take a half-hour taxi trip to Santa Rosa, a small city in the foothills. From there, we travel into the mountains by van. The road ends at La Y, so named for the fork in the road. We learn that the dirt road to San Pedro Frio is dry enough to walk, but I slip into a mud-hole. The thick red muck traps my boot and it takes two of us to pull it out. We’re also gaining altitude, so most of the time we are heaving ourselves up as well as through the mud. But when we arrive at San Pedro Frio, the view is breath-taking, a light veil of mist weaving in and out of layers of mountains. I feel I’ve arrived in a mythical pueblo out of the Colombian novel, A Hundred Years of Solitude…
During our stay there, my teammates and I make the trek back to La Y to talk with the commander of the army encampment there. A few weeks ago, a soldier walked through San Pedro Frio with his face covered, which frightened the townspeople. The sentry is curious about our blue vests and red hats, and we start a conversation about CPT’s work. Although I can’t follow the whole exchange, I’m aware of both the ordinariness of our conversation and the strangeness of explaining the practice of non-violence to someone with an automatic weapon…
For all the astonishing natural beauty of San Pedro Frio, it is a simple human tableau that stands out in my memory. A father and his two-year-old son come to eat soup and a corn meal arepa at Doña Alicia’s*. The boy snuggles against his father on the wood bench. When Maria slides the single bowl of soup in front of them, the father dips a spoon in the broth, blows on the liquid, then holds it to the boy’s lips. The boy shakes his head. “Tome,” the father says gently, urging his son to eat. The boy takes a small swallow, leans his head against his father’s shoulder. The father holds out a wedge of arepa, breaks off a piece, and lowers it into the boy’s mouth. The boy chews the morsel of bread, then reaches for the wedge, breaks off a crumb, and holds it to his father’s lips. And so the meal continues, the father feeding the son, the son feeding the father. I am sitting across from the two of them, sipping hot chocolate. I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t keep my eyes off this tenderness. This is the world we were made for.
*Names have been changed
