Colombianita

As promised, I will now proceed to give an account of the loss of the Colombianita kids, according to my point of view. I will not, however, claim any sort of objective authority for my statements. I am greatly uninformed much of the time, and heavily biased the rest.


From the moment we arrived in Colombia, it was made known to us that the Bogota municipal government was threatening to destroy the long, narrow city block of hovels known as “Colombianita”. At that time, this threat seemed far from immanent. As is somewhat customary in Latin American politics, the government issued a statement of intent with no visible signs of immediate, or even eventual, follow-through. Tentative dates for the destruction were consistently pushed back 4 month intervals, until no one really believed that anything would be done at all. This was, at least, my perspective until I was called upon to translate for a gentleman named Julian who had been with the ministry for some years.

After his lecture, I sat down with him over lunch, and began to share my skepticism concerning the issue when he interrupted me by saying, “Oh, it will be destroyed, be sure of that.” I enquired as to the sources of his confidence regarding the government’s ability to complete its promises. He proceeded to tell me the story of an infamous barrio ten times the size of Colombianita, called The Cartucha.

According to Julian, this is where the ministry really began its work. It was an enormous urban labyrinth of poverty and wretchedness that spanned several city blocks in the heart of downtown. Upon hearing its exact location, I confirmed that I knew the area, mentioning its proximity to an equally enormous, treeless park on First Avenue. “That park used to be the Cartucha.” He responded solemnly. My mind reeled with the thought. I had heard countless stories, seen photos…I even knew many of the children who were rescued from that area. Its new name is Parque Tercer Milenio, a well-groomed hectare of grassy hills and winding pathways, a harrowing monument to the government’s ability to eliminate anything it deems an eyesore.

It was not long after this blow to my optimism that we received the news. The government had issued another warning, but this one came attached to a work order. I am unclear as to all of the details, but it seems that, even though the residents of Colombianita were illegally squatting, the government offered to build them houses in the southern part of Bogota, an offer they accepted as recompense for the destruction of their current homes. While this seems to be an unusually altruistic gesture on behalf of the government, there were many factors involved, and a large chance that many of the families would, in fact, be worse off in the neighborhoods in the South.

When that time came, I would be mentally prepared for the move. I made plans to spend every free minute of the day in the neighborhoods where they were moving. I would rent a building to house an after school program, I would start my own school, I would stay as long as it takes, I would move down there, I would do anything. I was absolutely committed to making sure that these children had everything they needed. I thought long and hard about leaving the ministry, and staying with the kids for an indeterminate amount of time. I had found my purpose for living for at least the next several years. Meanwhile, I was enjoying my last few weeks with the kids as their teacher at Luz y Vida.

The move was scheduled for the end of May. May 30th came and went, and my kids were still here. My hopes were buoyed by the thought that this might be another empty threat, but there was to be no such luck. Early in June, the dump trucks arrived, ushering in the beginning of the end. Asking the children about their new homes, I was informed that the government was not going to be giving any homes, after all. They were receiving only a small government stipend. Frantically, I made phone calls and emergency visits to anyone who might have information concerning the future of these families. I found out that the government had grown tired of waiting for the houses to be completed, and that the atmosphere around Colombianita had grown violent in recent days. I went immediately to an internet café to find the telephone numbers of every newspaper in Bogota. If the government wanted to clean up the streets, I wanted everyone to know at what cost. I prepared a statement in Spanish describing what was happening, when, where etc., and read it to anyone who would answer the phone.

The next few days, Colombianita was slowly dismantled, and family by family, our kids moved away. Everything was falling apart. No newspapers covered the event, no answers were given as to the future location of any of the kids, and my great and virtuous plans for purpose were crumbling before me. I was heartbroken. Concerned parties with only the best intentions tried to offer me advice; they told me that there were thousands of children in Bogota who needed my help, that I had planted a seed in their lives, and that someday they will remember what I taught them and how it will help. They told me it was in God’s hands now, but none of that seemed to help. The truth is, my life is essentially relational, and abstract ideals like poverty and theology -while still appreciated- will always be overcome by the people that embody them.

A few months have passed, and I still have no idea where any of my children are. I doubt I ever will, but circumstances have forced me to move on. New kids are arriving (literally) every day, and, true to the given advice, they need Luz y Vida as much as every child who has passed through these doors. This fact, however, will never negate the love I had for my kids: Willie, Natalya, Angie, Didier, Andres, Karen, Jessica and Dayana.

Tyler