City Of Ghosts

When we go to sleep at night it is always with the expectation of waking up the next morning.  I don`t know if it`s turning sixty, or finding myself at times vulnerable and a bit at risk in a foreing country, or perhaps both, but I do have on this trip a heightened sense of mortality.  Not simply my own mortality but that of everyone.  This first stood out to me a couple of weeks ago in one of the Oma cafes when I saw a small family enjoying the day together outside on the median of the boulevard.  A young man and woman with their three or four year old son and it suddenly occurred to me that one day they are all going to die and I almost wanted to weep.  Then it occurred to me once again what a precious gift is life and how important it is to receive each moment that we are alive, waking or sleeping, as a gift from God.  I also will have always engraved on my memory that image of the flock of black vultures hovering over the military base.

I don`t know if any of you recall from my blog posts last year during my first visit in Bogota, but there appeared to be a ghost in my room.  So far there has been no further evidence of anything paranormal except for one morning last week.  I was wiiping down the shower with a sponge and I suddenly discovered blood mixed with the water dripping from the sponge.  I checked everywhere, including on my own person and there was no evidence of any cause for blood or bleeding.  I still like to think that Manuel, my name for the ghost, has been put to rest.

I had a lovely visit over coffee with my new friends in Bogota, that young couple with the little boy I first met in the Humedal Cordoba.  We had a great conversation that went in many directions.  They were telling me about the soccer violence that often occurs in Bogota and they explained that people try to vent their pent-up frustrations because there is such a lack of love in their lives.  Even though the family unit here, as in other Latin American countries, is very strong it is often taken as a necessary evil and many people feel trapped by necessity and obligation with their families where there are often horrendous cycles of abuse, conflict and mistreatment.  Colombians are very much prisoners of their history, it seems: the Spanish conquest, the huge abuses of colonial rule, slavery, abused, exxploited and largely exterminated indigenous peoples, the abuse of church power, authority and privilege, historic social inequality, armed internal strife and military conflict...There are many in this country who do want to move forward but there is such an undertow of the burden of this tragic, difficult and violent history that makes any change very slow and precarious.  But I have hope for this country and for this people.  Even though I facetiously think of Colombia`s best feature as its many beautiful birds and its worst feture as the Colombian people I also understand that there are many forward thinking Colombians who want to bring change to their country despite the opposition, the cynicism and the sheer emotional exhaustion of many Colombians.

When I was going through the mall this moorning on my way to the Oma cafe to meet my friends I was greeted by a large group of people in a dancercize class doing aerobic moves to salsa and other Latino music.  They were having a blast and in order to get through the cafe I had to walk through them.  I was tempted to join them, actually.

Of course, Colombia could always follow in Costa Rica`s foorsteps and abolish their military and use the money they save for building and strengthening their social infrastructure and elevating the quality of life for everyone, and especially for the poorest Colombians.  Last I heard, Costa Rica is still standing and doing rather well in this region of the world... Maybe this could also happen for my own dear Canada!