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Life Around Alvaros Farm
Life Around Alvaros Farm
We are told that there are two guerrilla fronts currently operating
here in Putumayo: the 39 from Nariño – we are in their territory
now – and the 48 from Caquetá, who reside on the other side of
the road that leads to the international bridge/border with Ecua-
dor. Our guide drew a map of their territories on my napkin at
breakfast. When he ran out of space on the napkin he switched
to my notebook. The frontier with Ecuador runs along the river,
and the road (which follows an oil pipeline) serves as a kind of
border between the two factions. He told us that it is difficult
to go over to the other side of the road. There, weapons, drugs,
money and commanders all cross the river to hide away in the
jungles of Ecuador.
The girl who made this painting of the fumigated world puts me
on the back of her motorcycle to go back to her house. She is 15
years old. She wants to go to art school and is happy to hear that
I have been.
At the end of the day we all go to a pool of water that has formed
in a depression in the road. We wash our boots, arms, motor-
cycles, clothes, faces – everything that is covered in mud – mud
being the primary evidence of the day’s activities. Again, we are
all staring at each other dumbly, smiling, mainly concentrating
on the task of washing. But then some vague feeling of normalcy
sinks into my stomach through this ritual – like we were never
in the campo, never standing next to piles of coca destined to
become cocaine, never in illegally fumigated fields, like none of
it ever happened. The simple, momentary truth in this pool of
rainwater is that the sun is setting over the jungle, and we are
bathing with our motorcycles.