Newsletters

Date: March 7th 2009

Receiving in Finca Mora


"What are you here for?" asked our instructor and guide German Zarate, our first morning in Barranquilla. He slowly, thoughtfully answered his own question. "This will sound strange, but you are here to do nothing. And yet, doing nothing you are doing a great deal. In Spanish we call it acompañamiento. You are to be with us. And being with us, you will encourage us in all we are doing."

So venturing into "acompañamiento," four days later, 6 a.m., along with German and three others, we packed ourselves, our overnight gear, and enough food for 20, into a small pickup for the trip to Finca Mora. "Finca" means "farm" in Spanish. "Mora" suggests the hue of mulberry bushes. The trip took us some 60 kilometers, away from the packed streets of Barranquilla, southwest along the Caribbean Coast until we turned inland and wound our way up to the community of Piojó. In Piojó we shifted food and daypacks to a mule. We hiked up a paved road. Literally "up." The pavement soon gave way to dirt. We left the dirt road, and turned off on a narrow path. An hour and a half later, and after hiking past farms, through gullies, dry washes, and up, up, we found ourselves at the entrance to Finca Mora. As we advanced into the property we found ourselves greeted with curiosity by white cows, with sheer terror by som e obviously healthy chickens (or possibly this was just their normal confusion) and, ultimately, with immense warmth by a grinning three year old boy and his grandmother.

Finca Mora is farmed by the displaced, desplazados, persons driven from their land in what is the worst crisis of internal displacement in the western hemisphere and now quite possibly the worst such crisis in the world, surpassing even Darfur. Over 4 million of Colombia's population of 42 million are now displaced. Five families currently live at Finca Mora on a permanent basis. At least four others join them in shorter shifts. Statistically, that is a very small drop in the bucket. As we listened to their stories over the next 24 hours, we realized that they are a very heavy drop and, paradoxically, a drop that offers fresh waters of grace and hope.

The grinning three year old and his grandmother took the two of us to their home while the others in our party, all relating to this community on a steady basis, went to various activities about the farm. The house was neat, about 12 by 15 feet, made of slender trees cut from a nearby hillside, and cut in such a way that fresh trees already grew as replacements. Plastic covered the side of the home, skillfully bound in place. The grandmother continued to smile as she tended an outdoor fire. The boy proudly showed us a piglet. Herbs grew in the front yard. We looked out at two other small homes and one open, common building, for larger gatherings and persons who had no home of their own on the finca. We walked to the common building and there began to indulge in the great privilege of acompañamiento. We did nothing, just listened.

As we listened we heard terrible heaviness, but also hope. Person after person had lost their land. Lost it to the paramilitaries, to the rich, to warring factions of the far left and far right that demand absolute submission and kill if they don't get it. One family had suffered no loss of life but the violence around them became so severe they left the land they loved and the one livelihood they knew. Another said his wife had been killed, and he moved his hand across his throat. One older man told of the gun held to his head and how "56 years work was gone in just one hour. 28 years for me; 28 for my wife; side by side." Six years ago one young man farmed about 150 hectares, ran a few small businesses and was helping others. The paramilitares came, tortured and killed his wife and the child she was carrying. The man was bound, punched in face, cut and thrown in the river to die.

The hope we heard came in part through what we did not hear. Amazingly, we heard no bitterness. We did hear anger. For several this was anger at a government that has sought to quell the violence of the left but ignored the numerically greater atrocities of the right, anger at the impossible hurdles they encounter when trying to recover their land or receive other land. For one it was not anger at the government, which she believed had done good things, but just deep sorrow at the whole situation in general. Anger and sorrow, justifiable, understandable. But not once did we hear bitterness.

The hope came all the more clearly in what we did hear. Laughter. Not forced, but genuine laughter. And caring, attentive conversations. Hope came through what we saw. The young man who witnessed the murder of his wife and was then thrown in the river to die had the most infectious, natural smile. It rarely left him. "Only God could have gotten me out of that river. I had no way to save myself." He evinced a living grace that the two of us will ponder for a very long time.

The hope came through what we further learned of the entire community. Those currently farming the land at Finca Mora share a larger vision, both among themselves and with others. The Presbiterio de la Costa, our partner as accompaniers is itself accompanying this community and provided seeds for the first plantings at Finca Mora over a year ago. The man who owns the land they farm wholly supports what they are about and is helping with the major paperwork that must be done with the government. If that goes well and those farming the land gain ownership, 20 other families stand ready to develop new, nearby farms. A drop in the bucket, but it is a drop that will bear fresh life not only for those who farm at Finca Mora but also for those who will see it as a pattern to follow in other places.

And both the goodness of what is happening at Finca Mora, and the horrors we heard, horrors that continue in Colombia, draw us back to one other matter German Zarate raised at the close of our first day of orientation. "When Jesus comes and asks each one of us 'What did you do about the poor, the prisoner, the hungry?' we cannot say, 'Well, you made us and you made them. That was your problem.' We need to respond and we need to do it now!" And this leaves us uncomfortable. It leaves us wondering, "What more can we do, any of us do, to help people become aware of the magnitude of the ongoing suffering in Colombia? What can we do to educate ourselves? What can we do to let our own government and legislators know of the terrible need to hold the leaders of that nation accountable for the persistent robbery and killing of the poor?

With gratitude for your listening and care …

Ruth Noel and Steve Doughty – svdoughty@aol.com