Since last writing, our YAV team spent a a handful of days in the Urabá region of Colombia and returned to Barranquilla for our first week of volunteer site placements. As I reflect, they have been weeks equal parts active and lethargic, full of new learning and even more questions, with capricious weather easily fluctuating between sun and rain. They have been important weeks in the early unfolding of this year, but I'm grateful for the space to unpack some of the tensions they've planted in my heart.
We traveled throughout Urabá by bus, spending long afternoons watching the landscape change from bustling cities to smaller roadside towns to banano plantations and fincas ganaderas (sprawling cattle ranches). Traveling by bus is generally very comfortable here and brought back fond memories of the equally comfortable, affordable buses I took on weekends while studying in Spain. But, naturally as you move further from transit centers these buses are less common, so at one point on our trip we had to transfer to a smaller minivan that would carry us on to our final destination. To describe this moment in a little more detail, this minivan could comfortably transport about 9 but somehow managed to squeeze in 12. We each sat folded into our seats just so, the manual transmission hiccups lurching us along the road, horns beeping as the traffic snaked between one another on the slender road. For some 4 hours we drove, at first winding along the Caribbean coast of the country with regular glimpses of the sea and later moving inland. Music played happily through the van's speakers as we watched the rolling hills glow with the light of the softly setting sun, and I felt content watching the world go by in this unfamiliar land.
Our first stop in Urabá was in Apartadó. A city of some 200,000, we shared a meal with a couple of leaders at the local church and savored a break from the sound of Barranquilla traffic. Our time there was short, and yet it began a conversation that would endure throughout out our time in Urabá and beyond in which we wrestle with the real consequences of the Colombian armed conflict on vulnerable populations. As a whole, this region was intimately affected by the armed conflict: landowners displaced by guerilleros or paramilitares seizing their land, armed actors establishing checkpoints along transportation routes and militarizing an otherwise peaceful region, families living with the burden of not knowing the fate of their loved ones who have been victims of desaparición or secuestración. I continue to be challenged by these conversations -- having had a different lived experience I don't immediately relate to the stories we've generously been invited to hear. It recalls my experience on the bus -- as attentive as I may be to the different realities people are living right outside the window, I am still comfortable inside with the freedom and mobility to move forward to another place. It is during these conversations that I'm most aware of the different context I come from as though I'm watching through that same window.
A helpful shift in perspective comes when I reorient around the YAV Colombia site's intention of accompaniment. Through our presence, our work, and our relationships we are invited to accompany our community here throughout the year -- but with the understanding that they were already navigating the joys and struggles of their lives before we came and they will continue to navigate the joys and struggles of their lives after we go. In conversation with people during our time in Urabá, this perspective helped me acknowledge that this so-called "window," this invisible but undeniable barrier, exists between myself and the communities we encountered. But, it's through grace that I have the opportunity to listen to the lived experiences of others and accompany my community throughout this year with all hope that the Lord continues "making all things new. "
Another quick stop on our trip -- Dabeiba is nestled in a mountain pass, literally divided by the highway that bisects the picturesque town. Getting to Dabeiba was educational on its own -- snaking along the curves of the mountains in the main corridor that leads from the coastal port to Medellín. Naturally, the course of development and the draw of capitalism demands that a newer, "better" road be built and we saw the beginning stages of that process from afar, but I kept asking myself, at what cost? The same question could be asked of the many oil palm plantations we passed on our trip -- a homogenous cash crop common in the Urabá region that jeopardizes the soil composition for future farmers. These projects and more not only pose a threat to the environment (!) but to local indigenous communities. I'm skeptical of any quick answers to these questions, but it is important to begin asking them.
Later in the week, we spent a night in El Tres, a small agricultural town, meeting the local church community for a worship service and lingering long after as we waited for the aguacero (rainstorm) to pass. The following day, after visiting the children's program that will eventually be my fellow YAV's volunteer site, we were invited to spend the afternoon at a kind church member's home. Set back from the main road, we were extended hospitality once again with a fresh batch of tinto (black coffee) and a refreshing breeze. From there, we began the journey back to Barranquilla and said goodbye to the week of the bus, tired but grateful.
After a weekend of rest and time spent with my church community here in Barranquilla, I began my first week of working with my placement sites. While some YAVS work exclusively at one site, my weekly schedule will be divided between a few. 3 days a week I'll be volunteering with a local non-profit foundation that supports human rights and women's rights through advocacy and education. Then, 1 afternoon a week I'll be partnering with an existing ministry at my church that offers a children's program in a neighboring community. And finally, I'll be serving in a different children's program during their midweek and Saturday morning programming. At first this variety of commitments can seem daunting, but in actuality they have felt wholly manageable thus far. What's more, even when I have the time and energy to commit to these different activities, the weather can quickly intervene and change my plans. Above all it is rain that interrupts plans and puts the city (and my personal plans) on pause. For instance, I was about to leave the fundación earlier this week to take the bus home for lunch, but as the rain started to come down in sheets, it became clear that I'd have to wait it out for another hour or so. In most cities rain is but a nuisance, but in Barranquilla it quickly becomes a danger because it floods the streets in what are known as arroyos. While some gutters and storm systems have been built, there isn't enough infrastructure yet to completely redirect the rain so it rushes along the streets and has been known in the past to injure vehicles, property, and even people. I's common in these moments to see people taking shelter indoors or under porch overhangs, waiting out the pouring rain and flooded streets.
There's a certain charm to this unfamiliar way of life where I can't exercise as much control over my circumstances, where an aguacero can change the whole course of my day. And yet, it's frustrating when inclement weather inhibits my ability to fully participate in activities; because of the heavy rains this week and the consequent danger all that water presents, I couldn't go to 2 of my placement sites. I've been so conditioned to seek productivity and independence in my everyday life, so it's both unfamiliar and uncomfortable when I'm prevented from engaging with an activity by circumstances out of my control. In these moments I feel stuck in the ever-evaded state of waiting. My intention for my time in Colombia is to engage with my volunteer placement sites through building meaningful relationships, but active engagement like that is difficult without the physical ability to be together.
And yet...in Spanish, the word esperar means both "to wait" and "to hope," and I wonder if there is an invitation in these changed plans, in these aguaceros, in this waiting, to keep hoping. Hoping that time spent sheltered indoors isn't time wasted but time redirected to be spent in a different, equally meaningful way. Hoping that my restless heart can soften to these changes in plans. Hoping that goodness is still coming, has already come.
I love this! I definitely resonate with being bound to the Western concept of productivity, but what a beautiful sentiment that "to wait" is "to hope." Love from the Philippines!