Fifteen guerrilla fighters struggled to control a devilishly strong bull on the way to a place of sacrifice. The bull jumped, kicked, and charged the flustered men. Amid that din, it was hard to notice El Pollo. Even when his blood-soaked hands were stuck in the bull’s ribs, El Pollo was barely visible. A silent and laconic man, he would mumble over here and cut over there as the dying animal turned into a jumble of meat strips aimed to feed the guerrillas and visitors that had met in the Yarí Plains to preside and witness FARC’s last meeting before laying down their arms.
The dead animal’s smell stuck to his uniform, El Pollo sharpened a small pocketknife. Conscientiously, he stopped to check the blade’s edge with the tip of his finger, and then he continued. Staring at the shifting blade, he recalled his past, the long-gone years before he became a guerrilla, the long-gone years before he woke up and went to sleep on the mud of the mountains and forests of Colombia.
Ana Karina Delgado
Ana Karina Delgado, I can’t go back, not even to gain momentum
Stories Heard in the Last Conference of FARC-EP as an Armed Group.
A story of CRONICAS DESARMADAS a project by ELEGANTE with the support of EUROPEAN UNION and EMBAJADA DE ALEMANIA EN COLOMBIA.
