Caracoli - Part 1

So, I’ve had a lot of difficulty with writing this post. I have so many mixed emotions, but I know that I need to tell this story because it has changed the very elements of my being. I think that the reason I’m having so much difficulty writing about this is because what we consider to be poverty in the US does not even begin to compare to what I experienced in a barrio called Caracoli. (Barrio is the Spanish word for neighborhood.) I also feel that poverty is not a subject that people are fully open to talking about in the US. I’m not sure what is appropriate to talk about and what isn’t, so if I write something inappropriate here it was not intended.


I feel it’s very important for me to state from the very beginning that the poverty I experienced here was not from any fault of the people who call this place home. These denizens simply do not have the resources or programs readily available to help them get ahead. I know that may be hard for some to understand because the US has so many social programs solely based on providing opportunities for people to pull themselves out of the depths of poverty. This is not the case in Colombia, and Caracoli is not the exception. If you could see what I’ve seen then maybe you could begin to understand why people risk their lives just to get to the United States of America.


I want you guys to know what my initial reaction was to Caracoli. I felt like everything turned into Sepia. It was like I was in an old movie or photograph. I knew I was there, but I wasn’t supposed to be. ‘Places like this are not supposed to exist in real life.’ Sadly they do, and I’ve only experienced this kind of destitution in TV commercials. After I got over my initial reaction, I could not figure out why I was so angry. I knew that I wasn’t angry at the people, or the Colombian government, or even God. I was just angry. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen, and here it was right in front of me. Maybe I was angry at the injustice of it all. Maybe I was angry at my naïveté. Maybe I was angry at myself because I just had to have that ridiculously expensive purse for my birthday. I’d like to think that it was a mixture of all of these things, but I think that maybe I was angry because I felt like there was nothing I could do to help. I hope that by writing about it, and making people aware of places like Caracoli, I can.


I visited Caracoli one Saturday afternoon with Bishop Buitrago, Pastor Sandy Jones and Pastor Mark Cerniglia. Upon our arrival, I witnessed a group of maybe 4 or 5 kids carrying their friend who had, what appeared to me, been stabbed. I’m not sure if the child received medical care, but I pray that he did.


We parked in front of a small building that served as one of the Lutheran's social outreach programs. The building served as a child care center. The children were all so happy to see us. They were so full of energy and life. I wanted to forget the scene right outside the door of the horribly steep dirt road, littered with trash and debris, which had led us to this little room full of beautiful children. I met a few of the women who worked for the child care center. We were later warmly invited into their homes in the barrio.


Okay, I’m going to stop here because I have a feeling that this post needs to be broken up. I don’t want to lose your focus, so I’ll try to have the rest posted throughout the week. Take Care!
Amanda