The Parabola of Tío

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BEACON

“Somehow, Tío is still drinking…,” I sometimes find that I say to myself mornings upon waking after the fiesta. I used to make this observation and say it with amazement. How can he be drinking at this ungodly hour? Now, I say it with very little surprise.

A personal essay about the place where I live, Colombian fiestas, and parabolas. Continue reading on Beacon…

Colombia: Guerrillas Demobilize, Forgive & Move On

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photo credit: Fernando Vergara/AP

OZY

Is peace with a guerrilla movement, followed by democratic political reintegration, actually possible? As Colombia continues to negotiate in Havana with its notorious FARC rebel group, its own history suggests maybe so. Continue reading on Ozy…

 

Damned Roosters

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BEACON

You didn’t have to take more than one glance at Orlando de la Rosa to know how bad he had lost. Orlando de la Rosa leaned in on the rim of the arena and his black cowboy hat dipped down slightly. His shirt was still tucked deep into his jeans, his black boots dusty. But his moustache could not hide a tight and pensive expression on his face. The animal – his animal – was limp, laying on the ground, and covered in blood. His rooster was dying.

Cockfighting is a serious pastime for folks on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. So I persuaded my friend and guide Benedicto to take me to a match late one Friday night to see what it was all about. This is a personal essay on cockfighting in Colombia, peace and conflict, and what it means to be victorious – or not. Continue reading on Beacon…

Sometimes It Takes An Ocean

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BEACON

Before I tell you about all the great things that happened to me on vacation, I should probably mention a couple of things that people always ask about for context: First, I didn’t get sunburned…

This Hotel Prado joint on Colombia’s Caribbean coast was the best spot around. It was vacation. And my girlfriend and I were traveling. She used the whole tube of sunblock, but I forgive her. This is a personal essay about vacation and sun block, an abandoned Colombian commercial shipping wharf, and loving someone. Continue reading on Beacon…

I Am A Gypsy

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BEACON

Uncle Conrado was crushing them. One nut after another. He ripped the shells off with his hands and as he popped one into his mouth with one hand, his fingers were already in the bowl, hunting for another. You’d think it would be boring to watch an 83 year old man eat nuts, but it actually wasn’t because it wasn’t just about the nuts.

Ever since I met him, I had wanted to know what made Uncle Conrado so prosperous. But what really got me was all he had to endure happening around him in Colombia when he started out. This is a personal essay on the memories of a circus master, Colombia’s ‘pájaros’ killers of the 1950s, and dignity. Continue reading on Beacon…