
“Silence held us like the last note of a lost lullaby.”
In February 2009 we gathered in Bogotá, thirty-plus people from about fifteen local communities hard-hit by violence in Colombia. We had spirited discussions, long walks together, and even baked bread to learn about how something small as yeast makes everything else around it grow.
After lunch, the most spirited part of the day emerged, the football match. Edilia, far and away the most vibrant player, or maybe she was the coach, got the games going. Twenty-five years old, tall with her long black hair tied back in a tight ponytail, she cajoled everybody, pushing men and women alike out onto the field. Her laugh could be heard above all others, taunting as she ran with the ball up and down the field. Back in the seminar room she would arrive with a smile, reporting the scores, and promising a better game the next day.
At the end of the week, we ended up together in the back of a taxi. I asked where she was headed that evening…