Life from Canada to Latin America, one word at a time.
When people greet each other in the Indigenous language of Tsotsil, they ask “How is your heart?” To respond “My heart is blooming,” means that all is well. To be healthy, to be well, is to be rooted and blossoming. As we open the public day of meetings in southern Mexico about disappeared migrants, Flori,
What would you pack in your emergency kit in case of a hurricane, earthquake or other unexpected disaster? What do you need to survive? Pasta, tins of tuna, bottled water, a phone charger, batteries, contact information, rope, pocket knife, emergency money. These items were only some of the things we mentioned at a recent MCC
Jorge says that the twelve days that he has been out of jail have been enough to cure his eyesight. The chance to see beyond brick and concrete has given renewed life to his tired eyes. He doesn’t even need glasses to read his phone anymore, he tells me over lunch on Tuesday. In fact,
A little something I made for work, sharing here.
When I was a little girl, one of my favourite songs to sing with gusto and waving arms was Spring Up Oh Well. The song begins softly, building up through each line of the verse: I‘ve got a river of life flowin’ out of me Makes the lame to walk and the blind to see
The mood in the Bogota plaza was more sombre than excited during the ceremony marking the FARC’s final disarmament. There were a few balloons, flags, and the vegetable mandala folks, but everything felt muted in the face of uncertainty. Recent judicial decisions have challenged the government’s ability to rapidly implement the accords. Social leaders continue
Going to jail is harrowingly boring. The evening before my friend Larisa goes to visit Jorge, I accompany her as she checks off the visiting requirements. Everything must be perfectly contained to get inside. We buy toilet paper, laundry soap, and fried chicken to pack into a transparent plastic container no bigger than four litres.
International Worker’s Day, or May Day, is a national holiday in Colombia. Across the country, workers and unions march to celebrate workers’ rights, and the long struggle of workers all over the world for dignified working conditions, especially in the late 19th century: “Eight hours to work, eight hours to sleep, eight hours for what
My post-accord Bogota feels pretty much the same as pre-peace accord Bogota. My neighbours all go about their daily routines- grocery store, walk the dog, go to work- and so do I. When I have a conversation with a friend in public, even in English, we still instinctively lean in closer, lower our voices, and
Saturday was the 17th anniversary of Mampujan’s displacement and the massacre in Las Brisas. I sat in a coffee shop off the main square of Villa de Leyva and very slowly ate dessert, holding Mampujan to the light. Besides birthdays and Christmas, there are a whole new set of dates that now mark my life:
Anna L. Vogt 