Where I was born, where I grew up, that is where my home is. It is sad and touching, it has been hard for me to be away. I had left in the past, when my daughter went to Chile, and one day they put her out on the street without her clothes or bags, nothing, her stuff stayed there.
When I see those people at the border (in the Fotohistorias exhibition, Life at the Border) I remember it is really painful, and it happened to my daughter too.
I remembered that song:
“el mas bonito se me fue, oio pango, pangoé, el mas bonito se
me fue ”.
I remember when the sun rose I would make breakfast and he would go on his way, he would bring the best plantains, we had the girls... That is the true meaning of being rich, of having everything. And then, to have to leave it all, leave our territory because of the armed conflict.
Me acordé de este canto,
el más bonito se me fue, oio pango, pangoé,
el más bonito se me fue.
That is what my friend (“comadre”) said: the territory is life and if we leave we lose it, and it is the time to tell this to the people we love…
It is a shame, “comadre”, I cannot go with you... I tell my husband but he does not want to understand...
We, the black communities, are oral by nature, that has been our tradition, we don’t use written words. We are verse, song, poem.
Eso dice mi comadre, el territorio es la vida y que si nos vamos lo perdemos, y que ha llegado el momento de decirle a los que queremos pero…