Churches, elections and mountains

Pasto—This city is called the “Theological Capital of Colombia,” owing to 28 churches within the city limits, and a few others in the vicinity. The most famous of these churches is the Sanctuary of Las Lajas in the town of Ipiales, an hour-and-a-half from here and just across the border with Ecuador. Our curiosity about Las Lajas was whetted by a mural on one wall in our hotel, the Hotel Fernando Plaza, showing a Gothic structure jutting out of the mountainside (“lajas” is the name for the stone found in the mountains) with a stone bridge spanning the river below.

Unfortunately, a tight schedule didn’t allow for a quick trip to Las Lajas, and when due to unforeseen circumstances we found ourselves back in Pasto, we couldn’t go anywhere since the city shuts down on Sundays.

Pasto is also the capital of the “department” of Narino (Narinyo), which like the rest of the country is gripped by the coming local elections in October. But in Narino, there is something brewing that heralds hope for Colombian politics. We attended the launching of “Narino decide” (Narino decides), a civil society alliance for “transparency and quality of the democracy in Narino.”

Representatives of various sectors of Narino society met last Friday in Club Colombia in this city, and at the opening of the event, a few of them went up the stage to read their hopes and aspirations, afterwards dropping the cards into a “ballot box.” The event closed with representatives of various associations, from youth groups to academe, civil society, community organizations and even business alliances, signing a pledge of cooperation.

To us Filipinas attending, it all sounded familiar, what with our long history of voter education drives and electoral watches. The only worrying thing is that there doesn’t seem to be much time, with the voting just a month or two away. From experience, we know it takes more than a year to prepare a truly broad-based electoral awareness drive. But if the well-intentioned folk of Narino put their minds to it, this one small step could lead to bigger and deeper changes.

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Set high on the Andes mountain range, Pasto’s weather is cool, even chilly when the winds rush in. According to Diana, our interpreter, it had been raining almost non-stop before our arrival, and she thanked us for “bringing the sun with you.”

Thankfully so, for we leave the next day for Puerres, which is about two hours’ drive through roads that snake through hills and valleys that lead higher up the mountains. “It will be much colder there,” we were told, and despite our preparations, we find our tropical selves still unprepared for the bone-chilling wind.

After breakfast, we are met in a schoolyard by the mayor of Puerres, Carlos Chavez Mora, an economist who specializes in issues of regional development. Mayors, he tells us, enjoy only a single four-year term at a time, but he is confident in the results of the coming polls, because “the candidates are young and very well educated.” But his wife Dora Ortiz offers a tantalizing prospect. Though she says she would be happy to return to Pasto where Mayor Mora will take up a post in the departmental government, she says simply “yes” when I ask if she herself is interested in joining politics.

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The morning’s gathering had us meeting with representatives of the different cabildos or villages of indigenous folk, who primed us on the pressing issues confronting them daily. In Popayan and Palmira, we had had our fill of sad, angry and heartbreaking tales of displacement and violence. We had these, too, in Puerres, but in addition there were detailed reports of what the communities were doing to organize, improve their economy, and empower women and girls. Often, the city government was cited for its support for these projects and for backing initiatives of the leaders.

Vicente Ubando, a “governor” of one of the cabildos, said he was glad that women were becoming empowered for their involvement could only “enrich the process of change and lead to lasting peace.” Sandra Soto, representing a village caught in the conflict between security forces and rebels while oil interests were laying pipes across the mountainsides, welcomed us visitors saying that “the only foreigners I have seen before were on TV.”

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After lunch, we were brought on a tour through the rest of Puerres, which consists of isolated settlements and farms, some of which used to be devoted to growing poppy, but have since been converted into fields of potatoes, beans, corn and potatoes. About an hour after we set off, we were finally in the highest point of Puerres, and when we got out of our cars, the wind stung our eyes, nearly knocked us off our feet and set our teeth chattering. But we each got a souvenir: a leaf of the frailejon plant which is native to the high Andes and looks like a succulent leaf that has grown fur. It is endangered, it turns out, mainly because of the conversion of much of its habitat into agricultural land.

From the road trip, we proceeded to the small conservatory where a youth band is based. We were treated to a short repertoire of European and Colombian music, including the foot-tapping “Arroz con coco” which left all of us with a bad case of LSS.

The evening ended in the same schoolyard where we met with the indigenous representatives. We opened the celebration with a ritual of blessings conducted by Humberto, another cabildo governor, followed by another band using indigenous musical instruments, including leaves and hollow gourds. Then ensued community dancing round and round the little square. We felt blessed and honored, and thoroughly welcomed as “dulce estranjeras” (sweet foreigners).