In times of drought

These are hot times in the city of Medellín, Colombia with temperatures between 29° and 33° degrees Celsius most of the day; with no hopeful sign of a little rain to give some respite to the bountiful amount of little trees and plants that live in this city. 

It was only a few days ago that, while walking through the university, I came across a water fountain that I had never noticed before. When I looked at it more closely I could see that someone had written on it the following sentence: "water will be gold in times of drought".

I couldn't help but be moved and shed a tear, remembering my beloved Cajamarca. Remembering our constant struggle for water, for life, for our people and for justice. 

Almost twelve years have passed since the beginning of the series of mass demonstrations against the "Conga" project, which - as it is still "suspended" to this day - intends to destroy 238 hectares of wetlands and lagoons.  These lagoons and wetlands not only provide water to thousands of families who live from agriculture and livestock farming in the Cajamarca páramo (wetland ecosystem) and, at the same time, feed the entire city of Cajamarca, but are also invaluable for the sustainability of the ecosystem of the area. 

Almost twelve years have passed since, in those protests, I saw my ten-year-old self facing, for the first time in my life, walking through the Plaza de Armas of my birthplace, defending my ideas and those of my people, surrounded by armed police and military, ready to shoot anyone they considered a threat to the "progress and development" of the country.

Today I feel, once again, the streets of my people full of hats and flags, of cries for justice and freedom, of the clamour of the land itself, defending its life through our voices.

And it is no coincidence to hear so many saying "it's too hot", "the weather is not like it used to be", "years ago this weather was rainy weather". It is no coincidence, it is the loud and clear roar of the forests cut down and burned, of the fish left without rivers, of the mountains left without water, of the air that enters our lungs grey and polluted.

But today I also feel hope that it is not true that "only after the last tree is cut down, only after the last river has been poisoned, only after the last fish has been caught, only then will we realise that gold is inedible." 

I wish it were sooner, I wish it were today....

Mara Mires Mocker