Leaving Town


The second camp for our Children’s Club leaders is over;

leaders have left in jeeps and on motorbikes;

we’ve had a rest and there’s a bus to Medellín

leaving at 6pm from the next big town 20 minutes away;

in short, it’s time to leave town.


Where’s the best place to get transport from? we ask the folk at the church.

We’re told to go out to the main street.

Off we set.

On the main street we meet some people who had been at the camp,

sitting out in the patio of a house, enjoying the cool of the day.

One of them says she can organise transport for us

so we walk with her to a café from where the motorbikes usually leave.


She sets off down the street to round up some motorbikes.

Two arrive, but we are three.

Can’t two of you go on one motorbike? she suggests.

But we’re laden with luggage so it’s not so easy.

Then a relative arrives on a motorbike.

I’ll just nip home and then I’ll pick you up, he says.


We set off.

The sun is setting, the soldiers are the checkpoints are busy texting,

the camps have gone well, the breeze is in my face,

I’m going home to my own bed;

I couldn’t be happier.

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