Jasmijn Peeters, our co-founder, visited Cazucá, a suburb of Bogotá known as one of the most notorious neighborhoods in the capital. For years, displaced people and victims of the armed conflict have settled here in self-built homes, searching for a fresh start. In the series “Cazucá: Mi casa es tu casa” she gives Sara the space to share her story: a 61-year-old woman who has been displaced for 21 years and lives in Cazucá.
Sara
“It all started with a threat letter. My son received it on the street from the paramilitaries. They wanted to buy our land for far too little money, and if we refused, they would kill us.
At first, we didn’t believe it. We were poor farmers, with a small piece of land, some animals and a bit of agriculture. But then they started killing our neighbors. We heard gunshots. Pa pa pa. They killed many people.
When we found my brother-in-law’s body, we knew we were next. We loaded him onto a truck and fled to Manizales at night. We left everything behind: our garden, our animals, our beloved farm.
In Manizales, no one helped us. The police dressed my brother-in-law as a paramilitary to hide who was truly behind it.
My husband, our four children and I took the bus to Bogotá, with only a bag of clothes and a small television. I had never left Manizales before. I had no idea where we would end up.
We stayed fifteen days with a relative. After that, we rented a room with the little money we had. Finding work was difficult. I cleaned houses and we searched for food on the streets. We literally ate what we could find.
When we could no longer afford the rent, we built our house in Cazucá. Part of it belonged to a foundation, and we built the rest. Our house is five by seven meters. Eleven people live here. My grandchildren were born here. When it rains, the water flows inside. Sometimes we wake up ankle-deep in water. Here, we suffer from the rain, the sun, hunger and the long distances we must walk because there is no public transport.
I have been displaced for 21 years. The government has never helped me. The meager humanitarian aid consisted of expired food or food we couldn’t prepare because we had no cooking utensils. Later, the government unknowingly made us sign a paper that relinquished our right to further aid. They deceived us. And with us, many others.
Who are we to the government? The displaced. Invisible. My only dream is to die in peace, to get my land back or a piece of land where I can live as I did before. But I know I will die without ever seeing justice.”
One of Sara’s grandsons.
Inside Sara’s house
Inside Sara’s house
Sara’s house from the outside
Sara’s house from the outside
