“The truth is you don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow; life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.”

Eminem

She never forgot that first jungle walk. Was she fit? Not fit? The question had never crossed her mind. She just was. Half an hour into the jungle, she was tiring fast. She found she was tripping over sticks, tree roots and tangled vegetation. When they had to cross streams, creeks and rivers, she found her balance was nothing like Carbonell’s. Finally, exhausted, she sat down and refused to go further. Carbonell continued without her. Then El Heledaro reached into his mind and gave it a tweak. He thought the better of it and returned to her, sitting down and giving her a hug that he would never have done with any other recruit. 

‘You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

“Si Señor I am. I’ve never been so tired in my life.”

“Well, this is nothing. We have another five or six hours to go, and I’m not carrying you. And when you address me in future, you must call me “my Capitán”. You must always be respectful to your superiors. If you are not, you will be shot.” 

“You mean, shot, like with a gun?”

“Si, Pip. We lead a harsh life in the jungle. You either do as you are told or asked, or you die. It’s that simple. Right now, your task is to walk with me to our camp. If you can’t keep up, I shoot you. Leaving you on your own would be condemning you to a prolonged death. What you have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep going. Do you understand?”

“Si, my… Capitán.”

“Fine, let’s go then.”

An hour into the walk, they were crossing a rocky stream. Carbonell heard a splash behind him. Quinn was flat on her face in the water. Before he could make a move, she was struggling to her feet, soaked, yet refreshed. She was grinning despite her exhaustion. “Look what I found!” she exclaimed, holding up a large knife with a matted growth where the handle should be. 

“That’s an old Kukri. They are used for all sorts of things here in the jungle. You will find it most useful,” he said, “Let me have a look at that.” Quinn handed it over. It seemed to be just over a foot long. Carbonell started cleaning the mud and vegetation away to clean off the handle. What seemed like a big clump of mud at first was revealed to be a skeletal hand, still clutching the knife handle. The hand ended where the wrist would have been. On the pinky finger was a ring set with a mysterious-looking stone. Carbonell disengaged the ring from the skeletal finger and tried it on one of his fingers. His fingers were all too big. Whosever hand it was, had to have been much shorter than Carbonell. “Here, try this on. See if it fits. It’s too dark to see what it’s like in this gloom, but it might be worth something." She tried it and it fit her thumb. Carbonell bent over and rinsed the bones off the handle in the stream. When he held it up, the handle gleamed. “Here you are, Quinn, if you can carry it, it’s yours. He handed it to her, handle first. She didn’t know what to make of it in the near dark but it seemed promising. She could feel irregularities in the blade. It might be rusted, but maybe not. It was her first possession in her new life. She wondered how long it would be before she lost it. It had been in the water for a long time, it seemed and had long since lost its edge. She shoved it into her belt and hoped it would stay without cutting her. She needed both hands to keep from losing her balance when she stumbled over a rock or a root. 

It was pitch black when they entered the guerrilla encampment. The trip into the jungle had taken a lot longer than the original six hours she’d been told. It must have been at least ten, she thought. The trip in had been a confusing one: walking, interspersed with trips by boats and once by raft to wherever she was. Pip was completely unaware of the network of sentinels and booby traps they’d passed on the way in. She was shown a hammock upon arrival at her destination, an open-air structure and was asleep as soon as she settled into it, fully clothed. She never noticed the bugs. They didn’t seem to notice her either.

She slept through the 4:15 am wake-up call, and no one disturbed her. Dawn came and went before the heat of the day woke her up. She could have slept much longer, however, as she quickly learned, life as a guerrilla isn’t a vacation, and everyone has to pull their weight. Another young girl had been posted to watch her and call for a boat once she was awake. Quinn was mildly surprised to find that where she’d slept was remote from where the kitchen was. It was another boat ride.

The kitchen was also a large open-air structure big enough to feed an army, and in fact, that’s exactly what it was. Its purpose was to feed 200 people at a sitting.

She wasn't familiar with houses built in or near wetlands being built on stilts, surrounded by water. With Carbonell, she'd seen some from a distance yesterday. As they approached the kitchen, she thought that was on stilts too. It wasn’t. It was just a tarp held up by some tall poles sunk in the mud.  She’d never seen a kitchen so big (or dirty). It was outdoors. It certainly looked capable of feeding an army. A team of people was working in it. When they saw her for the first time, she was welcomed to the Movement; they don't call themselves guerrillas; they are all part of a Movement to secure better rights and living conditions for themselves and their nation. They made that clear from the start. For her part, Pip was impressed with the activities and the organization she saw in an environment that seemed to offer practically nothing. It seemed that everyone knew how to do everything. She was eager to try her hand.  This was her idea of adventure, not hardship.

They started her at food prep, and before long, she was chopping up carrots, potatoes, broccoli and cassava like the experienced hand she was. There was another root vegetable she’d never seen before called Yacon. Her help mate, Alias Karina, told her they were delicious but didn’t elaborate.

At that time, there was always food of some sort ready, most of it from natural ingredients. She was shown where to go for plates, cutlery and food, then sat down at a bench to a salad and some fish. As she ate, she was joined by another girl who introduced herself as Alias Sonia. After introductions, Alias Sonia explained how the camp worked and what to expect. When Sonia expressed doubts about her size and strength, Pip said, “Put it there,” and held her hand out. Sonia put her hand in Pip’s, and Pip crushed it. “Don’t worry about me,” Pip said, grinning. Sonia looked sheepish and continued on with what turned out to be an orienteering lesson for Pip that took the rest of the day.

Life in the jungle with the guerrillas was like nothing she could have imagined. It was well-organized and civilized, yet entirely temporary. None of the buildings, if you could call them that, were permanent. They were functional and sturdy but in no way ecologically invasive. They could be erected in a hurry and abandoned much faster with no regrets. She saw buildings on poles or simply tents, many times just a tarp tied on an angle to a couple of trees. She knew why that was just by looking at the high water lines on the poles. Privacy was at a minimum since there were few walls. Living like this meant that harmony wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity. Attitude was everything, and everyone had a job to do every day, all day. Life in the jungle, she learned, is demanding, and danger is everywhere. Vigilance is key, especially since, as guerrillas, you understood you were being hunted full-time by the Colombian government's army.

Education, therefore, was a daily scheduled event along with exercise. The education, Pip soon learned, was not only about jungle survival basics. It did involve basic skills like reading, writing and math, but pointedly, the focus was on political ideology as well. It was indoctrination. What that was about, in the main, were the social injustices done to all of them. There is nothing that will inspire motivation, resentment and anger like the loss of family and home. When the people who did that to you were the very people you’d been told all your life were those whose job it is to protect you from murderers and thieves you burn. 

Pip hadn’t suffered any of that, but she heard enough stories that the new memories began supplanting the old. Injustice to friends has a way of becoming your own injustice. So far, apart from the living conditions, life as a Guerrilla seemed fine and provided purpose. Not that she thought about. it in those terms.