|
June 11, 2001 Young Women Struggle to Survive in More than two million Colombians have been displaced by the armed conflict being waged between the Colombian army, right-wing paramilitaries and leftist guerrillas. According to Claudia Marcela Barona of UNICEF in Bogotá, "Sixty-five percent of Colombia's displaced are children." Growing up in Colombia is not an easy task for today's youth, especially for those being raised in the country's conflict-ridden rural areas. In 1999 alone, 176,800 mostly rural children were forced from their homes by violence or the dire economic conditions it often creates. For the displaced, especially poorly educated teenage girls whose wage-earning skills are often limited to housekeeping and working in the fields, there are few options: remain and risk being killed; flee to the unfamiliar environs of one of Colombia's towns or cities, often for a life of prostitution; or join one of the armed groups.
Yamile is a quiet, serious girl who has been forced to bear much of the responsibility of caring for her five younger siblings during the family's ordeal. While her parents spend much of their time trying to provide food for their children, Yamile remains confined in Casa Campesinos. There is no school for Yamile to attend and she is having difficulty adjusting to life in an unfamiliar and restrictive urban environment. "It is difficult here because I am used to living on our land," she says. For Yamile, days spent attending school and evenings of dancing to vallenato music have been replaced by a state of constant fear and the occasional thrill of receiving a Red Cross food parcel to supplement her meager diet. When asked what her hopes for the future are, there is no mention of money, clothes, music or any other typical teenage desires, Yamile simply asks for, "Peace, love and calm." But it appears Barranca will not provide the "peace, love and calm" that Yamile longs for. According to Luis, another refugee from La Ciénaga, "Our leaders have been threatened by the paramilitaries and one of them had to escape because they were following him all the time." For many years Barranca has been a relative safe-haven for the displaced from the surrounding countryside, but the situation in Barranca has deteriorated dramatically over the past couple of years. According to Régulo Madero Fernández, president of the Regional Corporation for the Defense of Human Rights (CREDHOS), "In the past two years people have been displaced from Barranca to other places. The government's legitimacy crisis here is absolute. The complicity between the government, the public forces and the paramilitaries is a fact. All these things generate an anarchic situation and the first victims are human rights and the dignity of the people." When she was 16 years-old, Erika abandoned her home in the southern department of Huila after witnessing a paramilitary massacre. But instead of joining the ranks of Colombia's displaced population, she took up arms in the rebel Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC). Erika--whose name, like those of most guerrillas, is a nom de guerre-- is now a young woman of 18 with deep dark eyes that warily observe anyone that approaches her. She has been happily involved in a relationship for the past year with a 20 year-old rebel who is a FARC veteran of five years. Still, she admits life hasn't been easy, "It is a difficult life being a guerrilla. There is lots of sacrifice, like always being away from family." When asked what her family thinks about her life as an AK-47 toting rebel, Erika says, "They agree with it because they know why we are fighting. But it is hard for my father to accept me in the FARC because I am so young." Female guerrillas now constitute more than 30 percent of the FARC's
17,000 fighters. Joining the rebels has allowed many teenage girls
to break free of the traditional rural female roles of housekeeper
and menial laborer. According to FARC Commander Simón Trinidad,
there are lots of young girls in Colombia being, "exploited
in the coal mines, the gold mines, the emerald mines, and in the
coca and poppy fields." And if they When the subject of clothes is mentioned to Erika, she claims not to be a typical teenager, "Fashion doesn't matter to me. The uniforms we wear are not a fashion they are normal for us. We are focused internally, ideologically. Material objects don't interest us." And when it comes to music, Erika and her boyfriend spend their off-duty hours listening to the revolutionary ballads offered up by the guerrilla-operated radio station, Voice of Resistance. But rather than fighting Colombia's social and economic injustices, many other teenage girls are desperately seeking to escape the violence and poverty so prevalent in rural Colombia. Unfortunately, one of the only wage-earning options available to many young, poorly educated females is prostitution. The de-facto capital of the FARC-controlled demilitarized zone in southern Colombia, San Vicente del Caguan, is teeming with brothels full of teenage prostitutes who have fled from other regions. Stepping through the curtains draped across the door of the Bar Las Tequilas brings one into a darkened room that appears at first glance to be just another seedy bar blasting vallenato music at earsplitting levels. But the true nature of the establishment is soon revealed by the steady flow of couples to and from the rooms located in the rear of the establishment. Gina Paola is a 19 year-old prostitute who has worked in the Bar Las Tequilas for three years. She and her fellow workers live in the small wooden rooms in the back of the bar where they also ply their trade. Gina shares her room with another full-time girl and with two part-timers who come into town for the busy Friday and Saturday nights. The four beds are separated by thin wooden partitions that offer little privacy. Like Erika, Gina also fled from Huila, but that's where the similarities end. Gina is interested in earning money and escaping from Colombia's poverty and violence. But like millions of others, her lack of education and the country's dire economic situation make it difficult for her to earn a living. Gina claims that in prostitution, "I earn double the amount I could earn in another job. Sometimes you can earn $20 or $25 a night." She has a three year-old daughter who lives with her parents back in Huila and Gina makes the five-hour trip to see her three or four times a year. When asked what her parents think about her profession, Gina says, "They think I should get out of here, that it's not good for me. But when my daughter was very young, my parents didn't help me. I had to survive. My family made me turn to prostitution."
Gina doesn't envision working in prostitution much longer, although one gets the impression she's been telling herself that for years. "If I get money this year, maybe I will start a business and pay for school for my daughter. I have a lot of dreams." One of those dreams is to get far away from Colombia's troubles, "I think I would like it in Spain. People tell me I would have a good time there. But everything is not always as you want it to be." And then, exhibiting a fatalism beyond her years, she quietly adds, "Time will decide." One teenager who escaped from a life of prostitution is 19 year-old Carolina. She grew up in one of Bogotá's poor barrios and when she was 15 and her sister was 14, they both ran away from home to escape the constant beatings and abuse. "My mother died when I was very young and I have never had contact with my father. I grew up with my grandmother and some uncles," she says. Carolina and her sister soon found themselves working as prostitutes in the streets of Bogotá. Then, one night a few months later, they were arrested by the police and taken to the Renacer Foundation. Renacer is an organization that offers child prostitutes a bed, food and an education if they agree to quit working. The Foundation was founded 12 years ago and now has approximately 60 kids living in their two houses at any given time. According to co-founder, Estrella Cardenas, "I had been working as a volunteer with a religious group that worked with female prostitutes. We began noticing more and more child prostitutes living in the streets, but had no program for them." And so, with funding from the government agency, Bienestar Familiar, and the British, Canadian and Spanish embassies among others, Renacer was founded and has since evolved into an organization with 53 employees, including six psychologists and three social workers. One of the psychologists, Juan Carlos Carrillo, explains how they approach the children, "We find the kids on the street working as prostitutes and slowly get to know them. Many of the kids living in the streets were displaced from different parts of Colombia by the violence. Many end up in prostitution because of domestic problems or are forced into it by their families to earn money." Once the children have been convinced to enter Renacer, the kids participate in a two-year program that teaches them social and job skills, which are then honed in the foundation's restaurant, graphic arts company, book printing shop, tailor shop and computer lab. According to Carrillo, "The vision of Renacer is not only to get children out of prostitution, but to work with families in poor neighborhoods to make the communities better." Carolina is now taking care of her two year-old niece because her sister left the program and returned to the street. Meanwhile, Carolina has graduated from Renacer and now wants to study business administration at the National University. But first she faces the unenviable prospect of finding a job, no easy task in a city with 20 percent unemployment. "I want to work in the airport for American Airlines," says Carolina, "but they want a certificate saying I speak English fluently." And then, with a youthful optimism that belies the many hardships she has endured, Carolina boldly states, "Next week I start English classes." Research for this article was funded in part by the Dick Goldensohn Fund.
This article originally appeared in Colombia Report, an online journal that was published by the Information Network of the Americas (INOTA).
Copyright © 2003 Colombia Journal. All rights reserved. |
Sixteen
year-old Yamile and her family abandoned their home in the village
of La Ciénaga in the sur de Bolívar after paramilitaries
killed several villagers and ordered everyone else to leave. The
entire population of the village, some 130 people, immediately fled
downriver to the relative safety of Colombia's most violent city,
Barrancabermeja. For the past three months,Yamile and her fellow
villagers have been living in a single over-crowded building near
the market called Casa Campesinos. 
are not suffering in the countryside, they are "in the streets
of the cities doing drugs, inhaling gasoline and glue," he
says. Although it is difficult to believe they are better off marching
through Colombia's remote jungles and mountains under a constant
threat of attack, Trinidad claims that at least in the FARC they
receive "clothes, food and an education."
Since
arriving in San Vicente, Gina has endured the abuse of drunken cattle
ranchers seven nights a week. She has also had to live with the
constant risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases. When
asked if she is worried about AIDS, Gina says, "Sure, you never
know. Sometimes you have sex without a condom and you don't know
what other women he's been with. You can be healthy on the outside,
but not know what's happening on the inside. You have reservations,
but you have to do it."