Here is a clip from KidTwo's livejournal. Goodness knows this information won't be readily available in the American press and these two people were killed by a group primarily funded by the U.S. appetite for cocaine. They deserve our notice.
One was a 25-year-old guard. There are guards at almost every establishment. They are male and female, young and old. They are usually very cute and tolerant, cheerful even though their jobs must be fairly dull. They check large purses and appreciate it when you unzip your purse before handing it over (men hate to unzip a woman's purse). They usually laugh when I offer them my baby purse for the checking, although every now and then one will humor me and run the metal-detector wand over it. Who knows how someone with a twenty-pound bomb got past them. Extortion- maybe someone along the way got a set of keys, maybe they bribed someone to take a nap on their shift. Before I moved here, a girl told me that Bogotá is really the safest place to be, because the FARC already own everything.
The other victim was a woman in her fifties, a grandmother who stopped by the store to pick up some videos for her family. She hadn't told her daughters she was going to the Blockbuster. She'd been out shopping, and her daughters were watching the game at home and saw Caracol's piece on the bombing. They thought oh, how strange. And about two hours later they started to wonder where their mother was.
Paulita and I went to see a movie at the Andino today. We drove past the Blockbuster on the way to the mall. It's walled off with tarp, but you can see part of the collapsed wall. On the way home there was traffic; a candlelight vigil for the dead.
This is Susan again. Yesterday I took KidThree and two of her classmates to Oscar's funeral. It was in a small church, small because the town had fewer than seven thousand people in it. The church was packed, with young men filling the lobby and more young men and older folks and families with children sitting and standing on the walks and lawns in front of the church. I didn't see his parents but did see his sister, who looked as though she still had no idea what had happened--the poor girl looked as though someone had whacked her upside the head and punched her in the stomach and she hadn't been able to breathe or think since. I was that girl, thirty years ago, and it is that horrible. KidThree and her classmates were very shaken throughout, mourning their friend, trying to make sense of the loss of him (can't be done--there is no sense to this loss). R.I.P., Oscar--you were loved by many and mourned by even more.
No check yesterday. No MAIL yesterday. I checked the box two hours after the time the mail is distributed, and there was not a piece of paper in sight. Not a bill, not an ad, not a flyer. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. The hollow emptiness of the box mocked my hopes and dreams and spending plans. Sigh.
And now to put the laundry from the washers into the dryers. At least I was able to get more quarters.