I’m sorry this is happening to your home, mommy, I really am, I think to myself.
Suddenly, we hear one of the trucks park right next to our house. I am hopeful they will leave soon, but the sounds of radios continue through the night and a million things begin running through my head. What if they try coming in? What if they get into a standoff with the government? What if they try kidnapping me? The radio noise stops, and I finally rest my eyes.
It is 6 a.m. and the rooster crowing pre-maturely interrupts my sleep. As we begin hauling water for our shower, I look around and am relieved by the absence of the cartel. My relief is quickly lived, however, when I see a caravan of trucks making their way in from Palmar Grande, a neighboring village. The leaders of the group are easily distin-guishable with their bulletproof vests, superior guns, and cowboy boots.
As I watch them get out of their stolen cars, I register that the men in the cartel are not just men; they are boys, too, some barely 13. My disbelief regenerates as I descry girls younger than 18 flowing out of the trucks. The girls smile and giggle, seeming to love the attention the villagers are giving them. The lives of these girls and boys will change forever; they chose to abandon their poverty-stricken villages and join the men with the more exhilarating, dangerous lifestyle.
"As I watch them get out of their stolen cars, I register that the men in the cartel are not just men; they are boys, too, some barely 13."
Karina's mother stands in front of their house in El Cirian.
The view from the house out into the busy road..
“I wish I could stay longer and talk some more, but they don’t like us being out when it is dark.”
11