Last Day in Colombia
March 17, 2020
The call dropped four times. From my vacant hostel dorm, I collapsed on the bed, pulling the sheet covers tight across my face to suppress my stifled cries.
“Casey, what do you mean? You can’t leave Colombia, you just arrived...”
--- Isabella? You there?
“Hola Casey, why can’t you stay with us anymore? We got permission...”
“Isabella, listen. I have to leave today. The borders are closing...”
--- Dammit.
“Can you hear me, Casey? We will come to Sogamoso to see you in the afternoon and...”
“No, you stay. I will come see you now, okay? Don’t move.”
I hung up before the reception cut it for me.
My dimly lit room had four beds, but no one had checked-in to the hostel for the past week. I quickly packed my things and placed them under the bottom bunk. My boots were still soaked from yesterday’s unexpected downpour, but it was the only pair I had to wear. I locked my room, rushing out the front door through the garden and gate. The tattered map inside my head was outdated - I remember catching the buses along the river, but something must have changed. It has been three years. Pedestrians changed sidewalks to avoid the last remaining foreigner in their town. He probably has it - keep a safe distance. The day before, a street vendor at the Bogota bus terminal yelled “gringo” at me, covering his mouth with his hand. I still remember those angered, yet unprovoked eyes.
I hailed a taxi. For 30 minutes, the driver and I rode in silence, dodging the inconsistencies in the pavement. When we arrived, he dropped me off at the lonely town square. The town seemed drained of color. Shops and schools were closed to prevent further spread of the virus. I ran a few blocks and turned the street corner to find 10-year old Benjamin, kicking a ball against a wall as if the bounce came from an imaginary brother. “Hola Casey”, he said with his toothy grin. “Benjamin, let's go find your mom and sister, okay?” The two of us passed the ball on the cobbled streets as the residents peered down at us from their balconies. There is no vacancy here either, I thought.
We arrived at the foothills of the finca where their mother Oliga had finished milking the cows. I rushed to her and gave her an apologetic hug for my absence. As if on cue, Isabella made her entrance with a stampede of fifty stubby legs and wooly torsos sprinting down the hill in orderly panic. Isabella and her dogs herded the sheep to a patch of grass near the river. We were all together again, and for a brief moment, I sighed in relief.
Oliga and Benjamin went into town to get us lunch while Isabella and I tended to the animals. “I don’t have much time.” I untied the bracelet on my wrist and wrapped it around hers. “This is to remember me.” Isabella laughed. “I will never forget you, Casey.”
Half an hour later, Oliga and Benjamin returned, and we had a picnic in the shade as a family - chicken, fries, and ginger ale. The cows saw an opportunity to graze beyond their bounds, and wandered around the bend in the road. "Benjamin, vacas!" We saw their escape from the hillside, and Benjamin ran down the valley after them. The dogs followed and eventually Benjamin lured them back. We finished our picnic, and Isabella went back up to their finca to care for a sick sheep. Oliga and Benjamin rounded up the cows and tied each of them to their post. I glanced at my phone: several missed messages from friends in Bogota. "Did you leave yet? It's getting worse - there are more confirmed cases.” The department of Boyaca announced that all bus travel outside its borders will cease by tomorrow morning until further notice. The journey to the capital was four hours away from Sogamoso. I was running out of time.
I told my family that I needed to go. Oliga, Benjamin, and I waited on the gravel path until a truck passed. The driver was hesitant to pick us up. Recently, two French tourists made national headlines for contracting the virus without proper quarantine, causing them to be expelled from the country. "You’re out of luck, you know. I heard the Bogota airport is completely shut down. You have nowhere to go.” This cannot be true, but his confidence played on my uncertainty. I still have today.
We arrived at the square where the taxi dropped me off just four hours ago. The local bus was parked at the corner, and the driver was sitting in the café across from us, laughing with his regular company. I checked the time and knew this was one of the last remaining routes to Sogamoso for the day. The three of us sat under the church, waiting for Isabella to meet with us. The bells rang, and the sky suddenly became darker. I reached into my pocket and put whatever money I had left into Oliga’s pocket. She objected, but I held my hand over it. "Take care of yourselves, okay? I’ll be back." She kissed my cheek, and we said nothing more.When the driver finished his coffee and headed in our direction, urgency spiked once more. Where is Isabella? Oliga called her phone with no answer. The bus honked for departure with no one on board. Oliga pleaded for five more minutes, but the driver held up two fingers. Two minutes. From the corner of the square, Isabella appeared with her dog by her side - running as fast as she could. We all collided together with one last embrace. Without warning, the driver released the parking brake, and the bus started to coast downhill. Time was up. I hopped onto the moving bus, and did not bother to find a seat. I waved at them through every window, wishing there were more glass panes so I could never lose sight of them. When the bus finally turned the corner, I could not see the square anymore. And rain streaked down every window on the way to Bogota.