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Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

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96 OUT OF CAPTIVITYcalled our “hooch.” It was about sixteen by twenty feet and walled onthree sides. The fourth wall was made <strong>of</strong> cha<strong>in</strong>-l<strong>in</strong>k fenc<strong>in</strong>g. At least ithad a ro<strong>of</strong>, so that if this was where we were go<strong>in</strong>g to be bunked, we’dat least be mostly out <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> wea<strong>the</strong>r. I resented Sombra’s th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g weshould be appreciative because <strong>the</strong>y’d opened a prison camp for us.Thanks very much. We’ll be sure to tip our guards accord<strong>in</strong>gly.I wanted to cut through <strong>the</strong> crap, so I rolled out my best Spanish,“¿Quién es el jefe aquí?” I wanted to know who <strong>the</strong> boss was. We’d meta bunch <strong>of</strong> different FARC that day and I wanted to know who wasdirectly responsible for us.Fat Man gave us <strong>the</strong> party l<strong>in</strong>e: There are no bosses. Everyone isequal here. I cut him <strong>of</strong>f and flat-out said, “That’s great, but if we needfood, who do we talk to.”Sombra jerked his head toward <strong>the</strong> man stand<strong>in</strong>g next to him: “Ferney.”His name was pronounced like <strong>the</strong> words fair and nay as <strong>in</strong> negative.We immediately dubbed him <strong>the</strong> Frenchman, and <strong>the</strong> immediateimpression that he made was that he was a no-nonsense k<strong>in</strong>d <strong>of</strong> guy.When <strong>the</strong> Fat Man had been enterta<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r troops earlier andgett<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m to laugh at his jokes, <strong>the</strong> Frenchman was <strong>the</strong> only onewho rema<strong>in</strong>ed stoic. The guy seemed to have no soul at all; he was deademotionally. It was <strong>the</strong> Frenchman who led us <strong>in</strong>to our new home awayfrom home.As we walked up to <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g, I knew immediately that thismarked <strong>the</strong> end <strong>of</strong> our days as kidnapped contract workers and beganour life as prisoners. The whole morn<strong>in</strong>g had been filled with meet<strong>in</strong>gsand conversations about our situation, but now reality was <strong>the</strong> threehundred-poundgorilla who sat wherever he wanted. He chose to sitright on us. I felt someth<strong>in</strong>g deep <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> pit <strong>of</strong> my stomach, a k<strong>in</strong>d <strong>of</strong>despair that I hadn’t ever felt before, even when <strong>the</strong> march was at itsworst. Glanc<strong>in</strong>g over at Marc and Tom, I could tell <strong>the</strong>y felt <strong>the</strong> sameway. The place was just depress<strong>in</strong>g. The canopy <strong>of</strong> jungle foliage andtrees didn’t allow any sunlight to enter, <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g had clearly been

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