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

The Transition 101hectic, but a lot of nights Lauren, though only nine, would stand ona plastic milk crate in front of the stove to help make dinner. In thisparticular memory, she was up there reaching into a cabinet to bringdown some macaroni and cheese and a few spices. She added a can oftuna for Kyle and me, and she was so proud of her homemade TunaHelper. Kyle asked me, “Dad, is she going to burn it?” I told him thatno matter what, we were going to eat it, we were going to love it, andwe were going to tell her so. It hurt like hell to remember all that andput it down on paper, especially when I wrote that I couldn’t wait to gethome so she could make it again for us all.After the first week, I was starting to feel better. Having control ofyour bowels will do that for you. I wasn’t ready to go out and run a marathon,but I could at least participate in more of the regular routine. Iwas stressed out, and not being physically active made my brain workovertime. With no mental stimulation, my mind was running rampantand that had to be contributing to my physical problems. My motherhad taught me a few simple meditation tricks when I was a kid. I triedto focus more on my breathing, counting to six on the inhale and theexhale. That seemed to help calm my nerves.From the beginning of our stay at Monkey Village, we tried to figureout who was important and whom we might be able to work to ouradvantage among the FARC. We were there with about thirty guerrillas,an estimate we based on the rotation of the guards. Though we couldhear female voices, we never saw any women. The FARC camp wassecluded enough from ours that we could see where it was—flashes ofmovement, the sound of them talking and cooking—but not much else.Marc made an effort to get to know a guerrilla they called Lapo. Fairlysoft-spoken and decent, he’d been on our initial march. We asked himto give us the chain of command, and according to him, the Frenchmanwas the commandant—the lead jailer of the camp. Lapo said thathe was number two, and Pollo—who looked like a chicken with hisbeady eyes, pimply, pebbled skin, and scrawny neck and shoulders—