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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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Pro<strong>of</strong> <strong>of</strong> Life 159As far as we knew, he could have been some guy <strong>the</strong> FARC used to act asa journalist. Botero had told us that two journalists <strong>in</strong> Los Angeles werework<strong>in</strong>g to track down our families so that <strong>the</strong>y could be provided withour messages, but that wasn’t <strong>the</strong> most precise answer to our questionsabout how <strong>the</strong> video would be used. Maybe <strong>the</strong>y wanted to do <strong>the</strong> pro<strong>of</strong><strong>of</strong> life just to calm us all down, to make us th<strong>in</strong>k that our release wasnear. We all knew that happy prisoners were easier to control.My skepticism was re<strong>in</strong>forced when <strong>the</strong> tap<strong>in</strong>g was wrapped upand we were wait<strong>in</strong>g to return to our bunk room. I found a piece <strong>of</strong>paper on <strong>the</strong> floor. I looked it over and saw that it was a letter from ahostage—not one <strong>of</strong> <strong>of</strong> us—and it was addressed to his family. I didn’tfeel comfortable read<strong>in</strong>g it, so I didn’t, but it made me angry to th<strong>in</strong>kthat one <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> many FARC upper-echelon guys who’d been <strong>the</strong>re withus, or even Botero, had likely failed to deliver on a promise to ano<strong>the</strong>rprisoner. That could easily have been a letter from me to Mariana.I was proud <strong>of</strong> us and how we’d conducted ourselves throughout <strong>the</strong>day. We’d refuted every one <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir bogus claims about what our missionhad been. Whenever any <strong>of</strong> us got choked by emotion, <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>rsstepped up and <strong>of</strong>fered support and comfort. We all spoke from <strong>the</strong>heart and stuck to our plan to be as reassur<strong>in</strong>g as possible. I had beengiven a pair <strong>of</strong> read<strong>in</strong>g glasses to use temporarily. I made it appear asthough I’d been adm<strong>in</strong>istered a miracle cure. I could now read, whereasbefore I was nearly bl<strong>in</strong>d. I hoped <strong>the</strong> FARC got <strong>the</strong> message via wordand action. I needed glasses.When it came time for us to speak to our families, I tried to be asthoughtful and deliberate as I could. I was glad that I’d been able tohear Keith’s words. He said a lot <strong>of</strong> what I wanted to say, particularlywhen he was asked what he missed. He was pretty choked up, and see<strong>in</strong>ghim that way got to me.“I’m k<strong>in</strong>d <strong>of</strong> a hard-ass. I apologize,” he’d said <strong>in</strong> his statement. “Thetwo th<strong>in</strong>gs that get me <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> heart are my two children and my fiancée.When I feel sometimes like not go<strong>in</strong>g on, I th<strong>in</strong>k <strong>in</strong> my m<strong>in</strong>d <strong>of</strong> my

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