Yeny and the Children for Peace (4 page)

Except for the occasional animal, it was almost always quiet along those trails. No noisy motorcycles. No one shouting. They often met a neighbor and stopped to talk. And if they were in a hurry to get home before nightfall, she and Papá raced each
other along the mountain paths to and from the fields. She missed her walks with Papá.

So when he asked her to go with him to buy panela, Yeny jumped up from the table. Her father took her hand in his big, rough one, and they went out into the street.

“So what do you think of your new school?” he asked as he closed the door behind them.

The first thing that popped into Yeny's head was Joaquin, but she didn't want to tell her dad about
that
. “I've never seen so many kids,” she blurted, saying the only other thing that came to mind. “And it sounds like they have big ideas and big plans. I hope they have more peace meetings. I'll meet kids from everywhere in the city, I bet.”

Her father was silent for a few moments as they walked. The air was still warm, even though the bells for evening mass were already ringing. Yeny wondered if it would
ever
get cool here in the city.

Her father kicked at a pebble along the road. “I'm not sure that going to those meetings is a good idea, Yeny.”

Yeny turned and stared at her father. It was the last thing she had expected. For as long as she could remember, Papá had encouraged her to try everything she could, and he had always said that the only way to bring about peace was to get everyone talking about it. Talking was the only way to stop the violence.

Yet now he was telling her that she shouldn't meet with other children to talk about peace.

“It's too dangerous,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You never know what could happen in a big crowd like that.”

“But Papá, we're only a bunch of kids. Nothing will happen.”

“It's not you kids I'm worried about,” he said. “You know the grupos armados don't like it when people get together to plan something. It doesn't matter that you're only children.”

Yeny looked up at him. “But how can we ever have peace if everyone's afraid to get together and talk about it?”

She could see the muscles in his jaw twitching, and he was silent for what seemed like forever. A few times, he looked back over his shoulder to make sure no one was following them, but the only people in the street were a mother with two small children, a few teenagers, and a priest in a rush.

When they reached the corner where the store was, Papá crouched down and took both of her hands in his. “I believe in peace, Yeny,” he said, “but not everybody does. I know you want to go to the peace meetings, but I'm afraid I can't let you. It's too dangerous, and it would break my heart to lose you.”

Yeny felt a swell of anger. Everything was so unfair. She missed how her father used to whistle and walk with a bounce in his step, even when the harvest was bad, or when it didn't
look like they'd have enough money to buy school supplies. He always said things would work out.

The men with guns had taken away much more than their land and their home. She saw that now. They had taken away some special part of her father too. She was angry, she wanted to argue, but the sadness in Papá's eyes made her bite her tongue.

Children across Colombia gathered in soccer fields, parks, churches-anywhere they could—to talk about peace.

It must have been the biggest meeting in the whole world,” David declared.

It was the day after Yeny had gone with Juan to the radio station to talk on the program. Yeny had loved the idea of speaking into a big microphone so that her uncle could hear her, wherever he was, but she had wished she could be in two places at once.

Now they were in the schoolyard, waiting for the teachers to lead them inside. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, not like most days when some kicked a soccer ball around, and others leaned up against the school talking or stood by themselves. Today, everyone was abuzz with news, and Yeny guessed that they were all talking about the same thing.

“I've never seen so many kids squeezed onto one soccer field,” Beto said, “and everyone was completely silent, ‘cause everyone was listening to Celia. She's the person who organized everything.”

“So what did you talk about?” Juan asked.

“About what we can do to change Colombia!” David said.

“Yeah,” said Beto. “We can't make sure everyone has a job, or enough to eat, or a nice place to live, but we can make sure we treat each other well. That's an important part of peace. Respect.”

“So we're going to have a party,” David said. “A party where everyone can get to know each other and be friends. It's next Saturday night, and it'll be like a big carnival. A Peace Carnival! We're going to get a whole lot of kids to come, and there'll be a dance competition and food and prizes and games, and it's all about peace, because if you meet someone at a party, you'll probably become friends, and you
always
treat friends with respect. If we can get everyone to have parties, then everyone will be friends, and there won't be any more violence.” David was flushed and out of breath by the time he finished.

Yeny and Juan laughed at such a crazy plan, but it sounded like fun, and Yeny wanted to join in. “Can we help?” she asked.

Juan looked at her strangely. He knew how her parents felt
about these big meetings. No one else seemed to notice his weird look, though, and Yeny decided to ignore it.

“Of course you can help,” said Beto. “You too, Juan. David and I are on the publicity team. That means we have to tell as many kids as possible about the Peace Carnival. There are other teams for food, music, and games. Our team's meeting again on Saturday morning. Wanna come?”

Yeny promised she would be there. Now she only had to convince her parents to let her go. She didn't think it would be too hard. The publicity team was probably small, and surely the grupos armados wouldn't care about some children planning a party, right?

“Do you really think it'll work?” Juan asked on their way home from school.

They hadn't had a minute to talk since that morning. The whole day, Yeny had been dreaming about the party and the friends she would make. People at school were polite to her, but Joaquin bugged her so much that no one seemed to want to be her friend. The neighborhood party seemed like her only hope to fit in here in the city.

When she hadn't been dreaming about new friends, Yeny had been thinking about how to convince her father to let her help plan the Peace Carnival. Now, when Juan asked if she thought
it would work, she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't know if he meant kids creating peace, or her parents letting her go to the party.

“I have no idea,” she said, which was an honest answer to both.

They were taking a different way home this time, part of Juan's plan for Yeny to get to know the city. But all the buildings still looked the same. This neighborhood was house after house painted orange and yellow, and topped with metal roofs. It was going to take her a million years to find her way here.

“You're not planning to sneak out are you?” Juan asked, glancing at her sideways as they turned onto another wide, dusty street.

“I want to go,” Yeny said, “but not by myself. I'm going to talk to my parents again. I think they'll feel better when they know we're only talking about a party. You'll come too, won't you?”

Juan was quiet.

A block away, two men in green uniforms strode into the street. Yeny froze, then grabbed Juan's hand and darted down the nearest street. They ran and ran, and when they stopped, Yeny was shaking.

Juan put an arm around her shoulders and tried to calm her down. “They weren't the men you saw in your village.” It was the third time this had happened, and Yeny had panicked
every time. “It's only a few policeman talking to each other. They weren't looking for anyone. Didn't you see them laughing and smiling?”

Yeny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew Juan was right. Her father had told her this too. But when she saw men in green uniforms, she couldn't think straight. She could only run.

Juan stayed close to her as they walked down the unfamiliar street. “We'll go home a different way,” he said. “I haven't had a chance to show you this part of the neighborhood yet, anyway,” he added, as though it were convenient that she'd suddenly darted down this road.

There weren't many houses here. And there wasn't much shade, either. Most of the buildings were garages that repaired cars, and little stores that sold candy and cigarettes. She saw someone leave one shop with a shiny packet of cookies, and she felt suddenly hungry.

“Hey, Banana Girl!”

Yeny recognized Joaquin's voice, but she and Juan kept walking.

“Don't you answer when people talk to you?”

Something small and sharp bounced off her shoulder, and Yeny whipped around. “What's your problem, Joaquin?”

“No problem,” he taunted. “Just saying hola.”

He was sitting on a low wall with a few other scruffy-looking kids. They were laughing, and that made Yeny madder still.
Dumb city kids
, she thought. Joaquin was terrible, and it seemed as if Juan didn't care enough about peace to help organize the carnival. Yeny would never understand city kids.

Joaquin tossed another pebble at her. She clenched her fists and marched over to him. Juan could do whatever he liked, but she wasn't going to let these boys bully
her
. She wished she had something to throw at them, to knock them off that wall and to knock those silly grins off their faces. But just as she spotted a stone on the street, Juan called out, “Hey!”

Yeny turned, and the boys looked up. Juan seemed tiny standing there in the middle of the road, tugging on his backpack straps and shifting from one foot to the other. “What are you doing next Saturday night?” he asked, his voice a little squeaky. “There's a party on the soccer field, and you're invited.”

Yeny stared at him. Her cousin was braver than she had thought, and the looks on the boys' faces made her want to laugh. As laughter bubbled up inside, she didn't feel so mad anymore. In fact, she felt a little embarrassed. She'd spent the whole day thinking about peace and friendship, and now she'd almost got into a fight.

She smiled at Juan, and he smiled back, but he didn't come any closer.

“The party's going to be great,” she told the boys, who looked suspicious. “There'll be games, and food, and maybe a dancing contest with prizes and stuff.”

Joaquin hesitated, but then he jumped off the wall and landed in front of her. “I'm not going to any stupid girl's party, Banana Girl.”

Yeny shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “Let's go, Juan.”

They headed home. And the annoying boys stayed where they were, joking and snickering about something that had nothing to do with Yeny.
That
at least was a relief.

That evening, Yeny's parents and Aunt Nelly were out late, helping a neighbor, and Yeny didn't have a chance to talk to them about the Peace Carnival.

Long after she fell asleep, she awoke with a start beside Elena on their mattress on the floor. Her chest was tight, as if she'd been running, and her dream came rushing back: Joaquin had gathered her whole class in the schoolyard and given them big armfuls of bananas, and he had told everyone that if they didn't throw their bananas at her, he would make them sorry. “Ready,” he said. “Aim . . .”

Yeny woke up just before he called out,
Fire!

It took a long time for Yeny to get back to sleep, but she did, and when she woke up, she knew what she had to do.

When Mamá pulled back the curtain around her bed and kissed her good morning, Yeny pulled on her clothes and gathered her thoughts. At breakfast, she would talk to the adults.

“Papá, will you be busy on Saturday morning?” she asked, as soon as she came to the table. She stood next to him. Mamá was feeding Carlitos, and Aunt Nelly kept cooking. Juan, Elena, Sylvia, and Rosa were hurrying through their
arroz con frijoles
, the thick, meaty-tasting beans and rice that they often ate for breakfast. Most of the
plantano
, plantains, were already gone, and Yeny glanced back at her aunt to see if she was making any more. She was happy to see the frying pan full of crisp, sizzling slices.

Yeny turned to her father, who was frowning at her question about the weekend. Of course, Yeny already knew that her father would be busy on Saturday. No matter what, every day, he went out to look for work. Most days, a few people at the market paid him to unload fruits and vegetables from supply trucks early in the morning. (Once she had gone along with him to see the rows of stalls with piles of every imaginable kind of fruit. Later in the day, Papá said, the aisles between the fruit stalls would be so crowded that shoppers would hardly be able to move, everyone shouting and trying to get the best deal.) Other times Papá
got paid to help clean a store or paint a building. Once he got a whole handful of coins just for helping a lady carry her groceries to the car.