Quibdó, 6 June 2016

Last week was the second teachers’ club session at the Bank of the Republic. Since the bank has a limited budget, they suggested I do just one hour a week, but I, excited to have nine or ten teachers interested, give them two hours anyway. Let the bank pay what it can.

Our club includes two strands of work: training as readers and training as reading promoters. It turns out the teachers aren’t readers; you wouldn’t believe how low their level is. So it was a real cause for celebration when we managed to read three stories in our session.

We did an exercise involving reading aloud and I taught them a bit about voice control, based on my experience giving presentations. It’s never been so satisfying to use that knowledge and experience. I feel very happy.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with the headteacher of my old school. They have a newly refurbished library there, which is also a bit underused. I want it to be the setting for the crónica-reading club (for teenagers) and the children’s club. If they say yes, I’ll begin at least one of the two this coming week.

For teacher training week, someone suggested I give a talk about the importance of reading to the teachers from a school on the banks of the Quito river, in the settlement of San Isidro. I hope I can do it – I think it would be great.

And so this story is coming together. This basket, this Motete, is filling up. The slogan for my project is ‘Contenidos que tejen’ – contents that weave – and every day I like it more. Every day I realise that these contents are weaving fulfilment and happiness within me. Do you know what a motete is yet? I think I sent you a photo. It’s basically a basket used by indigenous people for carrying food, with a strap that goes over the head. ‘Motete’ is what we call those baskets on the North Pacific coast (Bahía Solano, Juradó, Nuquí) and in Panama. The thing is, motetes have always been used to carry food for the body: plantains, bushmeat, fish. Our idea is to fill them with food for the soul: art, culture, books. And just as motetes are woven by hand, I thought these new contents would also form a fabric: the fabric of society, of community, the fabric of souls.

At some point – sooner than you think – I’ll need you, so we can keep on weaving a big motete and keep on filling it up.

I haven’t seen the sea since December and I miss it, of course. This is a long, sustained absence of sea, but also one that I’ve chosen. I’m feeling it deeply. However, I’m surer by the day that the sea is inside me; it’s part of what moves me to do this work.

It’s been raining a lot. The downpours are so particular to this jungle, and so heavy, that sometimes I find them impossible to describe. I believe in the power of this rain and these seas.

Soon it’ll be a year since I arrived here. And soon we’ll see each other again; I’m finally travelling to your city and we’ll be able to have breakfast together. It’s so beautiful to describe days without any boredom. Those that have gone by and those yet to come.

Lots of love,

Seño Velia