By Helena F. Amórtegui B. (undergraduate FIGRI student, level 4 English)
When I was six years old, I had a nightmare journey. I traveled with my mother, my cousin and my aunt to Gama, Cundinamarca. Gama is a small town with many mountains and it has big forests. Few people live there and in the past, it had little public transport, coaches or motorbikes. At this time, Gama was a violent place because the FARC had arrived.
One day we were going to town when we saw a big traffic jam. My cousin thought that there was a car crash or road works, but the military said that there was an old car on the bridge and the people thought that the car had explosives. Then, we looked at the town people who were running scared. But we had to go to the town urgently because we had to buy medicine for a sick cow. So, we had to cross the river in an enormous digger and, I was really scared of the big river.
After two days, we heard on the radio that the car hadn’t had explosives, but it had been stolen. In the end this was one more bad experience in my life.