A rare sight in the city center: A free-range chicken.
In May 2015, volunteers began clearing away weeds and garbage and preparing the soil in a lot which had sat empty for many years on the edge of La Candelaria.
In the years since then, children from a local foiundation and adults with mental disabilities
Unfortunately, the city may soon take the land away, depriving the children and adults of healthy fruits, veggies, as well as healthful physical activity. The city says it will build a neighborhood social center on the land. That might be justifiable, but unfortunately the city's plans usually take years to get started - if they happen at all.
Meanwhile, the Huertolaria garden will not likely find another location.
Adults with Down Syndrome, who live in a house across the sreet, come daily to help on the farm.
'For the fullfillment of the transportation subsidy.'
An organization of disabled people held a protest by City Hall this morning, charging that their
benefits are being cut. If true, this is suprising for the administration of Mayor Gustavo Petro, a leftist who you'd expect to give the poor and disabled top priority.
The demonstration also produced the surprising spectacle of a line of armored riot police protecting City Hall from a small group of disabled people.
A protester raises a line in front of a row of riot police.
The 'Semillas del Futuro' (Seeds of the Future) Foundation.
Disabled people are separated from City Hall by a police line.
Morales attracts an audience working on Seventh Ave.
Many people complain about poverty. Many complain about violence. And many complain about physical disabilities.
Odalis Yaneth Morales has faced all of those, and kept looking forward.
'Handing' a hat to a customer.
Many days, you'll find her weaving handicrafts on the sidewalk of Seventh Ave. in downtown Bogotá. The black and white rings, hats, bags and bracelets would be impressive works by anybody. But Morales has no hands or arms. She does all of her work with her toes.
Morales grew up on the Senu indigenous territory in Cordoba Department, where she said that making handicrafts is about the only employment available. She was born without arms and learned the trade from her mother.
"I didn't have hands, so I had to do it with my feet," she said.
Passing pesos to a customer.
But she earned little in the indigenous territory, which, besides being extremely poor, has at times been attacked by outlaw paramilitary groups. In addition, she wanted to study. So, two years ago, she moved to Bogotá, where she often sets up her workshop - when the police let her - on the west side of Ave. Septima a block or two south of Jimenez Ave.
Recently, a television program profiled Morales and someone who saw the show is contributing money so that she can study psychology, which she is doing via internet with a Colombian university.
Nearby, Embera indigenous women sell their own handicrafts. But Morales is the main attraction for passersby, who gather around marvelling at the adroitness of her toes. A few people by crafts; others drop coins into her basket. Undoubtedly, the feats Morales accomplishes with her feet serve as lessons to many children. "Now, you see why you shouldn't complain about little things!" mothers admonish.
On a recent afternoon I found Morales working by the window of the Golden Palace Casino, where people seek easy money. She lifts up a hat or a bracelet with her foot and hands it to a prospective customer. She receives the money and makes change with her toes, then folds the bills up tightly and stores them.
I ask her for her name.
She writes her name in a neat 'hand.'
"I'll write it down," she says, and grasps my notebook with her toes and writes in a 'hand' that's much neater than mine.
I ask Morales whether she regrets having been born without arms.
"No, not at all," she says, "it's God's will."
Morales' goal is to obtain her degree in psychology and return to work with her people.
Certainly, her best lesson will be the example she's set.
As of June 2014, Morales has a small shop near San Victorino Plaza.
Artesanias Odalis: Cra 13A No. 12-13 Local 02. Pasaje Comercial La Fortaleza. Cel: 311-414-6865 / 300-715-7060. Land line: 795-5951. E-mail: artesaniasodalis@hotmail.com . Related Post:
When Luis was a child his family lived near the military academy in north Bogotá and Luis would go watch the soldiers practice war - with live ammunition. One day, a grenade exploded in front of him, burning parts of his body and blinding him.
Luis pauses for a drink. During games,
all players must wear blindfolds so that sighted people can't sneak in.
That was when Luis, now 53, started playing soccer.
"I had to run lots harder than the other kids did," he recalls.
He hasn't stopped playing since.
Luis is a leader of the league of blind footballers who practice Wednsday and Friday afternoons in Bogotá's National Park.
They appear awkward, have trouble trapping the ball and their shots can be off the mark. But once one of them has the ball, he can dribble more confidently than most of us with two good eyes. And they play with as much drive and intensity as competitors in the FIFA World Cup. That shouldn't be surprising, since they finished sixth in the last blind football World Cup, whereas Colombia's sighted national team didn't classify for its world cup at all. (Unsurprisingly, Brazil won the cup.)
Getting ready to shoot.
As they play, the players maintain a constant talk so that they know each other's locations. The ball is specially constructed with ball bearings inside so that players can hear it when it rolls. The goalies are sighted and direct the rest of the team. (The referees can also see, and so some people say this is the opposite of conventional football, in which the players are sighted and the referees blind.) Paradoxically, many of the blind players wear blindfolds - that's because during official games all players are required to wear blindfolds to prevent partially sighted people from having an unfair advantage. So, even many of the completely blind players blindfold themselves to get used to wearing the things.
A players' conference. Alejandro, in the striped shirt, is the sighted goalie.
Luís founded the blind football league 25 years ago, and today it's become a family affair. One of his sons is the team's coach and the other plays goalie. Luis is also a successful attorney who specializes in representing disabled people. He doesn't waste any more time feeling sorry for himself as a lawyer than he does as an athlete.
An after-game drink by the court.
"In law, the sighted and the blind can compete equally," he says, even tho he has to have a relative read documents to him.
The club hasn't stopped at playing soccer. They're also pioneering blind basketball.
One of the footballers' biggest fans is Efraim, who sells snacks from a kiosk beside the pitch.
"So many healthy people feel sorry for themselves," he observes. The footballers "are real examples of people overcoming obstacles. It's admirable."
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