Warlords of my past

It was 1956, and the jungle was impenetrable to everyone but me. I had spent my formidable years there, in the bowls of the cavernous rain forests. I had learned to be self sufficient by 7 years old. I could catch game, kill and cook it, all while making a swell hat from the skins. The vast cave systems were my subway, many passing through piles of the treasures hidden by the looting Spaniards 400 years ago.

I had been 13 when the jungle had become over run with warlords that fought for the “rights” to smuggling the cocaine across the Peruvian jungles for the young cartels being formed. The warlords brought terror to my people. We left in the middle of the night, exiting our hut through the hole made by the fire out back. The out back being set afire by the Indians as a sign of respect of our family, two feet wide it would allow us to depart instantly as long as we followed only it.

It was followed through out that dark night, where the smoke of burning huts hung low and the children’s cries went unanswered. I would latter learn that those very children grew up under the powerful cartels, parentless small versions of soldiers fighting a war that still blows in the winds today.

As daylight broke, we found ourselves walking a red clay path that ran along the river.
4 months later we found ourselves in the United States, cold hungry and in poverty. Over the course of the next 7 years my father worked his trade as a carpenter and my Mother washed the linens of Ladies. I on the other hand was forced to wear shoes and clothing, oh, and I wasn’t allowed near the fishpond on the hillside estates.



August 7th, 2006-

Today I found the above words while going through my grandfather’s things, it was found on the back of an old map ripped in two. There appears to be another half to it that completes it. I wanted to get this out so if anyone has Granddads map briefcase let me know-