We're ok. Mostly.

There was a lot of emotional chaos swirling the room around me. I heard wails; I heard screams of sorrow; I heard fear as if it were an audible...

Then I saw Bryan come into the community house; I shouted his name and he ran over and he dove into my arms. I could hear his little sniffles but his arms were as strong as ever and I never wanted to let him go. We stood, right against the wall, hugging and crying together -- what just happened?

Rewind 15 mninutes. I was sitting with Alyssa, from our DU group, waiting on Sondra, from Altos, to glue a felt picture frame we were working on together. We had crafted a red felt frame with multiple Christmas decorations, including a present, a snowflake, and a snowman. Inside the frame was a picture of the whole community and us after our welcome celebration the first day in Altos. It was far from being a perfect picture, but it was wonderful.

I remember seeing Sondra in the doorway waiting for some glue and then turning around to gather some of the felt scraps in anticipation of cleaning up. Alyssa then looked at me and calmly said, "The man who just walked in has a gun."

I don't think either of us registered really what that meant. I know I didn't. I was vaguely confused but subtly aware of a new sentiment in the room. A wave of quiet fell over the community space and there was a small semblance of fear falling with it. I saw those around me lay on the floor, including our professor, Zulema. At that moment, I knew I needed to be down and to not...

I didn't know what to do, or what was really happening, actually. In the years that it seemed to take for the three men with pistols to lock the door to the house and close the windows, and then rifle through our backpacks, pat down our pockets, and wave around their hands and guns, I don't remember many distinct thoughts.

In moments, I would realize that they had real guns and that I didn't know what they were planning to do with them. I couldn't see where anybody else was from my nose on the floor, but in the split seconds I looked up, I saw Tess in tears, Zulema face down, and Sean sitting stearnly against the wall sheltering some little girls. I had no idea whether anybody else was in the room, whether they had been taken or were being taken advantage of; I didn't know where the little kids were who were hanging out in the doorway of the house playing before their world closed in.

We were all so vulnerable, and in the moments I guess I felt that, I shook. I fought to hold back sobs. When I realized the men were going through our bags, I remembered I didn't have anything of value with me, and that as long as I held Alyssa's hand and didn't hear gunshots, we probably would be ok.

I saw Alyssa praying and we sqeezed each other's hands; in that moment, one of the men, the one we had initially seen in the doorway, shouted at us and gestured for us to put our hands where he could see them. We abruptly obeyed orders, but I didn't know how to handle not being close to someone. When I saw that he walked away, I briefly looked up; Tess' face was covered in tears and we made eye contact. I heard some screams and I put my head right back down. In the next moment, I heard more shuffling of stuff and more muffled tears. I glanced up briefly as I saw one man patting others down and another man holding somebody's backpack.

The man checking pockets checked Alyssa and was fine, but I still shook a little knowing he would be touching me with one hand while the other hand wielded a gun with I didn't know how many bullets. I guess I thought about the news stories about school shootings and hostage situations, and couldn't help but imagine the possibility of being lined up against a wall...

But I still didn't know what was happening. My pockets were empty and so I didn't create an issue, but I didn't know what would create an issue.

I guess they left after that, but I heard one of the men talking. As the door closed, most of the room was telling everyone to be quiet and to stay down. But, some of the older boys were getting up in protective postures as others yelled at them to stop. I just stayed down and prayed that nobody would try anything stupid.

The next thing I remember seeing is the door opening and some of the little kids running out, including my little Ronaldo. Based on what I could perceive to be happening, I yelled out his name in hopes he would come back. He didn't hear me, and the my body's trembles turned into massive shakes and I sobbed. Zulema got up as others were doing the same and she raced over...she asked me what was wrong and all I could manage was. "Ronaldo...he left...I don't think it's safe...I don't know if he's ok..." and my head went into my arms.

After a moment, Zulema helped me into a sitting position and she tried to tell me everything was ok and nobody was hurt and she just hugged me. We sat in the middle of the room, clutching each other, as everyone else tried to find their somebody or something to clutch.

In the half hour that followed, the sounds, the tears, the embraces, and the sheer community of the moment reflected a deep sense of something I'd never felt before. Grief for being safe, grief for being put in danger, sadness that any of it happened at all.

I made it to my backpack, which didn't look opened at all; I saw other people's things, including toiletries and medicines that we had brought in preparation for our overnight stay in the community scattered around where our backpacks were. Mine looked untouched. Inside, everything was in its place, including my camera -- which I hadn't even remembered that I had with me to begin with. My money was there, my clothes, my toothbrush.

Over the course of the time, we discovered that four cameras, a passport, and about $100 was taken with the men and their guns.

But everybody was ok otherwise...at least physically.

For my part, I had moments of seemingly apathetic shock where I wanted to cry but I couldn't seem to muster the tears. In the moments the tears came, they were when I didn't expect them, and the whole emotion contorted my face while everything became dramatically wet. I still didn't know how safe we all were and I couldn't stop thinking about how often the community must deal with this and how afraid this must make them for the future.

Then I realized we had been targeted. I mostly realized this because of Bryan, who, after he came running into the room and we hugged, I got to thinking about why he was crying. He wasn't in the room when it happened; I actually hadn't seen him until he raced over to me. As I thought about it, I realized not only how unsafe he must feel, but that he may not be letting go because he doesn't want us to leave forever.

And I didn't want to leave at all. I thought it was totally unfair that we could leave and go somewhere safe where this community, in their most sacred place, couldn't feel safe.

But, I guess, if we, as Americans, were the targets, our presence was probably more dangerous than if we had not come at all.

The police didn't show for about 30 minutes, and they weren't the first people I had thought somebody should call. When I saw our driver, Douglas, I said his name with a tone of protection and happiness. Douglas, as long as he was around, would never let anything happen.

After the police did come and we prepared to follow Douglas back down the stony hill to the group van, I ended up being able to go to Ronaldo's house with a young girl to find see if he made it home ok. His house is just around the corner from the youth house; when we climbed the steps and turned the corner, I saw that his house was closed up and seemingly locked.

I could imagine him running back home, telling his mom what happened, and her taking the kids into shelter like the mom in Voces innocentes...under a bed, hugging.

Another community mom peeked into the window and said things were safe, at which moment the door open and Ronaldo came out. We hugged; his mom, who had never met me before, was probably very confused. But, his family seemed ok with it all, and the other little ones gave me hugs, too.

I then began my journey to the van. All of the little boys joined me, arm in arm, hands where possible.

To describe any of the other contact I had between then and then end of the actual situation is almost to hard at the moment. So much happened. So many people cried, embraced. Some who hadn't been around when it happened came up and were thrust into emotional chaos.

During my last breakdown in the house, the oldest member of the youth community, Carlos (Kili), said, "oh, Eme Jota" (my "MJ" nickname in Spanish) and came over to hug me. It meant so much.

But Bryan, Ronaldo, and all of their little friend's thoughtful caresses and hugs meant more. And in the moments I couldn't find them, I realized for certain, just how hard it will be to not have them in my life.

The picture, like our situation, isn't perfect. In that group picture, many people aren't looking at the camera, or are in between smiling and talking. We look slightly disorganized but very close together.

I think that is us.

And that's why we're here now, thankfully safe and sound.

As a group, we are shaken and confused, but we know we don't want to leave each other.

We're ok. Mostly. As long as we have each other.

Hasta Luego,

~MJ