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JOSE ISMAEL CAMACHO A LIFE I’m sharing with you the life of a clever, funny and gifted writer, a man who could talk about any topic and knew everything. A father that I miss and wished he could have been preserved for eternity. Santander del Norte was a quiet province in the norther of Colombia at the beginning of the twentieth century. It had been rocked a few times by the wars between the liberals and the conservadores during the last century. In a quiet village called Lebrija an hour away from Bucaramanga, a young woman (Josefina Camacho) went in labour. She already had two other children and had lost a few others at birth. Little Horacio Camacho was five years old and his sister Lijia, two years old as they waited with their father outside the room. As Josefina pushed for a last time, a rose faced child appeared in the world, locks of fair hair on his wet head. The two children outside the room heard the baby crying and pushed the door. The father, Ismael Camacho, rushed to his wife’s side and admired the new addition to the family, while the midwife cleaned the child and cut the umbilical cord. The midwife didn’t let him near the baby. Josefina had lost another baby during the previous year. The midwife wanted to make sure everything would be fine this time. Ismael led his two other children out of the room. He gave them some lunch while the midwife made sure mother and baby were all right. That evening little Ismael slept in a small cot by his mother’s side. The sound of cockerels singing woke them up the next morning. As the child cried, his mother put him to her breast. The memory of the other children who died young was fresh in her mind. Jose Ismael grew up into a chubby child with golden curls. He played with his brother and sister in the countryside around his home. His peaceful childhood shattered when his father died. Jose Ismael was five years old while Ligia and Horacio were six and eight years old. He travelled with his mother, brother and sister on the back of mules, to a town where his uncles lived. That journey across the mountains must have been exciting for a five year old boy. It was the ninety thirties and the country didn’t have many roads. Jose Ismael didn’t remember much of his trek through the mountains. Josefina was a young woman who had just lost her husband. She wanted to give her children a better life and education. Jose Ismael didn't remember much of that journey. His brother Horacio did recall the slow pace of the mules throughout the mountains. A friend had travelled with them on another mule. He had a map of the region where the path sneaked through the mountains and towards the next province. They would stop to rest and to eat their food. Josefina had brought boiled eggs, potatoes and water ion bottles. It was a big adventure for the children who had never left the town where they had been born. They slept in a tent by a river that evening as the mules ate the grass. Their friend got up early the next morning to saddle the mules in preparation for the day. The children played early the next morning. It was a great adventure for them all, even if the weather was a bit cold and they were tired. They played hide and seek in the field while their mother and their friend got ready to leave. Jose Ismael hid behind his mother as Horacio looked for him. Josefina put the child on the mule while the man helped the other two children on the other one. She was a strong woman who had chosen to trek across the mountains to look for her family. She needed their support in this stressful time. The mountains followed each other like an immense kaleidoscope as they went in their journey. The top of the Andes looked dark under the rays of the sun. They had left the province of Santander. The lush grass had given way to the mountains where cows and goats stood in the most dangerous places. The mules digested their food of grass and marigolds while moving through the beautiful landscape of green vegetation growing in the steep fields. An eagle circled above looking for pray as nature rejoiced in life. They saw the mountain vegetation as they went deeper inside Boyaca. A house made of mud lay at one side of the path while children wearing colourful ruanas looked at them. A dog ran around the mules while barking. A woman appeared at the door and called the door. “Where are you going?” she asked Josefina. “We are on our way to Choconta,” she answered. The woman invited them to go in her house to rest. It had started to rain and Josefina was glad to wait in the house until the weather cleared. The woman offered them hot chocolate while puppies ran by their feet. The woman gestured to Josefina’s friend. “You’re very brave to travel across the country with your husband and children, on the back of mules.” “He’s just a friend,” Josefina said. “My husband died a few weeks ago. My uncles live in Choconta.” “I’m sorry about your husband,” the woman said. The sun was shining a few minutes later. “Thanks for the drink,” Josefina said. “We have to arrive at Choconta before the evening.” They went on the mules while the dog barked. The animals trotted on the muddy path for a while. It was warmer and the vegetation had changed. The plants that grew near the paramos had been replaced by coffee plantations. They saw Choconta from far away, the church steeple against a cloudy horizon. The mules sensed the end of their journey and trotted towards the houses at the edge of the town. Josefina with little Ismael were the first ones to enter the town. People looked at them from their houses as children played in the streets. They found the church behind the park. The sound of people singing spilled out into the surrounding streets. Their friend helped them to dismount from their donkeys. The five of them entered the church as the priest read the sermon. He was a little man, who pushed his big glasses up his nose as he talked. He paused for a minute eyeing the new arrivals. Then he resumed his speech. The priest came towards them after mass. He hugged Josefina and the children. “I was expecting you,” he said. He was Uncle Antonio. He was a catholic priest who believed in the kingdom of God. Uncle Antonio helped to bring their belongings inside the church. The man who had accompanied the family to Choconta stayed in the house that night. He would go back to Lebrija in Santander the next day. Josefina and her children were tired after the long journey. Father Antonio took them to their rooms at the back of the house after they had their dinner. His brother, Father Felipe met the family that evening. He had only seen Josefina once before. He admired the young widow who had journeyed through the mountains to come to Choconta. The uncles taught the children all about religion and the bible. The family had to move between the uncles a few times. They paid for the children’s education. My father was 14 years old when the second war world started. He used to read everything about the conflict. He liked going to the movies to see films and the trailers of the time. He was a clever boy, who did very well in the school. He had inherited his mother’s blond hair and fair skin. His sister Ligia and his brother Horacio looked more like their father. Jose Ismael finished school and studied medicine at the Universidad Nacional of Bogota. He got his degree in medicine and married his second cousin, Cecilia Mogollon, on the 14 of February 1952. Maria Cecilia Camacho (The writer of this page) was born on the fifteenth of February1953. My brother Ismael Hernando Camacho was born onthe thirty first of May 1954.

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I THINK OF YOU

You’re always in my mind
As I look at the skies
And at the wonders of life

You told me of galaxies
In far away places
And how their light journeyed

Throughout space
To come to us
You’ve become a star

Far and remote
In the heavens of my soul
As the years continue

Their relentless march
Through time
You’ll always live in my mind

Writer's page

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Rain splatters on the windows
As my soul feels lonely

I chose a path
To take me to glory

But it failed
I’m at the mercy of intolerance

And the bad spirits
Who haunt me

Amidst the debris of time
And the end of reason

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JOSE ISMAEL CAMACHO

A LIFE

I’m sharing with you the life of a clever, funny and gifted writer, a man who could talk about any topic and knew everything. A father that I miss and wished he could have been preserved for eternity.

Santander del Norte was a quiet province in northern Colombia at the beginning of the twentieth century. It had been rocked a few times by the wars between the liberales and the conservadores during the last century. In a quiet village called Lebrija an hour away from Bucaramanga, a young woman (Josefina Camacho) went in labour. She already had two other children and had lost a few others at birth.

Little Horacio Camacho was five years old and his sister Lijia, three years old when they waited with their father outside the room. As Josefina pushed for a last time, a rose faced child appeared in the world with locks of fair hair.

The two children heard the baby crying and pushed the door as the father- Ismael Camacho- admired the new addition to the family. The midwife cleaned the child and cut the umbilical cord.

She didn’t let her Ismael hold the child as Josefina had lost another baby during the previous year. He led his two other children out of the room and gave them some lunch, while the midwife made sure mother and baby were all right.

That evening little Jose Ismael slept in a small cot by his mother’s side. The sound of the cockerels singing woke them up the next morning. As the child cried, Josefina put him to her breast. The memory of the other children who had died young was fresh in her mind.

Jose Ismael grew up into a chubby child with golden curls. He played with his brother and sister in the countryside around their home. His peaceful childhood was shattered when his father died. Jose Ismael was five years old while Ligia and Horacio were six and eight years old.

They travelled on the back of a few mules, to a town where Josefina's uncles lived. That journey across the mountains must have been exciting for a five year old boy.

It was the ninety thirties and the country didn’t have many roads. Jose Ismael didn’t remember much of his trek through the countryside. Josefina was a young woman who had just lost her husband. She wanted to give her children a better life and education.

Little Horacio did recall the slow pace of the mules along the path. A friend travelled with them on another mule. He had a map of the region where the path sneaked through the mountains and towards the next province.

They stopped to rest and ate their food in a lay by. Josefina had brought boiled eggs, potatoes and water bottles. It was a big adventure for the children who had never left the town where they had been born.

They slept in a tent by a river that evening as the mules munched the grass. Their friend got up early next morning to saddle the mules in preparation for the journey.

The children ran in the field in the morning. It was a great adventure for them all, even if the weather was a bit cold and they felt tired.

They played hide and seek while their mother and friend got ready to leave.

Jose Ismael hid behind a bush as Horacio looked for him but then a fox frightened him.

Josefina put the child on the mule as the man helped the other two children on the other one. She was a strong woman who had chosen to trek across the mountains to find her family. She needed their support in this stressful time.

The mountains followed each other like an immense kaleidoscope as they went in their journey. They had left the province of Santander behind and the lush grass had given way to the plains where cows lay by rivers and ravines.

The mules moved through the landscape of green vegetation and steep fields while nature rejoiced in life.

As they went deeper inside the Boyaca Province, they saw small houses while children wearing colourful ruanas looked at them. A dog barked at the mules and a woman appeared at a door.

“We are on our way to Choconta,” Josefina said.

The woman invited them to go in her house to rest. It had started to rain and Josefina was glad to wait in the hut until the weather cleared.

The woman offered them hot chocolate while puppies ran by their feet. Then she gestured at Josefina’s friend.

“You’re very brave to travel across the country with your husband and children, on the back of mules.”

“He’s just a friend,” Josefina said. “My husband died a few weeks ago. My uncles live in Choconta.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” the woman said.

The sun was shining a few minutes later.

“Thanks for the drink,” Josefina said. “We must go now.”

They went back on the mules while the dog barked. The animals trotted on the muddy path as the sun shone in the sky and the vegetation changed. They saw coffee plantations in the fields stretching to the horizon.

They arrived at Choconta later. The town had small houses but the church tower was then tallest building of them all. The mules sensed the end of their journey and trotted towards their goal.

Josefina with little Ismael were the first ones to enter the town and people looked at them from their houses as children played in the streets.

They found the church behind the park and the sound of the choir spilled into the surrounding streets.

The man helped them to dismount from their donkeys and they entered the church as Father Ricardo read the sermon.

He was a little man, who pushed his big glasses up his nose as he talked. He paused to look at the new arrivals but then he resumed his speech.

Father Ricardo hugged Josefina and the children after mass.

“I was expecting you,” he said.

He was a catholic priest who believed in the kingdom of God, and helped to bring their belongings inside the church.

The man who had accompanied the family to Choconta stayed in the house that night. He would go back to Lebrija in Santander the next day.

Josefina and her children were tired after the long journey. Father Ricardo took them to their rooms at the back of a house after they had their dinner.

His brother- Father Felipe- met the family that evening. He had only seen Josefina once before. He admired the young widow who had journeyed through the mountains to come to Choconta.

The uncles taught the children all about religion and the bible. The family had to move a few more times, but they paid for the children’s education.

My father was 14 years old when the second war world started. He used to read everything about the conflict. He liked going to the movies to see films and the trailers of the time.

He was a clever boy, who did very well in the school. He had inherited his mother’s blond hair and fair skin. His sister Ligia and his brother Horacio looked more like their father.

Jose Ismael finished school and studied medicine at the Universidad Nacional of Bogota. He got his degree in medicine and married his second cousin, Cecilia Mogollon, on the 14 of February 1952.

Maria Cecilia Camacho (The writer of this page) was born on the fifteenth of February1953. My brother Ismael Hernando Camacho was born onthe thirty first of May 1954

Rosie









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