Yeny and the Children for Peace (9 page)

Yeny wished it were so easy for
her
to get what she wanted. The election was only three days away, and her parents were still saying no, no, no. What was she going to
do?

It was Thursday afternoon, the last meeting before the vote. Yeny and about thirty other kids had gathered in the field to count how many tables they would have, how many jugglers, clowns, musicians, signs, face-painters, and games. The following day, they would meet again to set up a carnival like nothing any of them had ever seen before.

Suddenly Celia came running across the field, waving a handful of envelopes. “I have news,” she shouted to the crowd. She stepped up onto her fruit crate. “Look at this! Letters! The grupos armados wrote back.”

Yeny looked at the huge grin on Celia's face, and knew at once what the groups had said. “They said yes! They're going to
respect our election,” Yeny cheered. “They won't do anything to stop us.” She couldn't believe her idea had worked.

“Isn't it amazing?” Celia asked. “Every one of them said the same thing—they have children of their own, and they say they don't want to tear the country apart. Our elections tomorrow will be safe here, and throughout Colombia.”

Yeny could hardly wait to tell her parents the news. Of course, she could already imagine her mother asking who would be silly enough to believe the groups. But Yeny had an answer for that. As far as she knew, they had never promised to be peaceful before, so why
not
believe them?

Tonight was her last chance to talk to her parents, to convince them to let her go to the election. She should have developed a plan by now, one that was guaranteed to convince them. But she hadn't. And she didn't feel any more confident than before.

There was only one thing she knew for sure: she was going to vote. And so was Elena, and so were Juan and Rosa and Sylvia. Grown-ups were always saying that there was strength in numbers. And in her family, if you included Aunt Nelly, her parents were outvoted six to two.

“We're gonna change the world!” shouted David, and Rocio grabbed Yeny in a happy, swinging dance right there on the spot.

One more important letter arrived that day. It was waiting for Juan and his sisters when they got home from the meeting.

“It's from Papá,” Juan shrieked, when he saw his mother sitting on the front step, holding an envelope. She was smiling, and Juan, Rosa, and Sylvia broke into a run.

“What does it say?” Juan asked.

“Does he know if he's coming home soon?” asked Sylvia.

“Did he hear us on the radio?” asked Rosa.

“He doesn't know about coming home, but he did hear you on the radio. Come on inside, and we'll read the letter together.”

“I want to read it!” Juan shouted, pulling off his backpack on his way inside.

“No,” said Sylvia, “Mamá should. None of us can ever read his funny handwriting anyway, and you'll spend too much time trying to figure it out.”

Aunt Nelly was laughing. “Hold your horses. The letter won't go bad, you know. We'll make ourselves a snack, maybe
un licuado de mango
, and—”

Yeny loved mango milkshakes, but Juan groaned. “Forget it! Open . . .”

“Okay, okay. I was only joking.”

Yeny followed everyone inside and put away her school things. She had never seen one of her uncle's letters before, and was curious. Juan had told her that his father never said
anything about where he was or what it was like there. (If he did, the kidnappers wouldn't send his letter.) But he would probably write about what they had said on the radio. Thank goodness they had
that
. Sometimes people simply disappeared, and no one ever found out what had happened to them. That was worse than kidnapping, Yeny thought, because then you didn't know if they were alive, or if they were being tortured. They were the
desaparecidos
—the “disappeared.”

Mamá was in the kitchen, making
arroz con pollo
, rice with chicken. Papá looked as if he'd returned from work minutes before. His fingers were still black from the newspapers he'd been selling.

“Did you hear about the letter?” Yeny asked him, hugging him hello.

He squeezed her tight, and then put his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “I did, Yeny.” His eyes held hers for a moment, like he was trying to tell her something. But what?

“Are you ready?” Aunt Nelly asked, sitting at the table.

“Yes, yes!” said Sylvia. “Hurry up already!”

“Okay,” she said again, as everyone settled into a seat around the table and leaned forward.
“My dearest family, I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear your voices on the radio. And hearing little Yeny today was an extra-special treat. I'm happy they've come to live with you.”

“Me too,” said Elena.

“Shhhh,” said Sylvia.

“I tell you that I am doing well. I'm looking after myself, and I live in hope that I will see you again soon. Meanwhile, I'm with you in everything you do. Little Juan, I am proud of you for being involved in this carnival that you talked about. By the time you get this letter, it will probably be over. I'm sure it was a great success.”

Yeny crossed her arms and looked down at her knees, in case her face showed that she wished
her
father could be proud of her for taking part. No matter what, she wouldn't make her parents feel guilty. That never worked with them.

“I've been hearing about another event that you may be involved in. I've heard that children around the country are taking part, and I've never heard of anything so amazing.”

“He's talking about the election,” Juan said. “He couldn't write it out, but I'm
sure
he's talking about the election tomorrow. We're gonna be there, Papá! Just you wait.”

“I'm so proud of you children. You are succeeding where we adults have failed, and don't ever let anyone tell you that it's not worth the risk. These things are ALWAYS worth the risk. You must never, never give up hope that change is possible.”
Aunt Nelly paused and looked at Yeny's father across the table.

Yeny looked back and forth between them. Her father
had
been trying to tell her something with his hands on her shoulders
and his smile when she came in the door. Was this it? Was he changing his mind?

Yeny was so excited that she barely heard the rest of the letter. When Aunt Nelly finished reading, she passed the pages around so that Juan and his sisters could reread them for themselves. Yeny's father looked right at Yeny and Elena. “Girls,” he said, “you both know that you mean everything to me.”

Yeny stifled a sigh. This was the same speech he always gave. He hadn't changed his mind after all.

“And you both know that the idea of you going to the election tomorrow terrifies me,” he continued.

Yeny felt like rolling her eyes, but if she had any hope of going tomorrow, now was no time to be disrespectful. So she nodded instead, and listened as though this were new to her.

“But you know what?” Papá said. “If your uncle, who's been kidnapped and held away from his family for months, thinks this election is worth the risk, then I'd be truly ashamed to make you stay away. Colombia is your home too. You have every right in the world to make your voices heard.”

Yeny hurled herself out of her seat, knocking it over, and raced around the table to hug her father. He hugged her back and rubbed her cheek with one thumb, exactly as he used to do in the village. And when she looked him in the eyes she still saw a bit of the sadness, but there was something else there too: strong, fierce pride.

On voting day, Rocio, David, Beto, and a whole bunch of other kids showed up at Yeny and Juan's door. Every single one of them was dressed in white, the color of peace.

“Can you come?” Rocio asked.

“Yes!” Yeny shouted, and twirled around in her white trousers and a white T-shirt. “My whole family's coming. We've got banners and everything.”

“So which right are you going to vote for?” Rocio asked.

Juan answered before anyone else could. “Justice!” he shouted. “The people who kidnapped my father should go to jail.”

“That's true,” Yeny said, “but if we had peace, he would never have been kidnapped in the first place.”

Children marched, waving flags that said ‘peace' and cheering loudly about what they believed in.

“Yeah,” said Rocio, “but what about the right not to be killed? That's in the Constitution too, and what's the use of having peace and justice, if you're dead?”

“But if we have peace,” Yeny said, “then we don't have to worry about people getting killed. First comes peace, and then come justice, and life, and everything else. Peace has to be the first step.”

Their discussion continued the whole way to the soccer field, each kid trying to convince the others. But it was a teasing, happy discussion, because they knew that
all
children's rights were important, and that was exactly what they were going to tell the grown-ups. No matter which rights each of them voted for, the adults couldn't help but notice that what the children wanted was
peace
.

All the way to the field the streets were filled with children wearing white. Some carried signs with a giant peace symbol. Others were tossing white balloons in the air. Still others were singing. And in the distance, on the field, music was already playing.

None of the meetings had come close to having this many people. There must have been hundreds and hundreds of kids, and Yeny knew that this wasn't the only voting station nearby. Celia had said they were hoping that three hundred thousand young people would vote that day. Yeny hoped that María Cristina got to be one of them.

In the field, tables were set up everywhere, and kids were starting to get in line at each one. Yeny saw some children as young as four or five, and others as old as seventeen. Some looked pretty tough. Some looked as if they came from rich families, and others wore ragged clothes. But everyone was laughing and talking to each other, and for once, the way they looked didn't seem to matter. Face-painters had set up booths in the center, and a clown was juggling oranges. Across the field, a bunch of kids in bright, colorful costumes had gathered to practice a dance. Later there would be skits and songs too. Farther along, in the middle of the crowd, Yeny even saw a television camera.

And then she saw Joaquin. She grinned at him, and she thought she saw the flicker of a smile on his face before he turned away.

The lineup for voting moved fast. The children that Yeny talked to already knew exactly which right they wanted to vote for, and most of them wanted peace. When it was Yeny's turn, she carefully read the colorful ballot. It listed twelve basic children's rights: survival, health, food, education, play, equality, love and family, protection from abuse, expression of opinions, access to information, justice, and peace. Yeny had no trouble making her decision. She put a great big tick mark next to PEACE.

Even the soldiers and other armed groups respected the children's day of peace.

That night, the TV news program talked only about the election, and a government official made an amazing announcement. It wasn't three hundred thousand Colombian children who had voted for their rights—it was 2.7
million
. In every place that had held an election, more than ninety percent of the kids had shown up to vote. And everywhere, children had chosen the right to survival, the right to peace, and the right to love and family as the most important and most abused.

“Can you believe it?” Rocio asked. Her family, Juan's, and Yeny's had crammed into Rocio's little living room to watch the news. And Rocio practically had to shout into Yeny's ear over the racket of everyone's cheering.

“Look at that,” Yeny said. “The official is so amazed by the vote that he's in tears.”