Until Payoff We Part
“I don’t pay ransom,” my husband states matter-of-factly a few days before my older son and I leave for Colombia. Crazy send-off for someone you legally care for. Even crazier is that I had a hunch this would be his position. He’s a women and children first kind of guy; he just doesn’t like to be had. So I factored in his stance when agreeing to join a group soccer tournament in Manizales, Colombia.
The country currently has a Level 4 travel advisory—a reflection of their still-high COVID infection rate and relatively low vaccination rollout and/or the continuous political unrest. This highest U.S. State Department advisory level does not mean “Exercise Increased Caution” (Level 2) or “Reconsider Travel” (Level 3). No, it means: Stay the hell home! Furthermore, it states, the U.S. government may have “very limited ability to provide assistance during an emergency.” Sounds like my husband and the United States are united in their approach.
Please understand that I am not a risk taker and grew up more phobic than fearless, feeling continuously immortal and never invincible. I wore seatbelts in taxi cabs and buses before that was cool and sunscreen on cloudy days before refraction was widely understood. I don’t find risk exhilarating, so why am I taking this trip? Because overriding the uncertainty in my gut is a sense of what a unique opportunity it is for my son to travel with a purpose, not just to compete in the international sport he loves and breathes, but to engage charitably with the local community and culture. However, it’s also possible that this is driven by genes. One winter break as a child my dad accidentally took us to Guatemala during an active civil war. Another time we travelled to Egypt during a period of heightened Middle East conflict when I was experiencing a fourth recurrence of strep. Maybe my comfort zone is the uncomfortable. I do like the feeling of triumphing over fear.
In light of my son’s and my hypothetical lack of ransom capital, before we leave I proactively move money around in my accounts, should we need to easily access them. Well I don’t really do that, but I think about it and would like to tell my husband that I did so as to come across as a wife who—when literally under the gun—is independent and fiscally responsible. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to set up a PenaltyKicktarter campaign or a PleaseFundUs.
We’ve been in Colombia only twelve hours, but I’m falling in love pretty quickly—the steep, terraced mountains and tropical beauty; the fact that their national soccer team brought their best and only lost by one penalty kick in the COPA America semi-final against Argentina but fans shrugged it off with some merengue music and another Club Colombia; how they serve carbs I can eat, like plantains, corn cakes and potatoes. I’m finally relaxing, not just because I am honored to be here for eight days, but because kidnapping is no longer sounding so bad.