The nights before the funeral i couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and prayed. i was so very afraid of what would transpire in the morning. I woke up early the next day and went to buy a stack of phone cards. I blew up my mothers phone...
Hi mom, are you ok? Does your car have tinted windows? oh ok....
Hi again, its me, Lola. Park right in front of the church, ok? In case you need to run or anything.
Hi...how many police are there? Oh good. Let me speak to one...No? ok. Call you later. Love you
Ummm...hi. maybe you should leave the car running. Ok Bye.
She told me it was a simple funeral. He layed in a simple closed casket because he was unrecognizable due to the five shots to the face. Simple women in simple black dresses wailed and screamed and protested the death of their brother, their uncle, their cousin. Fancy police waved fancy guns. Simple men wore simple t shirts displaying his sweet face. They all sported that trademark limp; you know, the one that means that they were taking life and safety into their own hands...quite literally.
They were ready...ready to mourn. Ready to fight. Ready to run. Ready to shoot. Ready to move on. The stage was set for a fair fight. But the coward didn't show. Figures.
So my mom is safe. She still had 3 more days in Trinidad, but she spent them in board rooms and ministry offices, and no where near the bush where evil apparently thrives. Good.
The police tactical force in now permanently stationed in Agostini and Rio Claro, and they claim that they won't leave without Peter, dead or alive. But trinidad is such a small place. It boggles my mind why they haven't found him yet. My mother recieved a call from the ministry of defense, and the local politicians have suddenly jumped all over this story. Probably because its now a feature in all of the big newspapers. Its all a big show.
Well, thank you God. Thank you for keeping them safe.
Read about it here and here.
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