Angel Quintero before his disappearance in 2000 [Photo: Manon Schick]

Article published in the special Newsletter '15 years of PBI', October 2009

Roberto Montoya, volunteer from Spain (2000-9)

In the year 2000 Claudia Monsalve and Ángel Quintero are disappeared.  They were members of the Association of Family Members of the Detained and Disappeared (ASFADDES) in Medellín.

It was 10.00pm on 6 October 2000. Claudia Monsalve said that she was going home. Ángel Quintero stood up to accompany her to the bus. They were meeting with other members of ASFADDES, the Association of Family Members of the Detained and Disappeared, in Medellin. The two of them were searching for their disappeared and disappeared themselves.  We never saw them again.

It was already Saturday. Gradually, as the hours passed, our worst fears became reality.  It was a time of confusion, dashing around, telephone calls, going places, looking in places, asking people, searching. Nothing. They did not appear.

We didn’t know where to find the energy to organise ourselves amidst this tragedy. Fear, horror, despair, tears, unfinished sentences, whispering, silence, not knowing what to do, how to go on. We were in the PBI house with family members from ASFADDES and the families of Ángel and Claudia. We were supporting each other, accompanying each other.  

«Where’s my Daddy? Why isn’t he in PBI?» Ángel’s small son asked us. What could we say? Taking him in our arms and giving him a big hug was all we could think of at the time. We did not want him to see our eyes filled with tears or hear us say the unspeakable.  Relatives, family members from ASFADDES and PBI volunteers were all in the same situation.

We left the house to go to a safe place with family members from ASFADDES, Ángel’s wife, his four daughters and the small boy who would not let go of my hand. In silence. We arrived, we laid out the mattresses on the floor and we tried to sleep. The smallest ones fell asleep straightaway. For the rest of us, even the slightest noise would keep us awake. We were scared. 

«Fleeing and hiding again. How many more times?», asked Ángel’s eldest daughter on the morning of 8th October. Again, we did not know what to say. And again, a hug saved us from having to explain the inexplicable or of giving hope to despair.  

 Days later; packing again, another destination, another location, another place to hide.  In Bogotá; saying goodbye in the airport. Family members from ASFADDES, the small boy holding our hands and Ángel’ silenced wife and daughters, all there.  We cried, we hugged each other, we needed each other.

That was not the last time they packed their bags. Years later they left the country. Six months later: life continued. But some injuries never heal. «I can’t hear, I can’t hear, I’m deaf», and she put her hands over her ears so that she could not hear. At six years of age, Claudia’s daughter used to do the same thing every time somebody mentioned her mother’s name.

Her elder brother was eleven and could not cope with the idea that his mother was absent. For this reason, the information in the media linking more than 2.500 intercepted telephone calls with the disappearance of his mother and Ángel was destroying him1. «For the boy it was like shattering the daily illusion that he retained of seeing her walk through the door. That’s why he cried all the time.  He didn’t want to eat or go out. The news brought him despair, but perhaps it brought him closer to the truth. If there is anyone who has had to endure the harsh reality of forced displacement it has been Claudia’s children. It is like losing her twice over. They lost her when she learnt of the disappearance of Edgar, our younger brother, and they have now lost her again, perhaps for ever», commented another of Claudia’s brothers.

Today, nine years later, we still think of Ángel and Claudia. Their disappearance still makes me sad, it still hurts me.  I still feel those hugs.