Living in the south of Tolima at over 42 degrees Celsius, without enough water and in the middle of forest fires

-Tell the others to move their motorcycles and stay away from the houses, because this thing is burning again," was the message Sheila Bustos wanted to send to her friends in the Tamirco indigenous reserve, in the mountains of Natagaima, in southern Tolima, on the afternoon of the second Saturday of September.

A fire that started five days earlier had spread with unprecedented speed. She and twenty other volunteers, including indigenous Pijaos and farmers, had tried to extinguish dozens of hot spots. But strong winds from the southeast and relentless heat reactivated several of them.

Around noon, they crossed a sort of hillside of large, sharp rocks and dry grass near Bateas Creek. As they quickened their pace, something stopped them, and in a matter of seconds their lives were snuffed out. Sheila raised her head to the left and a flare taller than her, about six feet, gained strength and overtook her. Her first reaction was to turn around, but she had no room to maneuver. More branches were burning on the other side and the flames were spreading relentlessly.

-The only thing we could do was gather as much as we could. We waited for exactly six minutes, the longest I have ever felt in my life," says the 25-year-old environmental engineer, her voice hoarse from the smoke she inhaled that week.

Two days ago, officials said at least 12,000 hectares had been burned. The authorities described it as a 'mega-fire', which has now been brought under control and is believed to have been caused by humans, although this is still under investigation. The mayor's office said it could have been caused by so-called 'controlled burns', which occur mainly in the highlands - a practice from the past that was carried out before planting orchards or burning waste.

While Sheila was trapped in the flames, a few metres to the north in the resguardo, the indigenous governor, Emilia Yaima, told the elderly and children to leave the area because the fire was still growing.

-Of the 236 hectares of the resguardo, 200 have been razed to the ground. The animals and nature have suffered the most; this rich land that gave us everything is dead,' says the woman.

This has been a constant cry, repeated like an echo that never stops. The governor of Tolima, Adriana Magali Matiz, echoed it, saying that 'the environmental impact is devastating'. The departmental authorities told a press conference that animals such as armadillos, foxes and birds had been seen fleeing the flames.

The gruesome scene was repeated in the neighbouring department. In Huila, the Corporación Autónoma Regional del Alto Magdalena (CAM) reported last week that it had treated at least six species for burns: a woolly opossum, a tamandua, a wild rabbit, a squirrel, a marmosa and a sparrow hawk, rescued from other fires in Aipe, where 3,600 hectares were burnt.

-It is like living in hell. Even here we can feel the smoke,' says a girl from the village of Mesas de San Juan, in the municipality of Coyaima, 39 kilometres from the fire.

The ravages of drought and flames make it look like a scene from one of Dante's seven hells. The region is one of the hardest hit by extreme heat and forest fires. According to Ideam, Natagaima was one of five municipalities with temperatures exceeding historical records for this time of year, reaching 42.2 degrees Celsius last week. It was followed by Saldaña with 41.6, Prado with 41.4 and Armero with 41. Villavieja, in Huila, the gateway to the Tatacoa desert, also made the list with 40.4 degrees Celsius.

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The streets of Natagaima are littered with ash. We've got used to the smoke,' says Yesmith Yate, a local woman. There was a virus that gave my grandparents diarrhoea and stomach problems, maybe because of the unbearable heat'. To the east of the community, very close to her father's house, you can see the wet sandy beaches that mark the descent of the Magdalena River. There have always been high temperatures here, but what we are experiencing is something strange, different and worrying. Nature is speaking,' he continues.

When the clock strikes two in the afternoon, very few people are seen on the streets. Only those who work as domestic servants or have to travel for emergencies are out and about, protecting themselves with hats, ponchos and long-sleeved shirts. The wind chill and the sun's rays keep everyone indoors. There are times when not even the wind is blowing, animals panting for space on the cold concrete floors and children trying to cool off by dipping their heads in the little water they collect with empty totumas from the pools in the courtyards.

-At least they have water,' says Luisa Lozano, the peasant mother of the girl from Mesas de San Juan.

In the countryside, as in many parts of the country, the reality is different. The drought is an ordeal. Grandparents in the area say it used to rain every twelve to fifteen days in this month of the year. But all that has changed. Not a drop of water has fallen in over a month. The grasslands are burnt, the children look thin and several animals have died. -We are all suffering. Children from the most remote villages have to go to school with thermos flasks half full of the little water they have to stay hydrated throughout the day, because there is often no water at school,' says Luisa.

There are no water tankers in these areas. Families have to rely on old cisterns, some 30 metres deep, or 100-metre deep wells to store some water for use.

-The animals, ecosystems and agriculture are also worrying. There is no way to feed them here because the pastures are dry, many trees are dying or have been burnt by the fires and the vegetation is no longer lush,' she adds.

Pueden ir a Purificación o Natagaima para conseguir agua y alimentos procesados, pero tienen que pagar sumas de dinero que estas familias de bajos ingresos no suelen tener. -La mayoría tienen más de 70 años y no pueden movilizarse con facilidad, por lo que les es difícil ir a los pueblos a comprar comida. Lo poco que consiguen se lo dan los vecinos o los parientes que vienen de visita. La economía también es difícil porque hay casas con pocos animales que están desnutridos», dice Estiven Yate, que vive en la zona.

The echoing cries of these people, from the fire zones to the burnt fields, all agree on one point: social and environmental aid is needed. In the words of the indigenous governor, Emilia Yaima: 'Everyone should protect those of us who protect and care for the land'.

DAVID ALEJANDRO LÓPEZ BERMÚDEZ

Journalist of Multimedia Contents

@lopez03david