The dead's path

by Katerin Carolina Quispe Limachi (Bolivia)

I didn't expect to find Bolivia

We felt the minibus (small bus) stagger on every narrow road, it felt the stones compact with the steel of the minubis, the ground was mazamorra, the mist was not a strange thing this time,I heard a woman cough hard behind the Minibus. I disguised turn my head my father was after us taking a nap next to the woman I carraspeo, my mother was on my side, not just the three, but my uncle and my paternal granny who couldn't fit in the minubus we were They took a car behind us that will also travel a band to sing.Sneakily I turned my head,my father was after us taking a nap next to the woman who coughed, my mother was at my side,not only did the three of us travel, but my uncle and my paternal grandmother who did not fit in the minibus that we were,they took a car that was behind us that also They were traveling a band. My mother was very uneasy plus my father carried a crucifix on his chest And my mother a Bible in her lap, all this they did because we would go through the narrowest road, "the path of death", my parents they requested their deities Protection on the trip. In the car there were two drivers who were sweating more than a surgical intervention,every moment they change to drive until the minibus stopped and only the engine noise remained, we all knew something bad happened but that was not the situation, I observed and saw that my mother had fallen asleep and my father still did and I saw a lot of fog ahead of the windshield. "What do we do?, Che! Go to see the best Gutierrez road" the driver started talking to the other driver who was next to him. He left and disappeared through the mist. "old! To the right Tata!" Indicated the other driver who was outside the minibus. Through my window I observed that we were on the banks very close to the precipice, the car took a mild of movement made the right and crossed that curve successfully and instantly I heard a very scary and chilling sound and I turned my head quickly behind the minibus and everyone did too and one opened the door and Everyone went out to see what was happening And the car had entered the cliff, this was not something weird it was typical in Yungas. On the course of the road you could only hear the silence wandering no one commented on what was seen,night was coming, the car had left us right in Coroico,my mother was holding my hand and suddenly my father's cell phone went off because of the low battery, we were not yet complete in the musicians car, my uncle and my grandmother were not here;we observe the hills full of a greenish mantle which was not lonely at that stop, they say that there are very beautiful animals but also animals never seen and will never see it because it is down the precipice, one day my father saw a deer run through those hills to disappear below the precipice without any fear.Suddenly the last minibus arrived and my uncle descended from car. "I could not do anything for the mamita,the mamita fell to the precipice with the musicians and surely she died,"said my uncle crying and agitated and my father I can't speak with immense surprise. The next afternoon we saw how some women they collected coca together with my father and my mother, me and my uncle supported, until my father turned around and hugged someone strongly and that someone was his father who abandoned him long ago and my father hugged him crying, my grandfather did not understand until my uncle told him and cried how little he could. My grandfather may never apologize to my grandmother, nor will she see him again, but my father did it as my grandmother Martina's last request that she never returned home, it would have been beautiful that on our first trip Martina know Coroico ...