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“We didn´t know what it meant”- he said- “they didn´t explain it to us”. William was sitting next to me at the beach. It was a Thursday and in “the locals’ part of the island”, as our taxi driver had described San Luis, the beach was rather empty. A couple was snorkelling, a Colombian family was loudly chatting a bit further away and two local kids ran around playing. I had come to talk to William because I wanted to rent a beach tent from him, and while I was there I had offered him a mate. Born and raised in Argentina, I knew it always sparks good conversations. William had identified himself as a raizal, the local ethnic group, and had tried to teach me some words in creole. Language was important for him: “Our kids learn in Spanish at school, the mass services are in Spanish. We are a minority in our own island”. His face didn’t look sad, nor angry: it was just blank, and- I felt- full of wisdom. I had immediately warmed to him. He was a quiet, soft- spoken man. When he talked, he kept his eyes always on the sea. “We didn´t know what it meant”- he repeated. He was explaining to me how much the local way of living was transformed after San Andrés was declared a free port -in 1953. “We used to grow and export coconuts. This beach used to be wide and full of palm trees”- he said, pointing at the now narrow, treeless space. “When tourists came, we would just give them coconuts as a welcoming. That’s just how we raizales are, we share everything”. He stirred the mate and took the straw out. He was doing every single thing you are not supposed to do with it, but it didn´t matter: what he was saying did. “But then we realized that it didn´t worked like that. First they took sand from the beach to make constructions. Now they want to take our houses from us, to make tourists resorts”. They were uprooting palm trees and people equally. I touched my hair nervously, not sure what to say. I myself was there as a tourist, and although I refused to do the manta rays tour for ethical reasons, I had been at the aquarium the day before. I had seen people feeding the fishes at what was supposed to be a “natural aquarium” and walking over what used to be corals. But how would be the best way to support them? We -tourists- were damaging the environment and endangering their culture by going there, but at the same time, William and many others wouldn´t have a job if we weren´t there to rent beach chairs and tents and take snail- blowing lessons. I was lost on these thoughts, still unsure about how to respond, when a big, white, fancy Colombian lady interrupted. I had seen her before as she was staying in a big, white, fancy house, right next to where we were sitting. She didn´t come close, but asked loudly: - Would you lend me some of these sticks? Come on, be kind- she said, pointing at the wooden sticks William had collected to make the tents with. She was holding a bed sheet, that intended to use to make her own shelter. I looked at her in disbelief, astonished by her complete disregard for William’s work. All the problems he had been telling me about were condensed in that one moment. The absurdity of the situation made me feel I felt I was immerse in a Foster Wallace story. Silently, expressionless, William just nodded and handled her the sticks.