Los Desplazados:

Ciro: Finishing Time

Ranchers displaced to the city, like 43-year-old Ciro, quickly learn that high-school diploma is a valuable asset when looking for well-paying work. Photo: Miguel Samper for Mercy Corps

Malambo, Colombia — Educational credentials meant little to Ciro Barbosa as a boy growing up in Cesar, a region in northeastern Colombia that's rich in cotton, rice and cattle. He stopped going to school at age 12 to work full-time herding cows on his uncle's 1,000-acre ranch. "I didn't have to know about anything besides numbers and how to make a profit," says the shy 43-year-old.

That all changed when Colombia's political turmoil swept through his uncle's sleepy pueblo in 1995. Paramilitaries, ostensibly engaged in a war against left-wing guerillas, killed two of Ciro's brothers and stole 340 head of cattle from the ranch — which was then under his charge. The outlaws threatened him, too — probably because, as Ciro says, he belonged to an association of local farmers who banded together to defend their lands.

So he fled with his wife and four kids, joining the ranks of Colombia's desplazados that have today swelled to at least three million, according to government estimates. (A leading Colombian human-rights group puts the figure at nearly four million.) Eventually, they landed in this suburb of Barranquilla, a sun-scorched port city that is Colombia's fourth largest.

The family moved in with a distant relative and Ciro found work as a sidewalk ice-cream vendor. It was hardly enough to support his family, but he had little choice: Barranquilla's economy revolves around big-city industries such as chemical and pharmaceutical manufacturing, not cows. Without so much as a high-school education, Ciro's job prospects were dim.

Today, Ciro's prospects for work look a whole lot brighter. He is among 80 adults earning their high-school equivalency diplomas in a Mercy Corps-supported program to boost employment opportunities for Barranquilla's desplazados. The 18-month program relies on a customized curriculum that blends traditional coursework with skills applicable to the local job market, including self-employment opportunities. It's open to adults and adolescents regardless of age or years away from school, and is administered by Mercy Corps' local partner, Funprofes, in conjunction with Barranquilla's educational district.

Bernando Cuero, who heads up Malambo's association of displaced persons, says desplazados are discriminated against in schools and workplaces. Jobs, housing and healthcare top the community's needs, he says. "We need psychological support, too. Many of us are frozen with fear." Photo: Miguel Samper for Mercy Corps

Program officials say Ciro is at the head of his class — he's bright, never late and always eager to learn. He looks the part, wearing large eyeglasses that accentuate his angular face and gangly frame. He speaks softly but excitedly, jabbering about school as giddily as a kindergartener after the first day of class.

One learns quickly that mathematics is his favorite subject, that he can read a lot better than when the program began last November, and that he is very proud of his newfound literacy. "Well, at least I can write my name," he adds with a laugh.

Ciro's goal is to finish his diploma and register at Colombia's free technical college, where he hopes to turn his sandal-making hobby into a trade and, eventually, to fulfill a lifelong aspiration to become a veterinarian.

"I'm a dreamer," he whispers. "Veterinarians earn a good salary, and I've thought about becoming one many times. Even though I always had other work, I still dreamt of this."

To get there, Ciro hops a bus every Saturday morning — the round-trip fare is 1,300 pesos, about 60 cents — then walks another 30 minutes to school. Classes start at 8 a.m. and don't finish until 4 p.m. During the week he completes an hour or so of homework, found in the softbound workbook specially designed for the class.

Ciro sees his degree as a first step to improving his family's finances — and catching up to the rest of his family. His wife is now a grade-school history teacher, and his eldest daughter, who was only 11 when they fled the ranch, is finishing her degree as a physical therapist. Ciro hopes she can soon support the family financially.

With security in Cesar still dicey, and no knowledge of what happened to his family's lands, Ciro's future is here is Barranquilla. Like most other desplazados, he doesn't want to look back. Moving forward is the only option.

"Eventually I want my own business," he says, "and with this degree I'll get the knowledge and ability to do it."