June is 31 and comes from Newcastle.  She worked on the Colombia team with PBI in 2006, and is currently working on a project for Amnesty International in a different region, but still keeps up to date with progress in Colombia.  Previously, she studied Spanish and Russian at university, and was active in grass-roots activist groups from a young age.

I was involved in local activist groups in the UK for many years, campaigning on anti-arms trade issues, environmental concerns and human rights. Just before going to Colombia I was working with Barnardo’s as a play and youth worker in a neighbourhood centre and volunteering with a local refugee support group, visiting asylum seekers to help them with their English and also just to help them feel less isolated. I studied Spanish and Russian at university and as part of my degree I spent six months accompanying returnee refugees in Guatemala in 1996, just before the Peace Accords were signed there. At that point Guatemala had Latin America’s longest-running internal armed conflict – an unhappy distinction now claimed by Colombia. It really opened my eyes and made me want to do something like that again in the future. I loved the idea of providing a presence that allowed human rights activists and civil society groups to make their voices heard, not imposing views from outside, recognising that a true transformation of society would only come from within.

I think the best part about volunteering is the friendships you make and the memories you take home. I learned such a lot while I was in Colombia, and met such amazing people. I’d recommend PBI 110%. It can be hard, intense, exhausting, frustrating, but it can also be one of the most amazing experiences of your life. You’ll be living and working in a group the whole time, so be prepared for little (if any!) personal space, but at the same time expect to make some good friends and remember what a privilege it is to accompany people working to make a real change in their societies, and risking everything to do so. There’s nowhere I’d rather have been.

A typical day in PBI is not easy to describe: there isn’t one! The work varies hugely depending on which of PBI Colombia’s four teams you’re working with, and even then there are always elements of the unpredictable to make you think on your feet. In the Urabá team, you either work in the office or out in one of the rural communities we accompany. In the office you start the day with a team meeting (all decisions are taken by consensus, so that’s how we divide up the day’s work), and then spend the rest of the day either answering emails, arranging meetings with the local military or civilian authorities and communicating with colleagues in the field to make sure everything is peaceful. When there’s a trip to plan, there are a lot of phone calls to make, checking that there are no military operations in the area, that it seems safe enough to travel, and then alerting the authorities of our route so they know exactly where we’re going to be.

In the communities, life is completely different. You usually wake up at around 6am, when everyone else walks past your wooden house shouting “Good morning!" on their way to work in the fields. It’s really hot by about 9am, so everything moves a bit slower – you might spend time visiting community members, washing clothes in the river, playing with the children, or having a meeting with the community leaders to make sure their security situation remains stable. We call back to the office every night on a satellite phone, to let them know that everything’s quiet.

It can be hard to get used to at first – obviously the climate and language are different, and the political situation too. It’s really difficult to accept that the people you’re accompanying are living in situations of such high risk, and it can be really hard work on an emotional level. Colombia is an extremely dangerous place to be a human rights defender, and the people we accompany are incredibly brave, because they know the risks and carry on anyway.

There are so many moments that stick in my mind; just everyday things like drinking coffee with one of the grandmothers in one of the communities and having a laugh, or watching the sun go down over the river as we head home in the speed boat.

But the sad moments are all too plentiful too. I remember accompanying community members from the San José Peace Community to the 3-month commemoration of the massacre which took place on 21st February 2005. It took us seven hours to get to the house, by mule and on foot, climbing higher and higher through the trees until we finally reached the little wooden house where three months earlier a family had been murdered. When I got there it was impossible not to be struck by how beautiful the place was – perched high up in the mountains, flowers still growing in old tin pans in the crooks of trees - but this was where three adults and two children, aged 6 years and 18 months old, had been killed, and the signs were still there. All of the furniture was tipped upside down in the house, and clothing lay outside trampled into the mud. A child’s shoe lay on the front porch, and there was the baby’s cot, empty.

(June’s note: The Colombian authorities have finally announced, two years on, that they’re investigating 69 individuals – including officials at different levels as well as soldiers - for their alleged involvement in the massacre, but this was swiftly followed by news that the prosecutor in charge of the case had resigned, prompting fears for the progress of the case.)

It can be really hard at moments like that, but at the same time you know you’re making a difference. Your presence is allowing people to claim back their memories and their history, and to demand justice. That’s the key to international accompaniment; lending your presence so people can stand up and demand that their rights be respected.

I don’t feel like my outlook was radically changed – I knew what I believed in before I went out – it’s more that now I have real-life experience of seeing things with my own eyes. It makes you want to do everything you can once you get back home to tell people about it, to try and gather more support for the people you’ve spent your time accompanying.

It can be hard coming home, because it’s such an intense experience, and because lots of what you’ve seen doesn’t make for casual pub conversation…but at the same time it’s really nice to see friends and family again. I guess it’s a long process of re-integration, so you have to be prepared for it, and just take it gently and remember to go easy on yourself for a while.