As the Director and Editor-in-chief of Colombia’s English language newspaper, The City Paper, I take my journalistic ethics very seriously. I also worked as a photojournalist for the Black Star photo agency in New York for 10 years, covering conflict in Colombia and Angola, photo essays across Asia and South and Central America.
I have had the honor of having my work published in prestigious publications such as TIME, Der Spiegel, Stern, Marie Claire, The New York Times and many others. I do not manipulate my images.
On Sunday, April 12, I stepped out onto my balcony, which faces East, and is located in the Rosales neighborhood of Bogotá. As is a bad habit, I enjoy a morning coffee with a cigarette. It was a grey, Sunday morning, the streets were empty, and washed with a light drizzle from the night, which had passed. As I looked up and beyond the red walls of my barrio, I saw a black round object rise vertically into the sky, from behind a ridge of the Cerros Orientales. At a possible distance of 5 kms, the shape was rounded and appeared like a spot against the uniformity of grey, which was blanketing this capital of eight million.
As a frustrated commercial airline pilot, I know my planes. Up close and at great distances. I know how to distinguish the sound of an Airbus A 340 to a Boeing 777. I have studied flight maps, flight routes and flightaware.
I understand these machines. I admire them. There was no fuselage, no winglets, no sound. This was no plane.
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