A television wrecked by a bullet, a shirt abandoned on a hammock, pots resting on a stovetop: They're among the belongings that Mexican villagers left behind after gunmen stormed their hamlet.
Most of the wood and thatch roof homes in Quetzalcoatlan have remained empty since the January 6 assault on the community, located in a mountain region of southern Guerrero state where opium poppies and marijuana grow in abundance.
Dozens of residents fled in pickup trucks through isolated, rough terrain to find refuge in Zitlala, the nearest town, where they hid in a tiny shelter.
They joined the ranks of Mexico's internally displaced, victims of a tragedy that most often strikes nations at war. But in Mexico, and neighboring Central America, gang violence is what's forcing people from their homes.
The government lacks official figures, an omission that the National Human Rights Commission criticized last month, lamenting that the issue was not part of the public agenda.
The commission documented nearly 1,800 cases, though it said the true figure could exceed 35,000.
But the problem could be even bigger. The Geneva-based Internal Displacement Monitoring Center says 287,000 Mexicans have been displaced by violence, including 6,000 in 2015 alone.
- 'Too scared' -
Salomon Lara, a 61-year-old farmer, recalled the day that "several men with 'cuernos' (AK-47 assault rifles)" arrived and "without uttering a word, killed six (men)."
Lara lost two brothers and his 23-year-old son in the attack. But he's among the few residents who decided to return to their humble homes.
Eleven villagers have remained at the refuge in Zitlala, where they sleep on thin mattresses on the floor of the same room, while others fled elsewhere.
Police guard the shelter and villagers can't venture out on their own. Only one mustered the courage to speak to AFP reporters, briefly.
"I don't want to talk about this, please. I'm too scared," said Maria Isabel, who saw her husband -- Lara's brother -- die at the entrance of their home made of wood and a thatch roof.
Most of the village's 47 ramshackle homes remain empty. The church has no priest or pews. Children have no school because teachers are too afraid to travel the inhospitable road.
Residents believe the assailants came from a dangerous, neighboring village. The motive is under investigation, but villagers say they don't know why they were attacked.
The gunmen "said they would come back and kill us," Lara said. "We're afraid."
Manuel Olivares, an activist at the Guerrerense Network of Human Rights Organizations, said gangs in Guerrero seek to forcefully recruit people as hitmen, make them pay a protection tax, or plant opium poppies.
"The pattern of these displacements have been the same: Assaults, actions by organized crime groups against the population," he said. "The reasons vary, but it always has to do with organized crime wanting to expand its territory or fighting over it with others."
Quetzalcoatlan lost "everything," including corn fields, goats, pigs and chickens, Lara said.
Amado Lara, the town's leader, who is not related to Salomon, said the government has not fulfilled promises to help improve conditions.
"They said that if we returned, they would fix our roads and pipes, because there's no water here. You have to go down to the river and it's very isolated," Amado Lara said.
"Sometimes there are only three or four state police officers patrolling the village," he said.
Each night in the homes of the victims, relatives light candles in makeshift shrines with flowers.
Salomon Lara makes the sign of the cross in front of his son's altar.
"They shot him three times. He didn't die, so they came back and slit his neck," said the father.
He wants to form a community self-defense force, like the ones created in the municipality of Ayutla de los Libres in 2013 to combat organized crime gangs.
- Murdered at age 7 -
Ayutla is now home to some 100 people who fled Coyuca de Catalan after gunmen opened fire indiscriminately on their town in 2011 and set homes on fire. The gang wanted to illegally log trees and plant drugs.
Edith, a 25-year-old woman who declined to give her last name for security reasons, saw her father and seven-year-old nephew get shot dead.
The child was fleeing along with his mother when the attack started.
"They made the boy kneel and told him, 'if you know how to pray, pray, because you're going to die,'" she recalled as she mixed tomatoes and chilis. "Then they shot him in the head in front of his mother," who was also killed.
Edith now lives in a wooden house on the outskirts of Ayutla, where she raises ducks and pigs. She's expecting her second child, and plans to name him Reinaldo, like her late nephew.
Many others took refuge in slum-like homes outside Ayutla.
Elvira Valerio, who lives in a mud house, clings to pictures of the life she left behind in Coyuca. Her husband was wounded in the attack, leaving him three bullet scars.
"I never want to return," said the 45-year-old woman, tired of waking up from recurring nightmares.
"In a dream, I walk far, I see the animals that I raised, and the house that I miss," she said. "I dream about my dead brother-in-law who tells me that we should come with him. And it scares me."
A television wrecked by a bullet, a shirt abandoned on a hammock, pots resting on a stovetop: They’re among the belongings that Mexican villagers left behind after gunmen stormed their hamlet.
Most of the wood and thatch roof homes in Quetzalcoatlan have remained empty since the January 6 assault on the community, located in a mountain region of southern Guerrero state where opium poppies and marijuana grow in abundance.
Dozens of residents fled in pickup trucks through isolated, rough terrain to find refuge in Zitlala, the nearest town, where they hid in a tiny shelter.
They joined the ranks of Mexico’s internally displaced, victims of a tragedy that most often strikes nations at war. But in Mexico, and neighboring Central America, gang violence is what’s forcing people from their homes.
The government lacks official figures, an omission that the National Human Rights Commission criticized last month, lamenting that the issue was not part of the public agenda.
The commission documented nearly 1,800 cases, though it said the true figure could exceed 35,000.
But the problem could be even bigger. The Geneva-based Internal Displacement Monitoring Center says 287,000 Mexicans have been displaced by violence, including 6,000 in 2015 alone.
– ‘Too scared’ –
Salomon Lara, a 61-year-old farmer, recalled the day that “several men with ‘cuernos’ (AK-47 assault rifles)” arrived and “without uttering a word, killed six (men).”
Lara lost two brothers and his 23-year-old son in the attack. But he’s among the few residents who decided to return to their humble homes.
Eleven villagers have remained at the refuge in Zitlala, where they sleep on thin mattresses on the floor of the same room, while others fled elsewhere.
Police guard the shelter and villagers can’t venture out on their own. Only one mustered the courage to speak to AFP reporters, briefly.
“I don’t want to talk about this, please. I’m too scared,” said Maria Isabel, who saw her husband — Lara’s brother — die at the entrance of their home made of wood and a thatch roof.
Most of the village’s 47 ramshackle homes remain empty. The church has no priest or pews. Children have no school because teachers are too afraid to travel the inhospitable road.
Residents believe the assailants came from a dangerous, neighboring village. The motive is under investigation, but villagers say they don’t know why they were attacked.
The gunmen “said they would come back and kill us,” Lara said. “We’re afraid.”
Manuel Olivares, an activist at the Guerrerense Network of Human Rights Organizations, said gangs in Guerrero seek to forcefully recruit people as hitmen, make them pay a protection tax, or plant opium poppies.
“The pattern of these displacements have been the same: Assaults, actions by organized crime groups against the population,” he said. “The reasons vary, but it always has to do with organized crime wanting to expand its territory or fighting over it with others.”
Quetzalcoatlan lost “everything,” including corn fields, goats, pigs and chickens, Lara said.
Amado Lara, the town’s leader, who is not related to Salomon, said the government has not fulfilled promises to help improve conditions.
“They said that if we returned, they would fix our roads and pipes, because there’s no water here. You have to go down to the river and it’s very isolated,” Amado Lara said.
“Sometimes there are only three or four state police officers patrolling the village,” he said.
Each night in the homes of the victims, relatives light candles in makeshift shrines with flowers.
Salomon Lara makes the sign of the cross in front of his son’s altar.
“They shot him three times. He didn’t die, so they came back and slit his neck,” said the father.
He wants to form a community self-defense force, like the ones created in the municipality of Ayutla de los Libres in 2013 to combat organized crime gangs.
– Murdered at age 7 –
Ayutla is now home to some 100 people who fled Coyuca de Catalan after gunmen opened fire indiscriminately on their town in 2011 and set homes on fire. The gang wanted to illegally log trees and plant drugs.
Edith, a 25-year-old woman who declined to give her last name for security reasons, saw her father and seven-year-old nephew get shot dead.
The child was fleeing along with his mother when the attack started.
“They made the boy kneel and told him, ‘if you know how to pray, pray, because you’re going to die,'” she recalled as she mixed tomatoes and chilis. “Then they shot him in the head in front of his mother,” who was also killed.
Edith now lives in a wooden house on the outskirts of Ayutla, where she raises ducks and pigs. She’s expecting her second child, and plans to name him Reinaldo, like her late nephew.
Many others took refuge in slum-like homes outside Ayutla.
Elvira Valerio, who lives in a mud house, clings to pictures of the life she left behind in Coyuca. Her husband was wounded in the attack, leaving him three bullet scars.
“I never want to return,” said the 45-year-old woman, tired of waking up from recurring nightmares.
“In a dream, I walk far, I see the animals that I raised, and the house that I miss,” she said. “I dream about my dead brother-in-law who tells me that we should come with him. And it scares me.”
