“What I remember is every day fucking with the corn, because I like it, it reminds me of the countryside where I come from” … With his voice cracking and his eyes watering, Pedro Delgado sums up what for many is just a job, but for him represents dignity, love and resistance. He arrived displaced from the countryside, without imagining that one day he would walk the halls of the Universidad Industrial de Santander not as a student or as a visitor, but as one of the men who caress the earth with wise hands, gardeners who sow beauty. “I never even had the thought of working here,” he says with a hint of humility, joy and pride, as if he still finds it hard to believe he deserves the place he has earned with sweat and patience.
Pedro’s story is not unique, but it is deeply moving. Like him, gardeners like Jorge, Julio, Jhon Jairo, Oscar, Rafael, Rubiel, Jairo García, Humberto, Vidal, Narciso, Omar, Santos and Gerson, have transformed the green face of the UIS with their hands, hidden under huge hats and caps, wielding pruning shears, hoes, spades, shovels, pruning shears… facing the sun. Their work, often unnoticed, sustains the life that flourishes in every corner of the UIS campus. All of them have a common denominator, they have peasant roots, with strong greetings and with hands that are shackled.
Pedro walks through the bushes like someone who walks through memories. The UIS not only gave him a job: it allowed him to reconnect back to the land, even if it was on different soil. “Displacement brought me here, but thank God I’m fine,” he says as he gently strokes the leaves of a recently pruned bush. His weathered hands, which one day were planted in Carmen de Chucurí, today carefully take care of every corner of a university that flourishes thanks to men like him.
And he is not alone. Jorge Leonardo Barrera remembers how he came to UIS by the vagaries of life, when a neighbor recommended him without telling him his destination. “I had no idea where I was going, he just told me to pass on my résumé… and when I found out I was going here, to UIS, it was a blessing,” he says with a modest smile. Jorge’s love for the countryside, for San Joaquín, Santander, and for his family runs through him. “My path in gardening began practically since I was born. I have always lived in the countryside,” he assures with a firm voice.
For John Jairo Petaluda, a native of the riverbank, gardening came as a surprise: “Thank God we are here and it has been a great help and a blessing,” he says with a serene smile. His profession began out of necessity and became a vocation. Today he works with passion, aware of the value of each pruning, of each leaf collected. “Sometimes people say to him: ‘It was beautiful, it was well done,’ and that is gratifying,” he says humbly.
Julio Enrique Rojas, for his part, learned from his father. “My father was a gardener… since he was a child he used to take us to work in gardening and from there we followed the art,” he says proudly. His legacy is visible in every flower, in every green mantle that adorns the aisles. “The most gratifying thing is to see them beautiful, to see them nice and green, well cared for,” he says as he delicately prunes the plants that surround the lake, in the heart of the central campus.
The day begins before the city wakes up. Scythes, hoses, wheelbarrows, spades, shovels, hoes… “Right now I’m doing a garden, later they call me: Jorge, we’re going to make a meadow over there by the library,” says Jorge. His day-to-day life moves to the rhythm of this routine. “Or we have to look at the bees that have gotten into the classrooms, what solution can we give them,” he adds with a serenity that only years on earth can give.
The earth speaks to them, and they respond. “The tree that I love so much and that hurts me to touch is the saman tree that is at the entrance of Carrera 27, because it is the iconic tree of San Vicente de Chucurí,” says Pedro with an emotional voice. Some tears slide down his cheeks toasted by the sun. That same tree is in the park of his town, in front of the church, and although today he sees it in another context, its symbolic root has not been broken.
But not everything is recognition. Pedro sums it up without embellishment: “The only thing I would ask of the UIS community is that they always keep in mind the value of the gardeners, those of us who are always looking after the bushes”. He refers to that simple gesture of gratitude, of recognizing a job well done, not just when something goes wrong.
Sometimes, the greatest payment is a smile, a kind word. “Sometimes people pass by and say, ‘Wow, that’s nice,’ mostly the ladies. And that fills you up,” Julio says. It fills you up, but it’s not enough. Because the silent work of these men is also a form of resistance. “One has suffered,” Pedro confesses, and that phrase weighs. It weighs like the damp earth after a day in the sun.
There is tenderness and firmness. “The work is not heavy,” says Jorge, “for what you used to do in the field, here the load is lighter. But there is also frustration when they see papers lying inches away from a bin. “In the gardens you find papers, bags… people who don’t put their garbage in the right place when there is a bin,” laments Jorge.
John Jairo complements with a request that goes beyond aesthetics: “There needs to be more awareness among people… you go with your hand and when you feel it, dog poop! This beautiful work also needs respect.” It is a call to take care, also, of those who take care.
Julio reaffirms this with a simple call: “Let’s all help together not to damage the green areas, the gardens… and to keep them clean”. They don’t ask for much, just respect for what they take care of as if it were theirs. Because it is.
The UIS flourishes not only because of the climate, nor because of its modern architecture or its academic programs. It flourishes because of the hands of those who from early morning to midday heat shape its green face. “To feel proud of the work one does, because if we don’t maintain the gardens, the gardens are finished,” Pedro says. And that truth should resonate like a mantra in every corner of the campus.
Oscar Javier Uribe, who maintains the Primero de Marzo Stadium field with precision, also knows this: “It’s very satisfying because it’s almost impossible to get in to work here,” he says. Pride floods him when he remembers the international teams that train on the turf he takes care of: “I feel very happy because they are in the part where you work.
With a firm voice, he leaves a clear message: “Work from the heart and not just for the sake of doing a job”.
Every leaf picked, every root that grows stronger, is an act of love. “I know quite a bit about this joda,” Pedro says with a mixture of humor and pride. Because he has planted all his life, because his hands know the trade… and his heart too.
When evening falls, the gardeners pick up their tools and give the last watering. Silent, but with a soul full of green. They don’t expect applause, but they deserve it.
So the next time you cross one of those blooming gardens, stop for a second. Take a good look. Listen to the song of a bird, feel the perfume of the flowers, step respectfully on the grass. There, among the roots and petals, lives a story of dignity and tenacity. And if you are lucky, you will see Pedro, Jorge, Julio, Oscar, Rafael or Rubiel… caressing the earth as life is caressed: with patience, with pain, with love… They do not only take care of gardens. They take care of memory. They take care of the country… They take care of the green of the UIS.
