Columbia Cocaine wars

The air in Medellín carried a smell I'll never forget — a strange mixture of diesel fumes, fried arepas, and gunpowder that lingered long after the last bullet casing hit the cracked pavement. I arrived just before dawn, when the sky was bruised purple and gray above the mountains, a colour that mirrored the city's soul. A taxi driver with sharp eyes and a trembling hand offered me a ride from Jos...