Picture a red jeep bumping up and down a longish, straight, red dirt road in rural Colombia and, coming from the opposite direction, one lone motorcyclist. The two vehicles draw near and stop. “Amigo, we have problems,” says the motorcyclist to the jeep driver, “they’re fumigating.”
“Where?” He gestures back in the direction the jeep has come from. “Two planes.” That was all that was said. Nothing else required. The motorcyclist sped off to do whatever you do when you’re faced with such a terrifying prospect: planes spraying your home, land and loved ones – or the home, land and loved ones of someone you know – with a cocktail of chemicals including glyphosate.