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By Jana DeBusk
When I told my mother I was going to Colombia, she started screaming. My grandmother started crying. Every family member I had, spread out over the Indiana cornfields, was terrified. Me? I just smiled. I was about to embark on my most dangerous expedition yet. France and Italy are child's play next to this cocaine-filled, guerrilla war zone, where young American girls like me get kidnapped by gun-wielding masked men. Or, at least, this is what my family tho...
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