Just a short walk from Bogota's presidential palace lies the city's most infamous and deprived neighbourhood, known among locals as the Bronx. But its notorious reputation doesn't deter the Legion of Affection (Legion del Afecto), a grassroots arts project made up mainly of young displaced men and women, who are there for an "intervention".

Using music, dance and street theatre, the group hopes to recruit new members and bring a glimmer of joy to the Bronx's ignored community.

The area is a haven for homeless drug addicts. On the steps of one dingy staircase a woman smokes crack, while dealers openly sell the cheap drug on street corners. A semi-naked woman contorted in a foetal position lies in a cardboard box in the middle of a street.

At times it's difficult to tell whether the human zombies shuffling along in this grimy, rubbish-filled warren are men or women. There is tension in the air. The Bronx is where hitmen come to unwind or seal a dodgy deal; a place where women turn tricks for $4 a time.

The Legion of Affection resembles a walking circus and it soon attracts attention from curious onlookers as its performers wander through the neighbourhood.

Some members are dressed as clowns and mime artists, while others play the bongo drums and juggle. Girls in traditional outfits dance in the street. Several Bronx residents join in and start dancing in a circle as the beating drums create a carnival atmosphere.

But the presence of the uninvited group also arouses suspicion. A man in a leather jacket, who seems to be the godfather of the Bronx, suddenly appears. "Get these people and their instruments out of here right now," he shouts.

A tense few minutes follow as one of his henchmen asks the group to follow him out of the area. Despite the unfriendly reception, the Legion of Affection persists, getting official permission to return. Later, bearing snacks and litres of fizzy orange, they get a warm welcome.

RISING DISPLACEMENT

Around 70 percent of the Legion's 900 members come from displaced families. They live mainly in the capital's overcrowded hill-top southern fringes, where most displaced families fleeing violence stoked by Colombia's 45-year armed conflict end up settling.

Bogota receives more displaced people than any other city in Colombia. The Human Rights and Displacement Consultancy (CODHES), a local non-governmental organisation (NGO), estimates that over 40,000 uprooted people arrived in Bogota last year, around 40 percent more than in 2007.

That's some 1,080 displaced people descending on the capital every day. The crisis is getting worse.

"Internal displacement of civilians has been steadily rising in recent years — in 2008 the number of people affected may have reached its highest level in decades," states the latest Human Rights Watch Report on Colombia.

NGOs put the total number of Colombia's displaced at between three and four million, while the government estimates the figure to be around 1.7 million.

Joe Viuche, a member of the Legion of Affection and a 22-year-old father of two boys, came to Bogota seven years ago. His family left their small farm in Tolima province, about a four-hour bus ride from Bogota, following the murder of his uncle. He doesn't know why his uncle was killed by the guerrilla group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), but the family decided it was unsafe to stay in their home village.

It's an all too familiar story. Many displaced people seek refuge in Colombia's main cities after being forced to leave their homes in the countryside because of threats or killings carried out by FARC rebels in their local community.

Increasingly, the emergence of new criminal gangs linked to drug trafficking cartels and right-wing paramilitary groups is another major factor in the growing number of displaced people, CODHES says.

ESCAPE FROM GANG LIFE

Soon after arriving in Bogota, Joe's father kicked him out after a heated argument and he spent several years on the street. He joined a local gang, and "robbed people in order to eat", he says.

One day, by chance, he came across the Legion of Affection performing in his local neighourhood. "I liked the music, they had positive energy, and they looked like they would understand my life and where I was coming from," says Joe.

He was willing to join because there were no government or army officials involved, so he "didn't have to explain anything to anybody".

Since joining the project a year ago, gang life has become a thing of the past and Joe has learnt capoeira, a Brazilian martial art. "It's better than smoking weed all day," he says. "I feel better doing something that's healthy for my body."

The Legion of Affection, set up four years ago with funding from the Colombian government and the United Nations, is one of the few sustainable projects in Colombia that pays displaced people with minimal schooling and job skills a monthly wage for part-time community work.

Most participants receive around $160 a month, slightly less than the minimum monthly wage. "It's amazing to get paid for something you enjoy doing and that entertains people too," says Joe.

The project is based on the concept that paying participants for community work will steer them away from crimes like prostitution and drug dealing, which are common among young displaced people with few opportunities.

Project members must organise at least three activities a month, including dance and music performances, street-cleaning, arranging community meals and tending allotments. This work helps build community ties and networks, and promotes leadership skills.

Last year, the Legion of Affection organised 320 activities that reached 200,000 people, many living in isolated and conflict-ridden areas across Colombia.

"The project instills a sense of pride and self-worth among young displaced men and women for whom formal education and training schemes have failed," says Maria Bonilla, a local journalist who works with the group.

The project's flexible timetable allows participants to attend night school and supplement their income with other part-time work.

For Joe, the Legion of Affection is a lifeline. "Reality becomes easier when there's something constructive to do and when I can help support my kids," he says.

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