One year on since four children were disappeared by Ecuador’s military: ‘They ripped out my soul’

In Las Malvinas, a cramped and forgotten neighborhood in the Ecuadorian city of Guayaquil, time has stood still since December 8. Since then, locals have talked about only one topic, a litany they repeat as if saying the names could bring them back: Nehemías, Steven, Ismael, and Josué.

That Sunday, a year ago, the four set out with a group of 10 other children and teenagers toward some sports fields about a 20-minute walk away — maybe less for them, always rushing to arrive first, to claim the patch of grass where they felt invincible. They walked, ran, pushed each other, stole the ball, and played as if nothing bad could touch them. It was the last time the neighborhood saw them alive. The next time they saw the boys, they were lying in coffins as their loved ones wailed for their loss.

A year later, this Monday, the residents of Las Malvinas took to the streets in a procession, retracing the path the children had taken before being captured by a military patrol and subsequently disappeared. Only days later, after relentless pressure from the parents, their charred bodies were found near the Taura military base.

The gathering was organized in the community hall, where the rhythm of the bombo, cununo, and guasá began to pound hard and angrily, marking the pulse of collective memory. The batucada, a dynamic percussive style steeped in Afro-descendant heritage, led the march with a melody of protest. The parents of the four children were embraced by other family members and neighbors, never alone. When people greeted them, they responded with broken smiles, wordlessly thanking the crowd for their support as they shouted their children’s names with fury. They no longer had the strength to cry out for themselves.

The murder of the children has once again returned to the country’s headlines. There is high expectation for the verdict expected this week against the 17 military personnel accused of the forced disappearance of the minors. The officers face sentences of 34 years and eight months, as requested by the prosecutor handling the case. This case could mark a turning point for a nation deeply shaken by rising violence, including violence committed by the military, who are believed to be responsible for at least 31 forced disappearances during the two years President Daniel Noboa has been in office.

The families had to confront the horrific confessions of four of the 17 implicated soldiers, who recounted what happened that day: the children were forced to strip, beaten, tortured, and made to endure a mock execution. “Every day has been like opening the wound over and over again,” said Yuliana Flores, cousin of brothers Ismael and Josué.

The first stop of Monday’s march was at the home of Nehemías Arboleda, who was 15 years old. The music stopped, and a silence fell over the doorway from which he left that day, heading to his last soccer match. “He spent his life singing,” said Mayra Avilés, a neighbor and friend, wearing a pink t-shirt with Nehemías’s face printed on the chest. “His voice made the days seem less burdensome. He dreamed of starting a business to help his mother and sister. He loved soccer, and he was thrilled by the idea of one day seeing himself on a giant screen,” she said, her voice breaking, recalling how the neighborhood remembers Nehemías — the singer, the one who dreamed of fame.

When the silence was broken, the young members of the batucada resumed drumming with force. They pounded the bombo and made the tambourine sound like a winter rain. The march moved on and stopped at the home of brothers Ismael and Josué. They were passionate about soccer, and inseparable. Ismael, 15, dreamed of playing in the major leagues, while Josué, 14, wanted to be a soldier. “Truth, justice, and reparations…!” shouted the demonstrators.

The next stop was the home of Steven, the youngest, only 11 when the soldiers took him. Those who knew him speak of his wide smile and his love of collecting Spider-Man action figure. “Truth, justice, and reparations…!”

The march grew larger as the participants continued retracing the steps of the children. Among the demonstrators was Efraín Bayas, a 69-year-old retiree. He lives on the other side of the city, but joined the march out of his deep sense of outrage. “We can’t forget this atrocious crime. If this doesn’t stop, it will continue with more cases. There must be a sentence to stop them,” he said.

The soccer field where the children played for the last time was empty. On Monday, chairs were lined up, and a platform had been raised to unveil a plaque in their honor. From that day on, the field will bear the name “The Four Children of Las Malvinas,” as a permanent reminder that there, in that space of dreams and laughter, their lives had been extinguished. Among the attendees, two mothers struggled to find words, their voices trembling as they tried to thank the crowd. “They ripped my soul away, they ripped my life away,” said Katy Bustos, mother of Ismael and Josué. “At home, there is a table with two empty places. I only fill them with the presence of their spirit, because their bodies are no longer here.”

“I am the mother of Nehemías Arboleda,” said Teresa, but as she pronounced his name, something broke in her voice. With tears on the verge of spilling, she asked the question that echoed in everyone’s heart: “Why did they do this to our children?”

The memorial march culminated on Avenida 25 de Julio, the exact spot where the military patrol intercepted the children. There, they were forced into the truck, beaten in the back, and dragged toward Taura, a rural area an hour away. According to the accounts of four of the 17 soldiers charged with enforced disappearance, the boys were taken into the woods, where, in the middle of nowhere, they were subjected to brutal torture. One of the soldiers singled out Steven, the youngest, striking him more than 20 times with a belt. Part of the torture was recorded on video by one of the soldiers, who secretly filmed the attacks when he saw it getting out of hand. That recording is now one of the crucial pieces of evidence in the trial, which is in its final stages.

At the exact spot on Avenida 25 de Julio where the boys were kidnapped, protesters lit candles and erected an altar with their faces. Four people lay down on the sidewalk, covered by the Ecuadorian flag, while the musicians, heartbroken, improvised a song of protest and farewell.

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