In a dimly lit room in Bogotá, Colombian photographer Édgar Jiménez quietly circles a striking portrait titled “Adam and Eve.” The photograph, featuring two hulking hippopotamuses, isn’t just an arresting image of wildlife—these are the very first hippos brought to Colombia by the infamous drug lord Pablo Escobar in the 1980s. For Jiménez, now 75, the exhibition is as much a journey into Colombia’s complicated past as it is a showcase of his work. He once served as Escobar’s personal photographer, chronicling the kingpin’s life and his growing menagerie at the notorious Hacienda Nápoles.
Jiménez recalls the moment he took the iconic photo. “I was only four meters [13 feet] away, without any kind of protection and unaware of the danger they posed,” he told the Associated Press. The danger soon became all too real: the very same hippos later attacked and killed a camel at the estate. Back then, the risks of getting so close to these massive animals were not well understood—hippos, after all, are among the world’s most dangerous mammals, a fact that would only become clear as their population exploded in Colombia’s wilds.
According to AP News, the hippos were originally purchased from a zoo in the United States, one that specialized in acquiring animals from Africa. Escobar, flush with cash and eager to flaunt his wealth, continued to expand his private zoo until his death in 1993. His obsession with exotic animals was just one facet of his larger-than-life persona, but the legacy of his hippos has become a peculiar—and problematic—chapter in Colombia’s environmental story. Since Escobar’s demise, the hippo population has ballooned to more than 160, earning them the official designation of an invasive species by Colombian authorities.
Jiménez’s photographs, which he rarely exhibits, are more than mere snapshots—they are, in his words, “documentaries” of a surreal era. “I see them as a record of Escobar’s life,” he explained to Mid-day. Despite the notoriety of his subject, Jiménez usually keeps these images out of the public eye. But this November, he was invited to participate in a provocative new exhibition in Bogotá titled “Microdoses to Tame the Inner Hippopotamus.” The show brings together 20 artists to offer a political critique of what Escobar’s hippos have come to represent in Colombian society.
The exhibition, curated by Santiago Rueda, is anything but conventional. Rueda insists the show isn’t meant to be moralizing. Rather, it “invites people to see how such a paradoxical figure as Escobar’s hippos can be the subject of a political critique.” The artists’ works span oil paintings, graffiti, photographs, and even some truly unconventional media—like psychoactive mushrooms cultivated in hippo dung. The result is a vibrant, sometimes surreal commentary on Colombia’s narco history and its lingering effects.
One of the standout pieces, according to AP News, is a tapestry by artist Carlos Castro. Titled “The Great Narco Ark” (“La gran narco arca”), the work depicts Escobar alongside wild animals descending two by two from a massive military aircraft—a clear nod to the biblical tale of Noah’s Ark. But here, the ark is not a vessel of salvation; it’s a symbol of the “narco-madness, the excess, the luxury,” as Rueda puts it. The piece underscores how the so-called narco-aesthetic—once the exclusive domain of Colombia’s underworld—has seeped into the global cultural mainstream.
Not all the works are so allegorical. Artist Manuel Barón offers a satirical take with his piece featuring a hippo nicknamed “El Gordo” (“The Fat One”), complete with a mock reward poster offering up to $264,000 for its capture. “It’s a parody of the drug cartels of the era… from the time when they were searching for Pablo Escobar and all the drug traffickers,” Barón explained. The tongue-in-cheek artwork blurs the line between Colombia’s criminal past and its present-day struggles with the legacy of Escobar’s empire.
Perhaps the most unexpected contribution comes from artist Camilo Restrepo, who discovered that hallucinogenic mushrooms can thrive in hippo dung. In his laboratory, Restrepo cultivates these mushrooms, which, he notes, have the power to “dissolve the ego”—a sharp contrast to cocaine, which he says “elevates it.” The irony is not lost on him. “It’s very contradictory that, due to the failure of the war on drugs, so much money accumulates in the hands of drug traffickers that they can bring in an entire zoo, and then the hippos remain living in Colombia.” Now, decades later, the waste from these invasive animals provides fertile ground for mind-altering fungi, turning the story of Escobar’s excess into a meditation on the unintended consequences of both environmental and social policy.
The exhibition opened on Thursday, November 6, 2025, at Casa Échele Cabeza, a venue dedicated to drug regulation and harm reduction and operated by the nonprofit Acción Técnica Social. The setting is fitting: here, the conversation around Escobar’s hippos is not just about the animals themselves, but about the broader issues of drug policy, cultural memory, and the lingering scars of the narco era.
For visitors, the show is a startling reminder of how the past continues to shape Colombia’s present. The hippos, once status symbols for a notorious criminal, have become symbols of unchecked power, environmental disruption, and the strange ways in which history refuses to stay buried. The exhibition’s blend of humor, irony, and political critique invites viewers to grapple with uncomfortable truths: the persistence of narco culture, the failures of the war on drugs, and the unpredictable consequences of human ambition.
Jiménez’s “Adam and Eve” stands at the heart of the exhibition—not just as a record of a bygone era, but as a testament to the enduring impact of Escobar’s legacy. The photographer’s willingness to revisit these memories, and to share them with a new generation, offers a rare window into a time when the lines between power, spectacle, and danger were often blurred.
As Colombia continues to wrestle with the consequences of its narco history, exhibitions like “Microdoses to Tame the Inner Hippopotamus” provide a space for reflection, dialogue, and, perhaps, a bit of healing. The hippos may never truly belong in Colombia’s rivers, but in the country’s collective imagination, they remain impossible to ignore.
