Thanks to the prohibition of drugs and the extraordinary profits it places in the hands of drug lords, mafia-like attitudes have taken root in countries like Colombia. While eliminating anyone who obstructs the way has become a familiar and even celebrated occurrence, the money from drug trafficking has infiltrated politics, the judicial system, and the economy. It is so ridiculously abundant that it’s impossible to spend it all. It rots in forgotten barrels in the jungle, accumulates in anonymous electronic wallets, and is used to bring to life eccentricities and absurdities.

The narco-zoo at the Nápoles estate in Puerto Triunfo, Antioquia, is an example of this will to achieve the impossible and its consequences: The four hippopotamuses that arrived on a Hercules plane in 1983 found the perfect environment to reproduce, far from the natural controls of predators and the droughts of the African savanna. As a result, the herd began to grow exponentially—it is estimated that by 2035, there will be over 1,500 hippos if control hunting is not implemented in the country.

These mega invaders pollute rivers, dramatically alter ecosystems, and endanger native species in the region. Another problem has emerged: in recent years, mafiosi from other parts of the world have been buying hippo calves to keep as pets on their estates. The logistical difficulties and enormous costs of capturing, sterilizing, or relocating them leave experts with only one solution: eliminate them now, while they are still in the dozens, rather than later when they number in the hundreds. The necessary but contradictory solution seems to mirror the methods criminals have used for decades when they want to eliminate an inconvenience—“silver or lead.”

In Cocaine Hippos Sweat Blood, Colombian artist Camilo Restrepo presents this fable as one of the many stories illustrating the vicious and exotic cycles that drug violence inflicts on animals and people alike.