COLOMBIA

These accounts are works in progress and subject to change as new memories come to the forefront. Check back for updates as you please. Last updated March 5, 2024.

Half of me is always in Cartagena, Colombia. Once you experience the type of sticky heat that quite literally suffocates you, but makes you fall in love, you can’t get it out of your mind. There are so many directions I can take this. To put it bluntly, Colombia is my childhood and it’s where my most cherished memories emanate. As an adult we live for the weekends, as a child you live for the summers, and I spent most of mine in coastal city of Cartagena, Colombia.

It sounds so luxurious, but when I look back I was so envious of my friends packing up their sleep-away trunks. I could not believe people had those in real life, not just in the movies. As my friends were setting off to the acclaimed “Camp Highlander” in North Carolina, my mom was hiking my luggages from the Swap Shop into the trunk. These enormous leather contraptions were packed to the brim with impeccably folded clothes, toiletries all lined with plastic in case of mid-flight explosion, and of course, a gift for every distance relative I may encounter. I can picture the image so distinctly as my mom prepared all the details for my flight the immediate next day after school let out for summer. You see, my mom raised and supported me on her own. Summers without Colombia as my version sleep-away camp would have been a nightmare for my full-time working single mom. Things have changed since then, but I knew the drill.

Every June marked the beginning of two months of scorching heat with my grandma, uncle, aunt, and two cousins in the apartment and many adventures to follow. I’ll admit, part of me dreaded going and I don’t think there is anything anyone could have said to make me appreciate it at that time of my life. But as I look back, I cry thinking about those memories. Unencumbered days with my grandmother, who I now look at and wonder the days I have left with her. My time with cousins who I barely speak to now but have memories that could fill rows and rows of bookshelves. The street corner store where I can recall the chips and Bon Bon Bums perfectly stacked up against the transparent plastic walls. And my two months of fully immersive free Spanish class. I would not trade any of it for the world. Not the lice I caught from the girls across the street who became dear friends. Not the acne that would appear like clockwork in the humidity. Not the boring afternoons when everyone was in school and I had no choice but to actually do the summer reading. Not the fear of an onion appearing in my chicken soup because I could not tolerate vegetables at that point in my life. When I look back these minor inconveniences in the moment make it mine. And they are padded by the most joy filled times, too. Like visiting my cousins in their small town of San Cristobal where I was the token American with a Gameboy and Skip It. Or when my grandma would surprise me with a bike-cart ride home from the grocery store. I can’t talk about Colombia without mentioning the relief when you walk into an air conditioned building since all we had were standing fans at home. The afternoon naps were also mandatory and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced any like it here in America. The street food, the culture, the people, the ambiance - to me, Colombia is magic.

I remember a friend once asked me how I went to the bathroom in Colombia. It makes me laugh now but at the time I was so embarrassed. My friends think I am so poor and that my family doesn’t have a functioning home, I thought to myself. It’s fair assume we use a hole in the ground if you conjure up a third world country in your mind. To clear up once and for all, I have always used a proper toilet in Colombia. They always say that in Colombia you are either really rich, or really poor. Since apparently middle class doesn’t exist I guess that would make my family poor since we were definitely not rich, but I never once felt something missing. What always struck me however was the extreme poverty that was so naturally woven into the culture. So many children on the streets without shoes, but always joyful.

To be continued