Situation 1: At the police station. Surrounded by 5 male police officers. Smiling mischievously, one of them asks me “Why do you
look so scared?” What I’m thinking, but
not saying: “Colombia. Police
station. Five guys with guns…” I just smile, and soon they're trying to entertain me by showing me fake $100 bills and explaining how fingerprinting works.
Situation 2: Walking down the street yesterday, I smelled
pickles. It happens in life that you can
go a long time without smelling something familiar, and then one day, when you
smell it again, it’s like waking up from a dream. I had forgotten about pickles. They had ceased to be part of my world until,
just like that, they re-entered it.
Situation 3: It’s mango season. Even here in the city, it’s noticeable. In the park that I walk through on my way to
work, the ground is now scattered with green mangos that are busted open and
exposing their bright orange interiors. It’s
charming. Until you consider that a
mango falling from 40 feet above you could sting a little.
Situation 4: I woke up today to the sound of rain hitting my
window. That’s not easy for someone who
comes from the rain capital of the world.
It sounded like pebbles shattering against the glass. But the real surprise came when I went into
the living room. It was as if the
apartment had been re-located to the base of a waterfall. I felt like I was IN a river, consumed by the
sound of the water around me. There’s a
saying here “Abril: mes de lluvias mil” (April is the month of a thousand
showers). Yeah, that’s an
understatement. But it was a magical
moment. Those moments don’t come very
often. Honestly, the last one that I can
remember clearly happened about 7 years ago.
I had just pulled into the university parking lot, when it began to
snow. It was early and the sky was still
completely dark. I was the only one
there. And I just stood there, my face
tilled up to the black sky, staring at the flakes as they emerged from the
darkness above me. They were big and fluttery
and there was a silence that I felt inside and out. Even after 7 years, that
moment, that memory, is still amazingly vivid in my mind.
History: A few days ago I saw a woman selling roses in the
street. It’s something that I’ve seen a
dozen times here in Colombia, but something that always gives me a strange
feeling. Six years ago, after watching a
Colombian movie called the Rose Seller, I decided that my place was in
Colombia. The movie is about a young
girl who runs away from home and begins selling flowers in the street. It’s a tragic story, not filmed with actors
but with people who actually lived in the streets of Medellin. Street children. Drug addicts.
Gang members. After watching the
movie, I couldn’t stop thinking about Colombia.
While there are many places in the world were help is needed, few
compare to Colombia in terms of constant and prolonged conflict and social
struggles. “There,” I decided, “is where
I need to be.” It was a long road to get
here, but I made it somehow. And now,
when I see someone selling roses in the street…
Modernity: I’ve been here 15 months. I have a nice apartment (which I share with 3
young professionals), I enjoy my work (4 hours a day, from 6am-11am with a 1
hour break), and I live in the land of eternal May. The weather hovers between 65 and 85 degrees
year round. Currently, in the afternoon
I volunteer teach English at a foundation in the northern part of town. It’s the part of town I was told I should
never go to. Everyone told me that if I
went there I would certainly be robbed, raped, and killed (not necessarily in
that order). While I may be trying to
paint myself as a fearless adventurer, the reality is that I’ve become
accustomed to hearing dark-predictions whenever I go into parts of town that
belong to a lower economic sphere. I’ve
realized that those fears are often exaggerations. And it helps that I never carry anything
worth stealing.
Bucaramanga is a pleasant city. Most of the neighborhoods are well organized,
clean and full of apartment buildings of about 20 stories. The northern part of town lies in a deep
valley and looks like it belongs to another country. There, the houses are cement block-houses
that attach to one another and more streets are unpaved than paved. I take a bus to get there and then catch a
“pirate” back to the center of the city.
A “pirate” is an unofficial, unmarked taxi that you can recognize when
the driver slows down in front of you and shouts “center!” through the open
window. In between arriving and leaving,
I spend 3 hours with students in grades 6-11th practicing dialogs,
learning verbs, and trying to show them that they are capable of determining
what their futures will be like. After
all, the neighborhood is called “esperanza.”
Hope.
Each time I go to the north, the same thoughts tickle my
mind. “What if I had been born
here? What would my life be like? What
kind of person would I be? Would I have finished high school? Would I have gotten pregnant at a young age?
Would I have become a sad statistic or would I have found a way to make a good
life for myself?” I am so fortunate for
the family that I have and the opportunities I’ve been given. Unbelievably fortunate. And yet, so often, I am completely
ungrateful. I look at those around me,
who are earning a lot, have nice things, don’t worry about expenses, and I
think “That’s not fair. I’d like to be
able to live like that.” Why is it
always our tendency to look at those who have more and get jealous instead of
looking at those who have less and being grateful?
While I like it here in Bucaramanga, I don’t imagine myself
here for much time. Something just doesn’t
fit. And so I spend hours thinking about
where I SHOULD be. Something I’m
beginning to realize (finally!) is this: WHERE I am, is less important than WHO
I am. In other words, wherever I am, I
need to take advantage of the challenges and opportunities to grow. Hopefully, I'll remember that tomorrow.
Seattle, I miss you.
Cartagena, my heart is still there with you.
Bucaramanga, thanks for welcoming me here.
