Part 1: Reflections

This entry is the first in a three-part series of blogs that will address the more serious aspects of my time here.

"Colombia? Is it safe?" was invariably the reaction I got when I told people I was spending the summer teaching in Pereira, Colombia. (That was after I distinguished between Columbia, Missouri and Colombia, the country in South America.) I always answered that it was safe, and that the violence was only in remote sections of Colombia, and that only wealthy government workers were kidnapped.

The fact that I had to explain away kidnappings and drug violence multiple times was, to the say the least, slightly unsettling. Although I love to travel, I'm most definitely a weekend-in-Vienna-with-lots-of-culture-and-wine kind of girl, and I get worried about my safety on the MetroLink in St. Louis. Before I arrived in Colombia, my Spanish was limited to Mexican restaurant menus and "Donde esta el bano?" (Where is the bathroom?). In addition, I had watched the movie Maria Full of Grace with Warren last fall (Mom, if you haven't seen it, don't watch it), and I'll admit that the scenes from that movie were playing over and over again in my head on our flight to Pereira.

Let me say this now, and please pay attention: The real Colombia is not the place that we hear about in the news or read about on the U.S. State Department's Travel Warnings. Drug dealers don't stand on every corner, and people aren't cowering on the streets, worried about cartel violence. This country is seductively charming, possibly due to the obvious mix of European and native cultures, definitely due to the unassuming tropical beauty, and helped along by the rhythmic and passionate Spanish language. It's challenging to explain the natural allure of Colombia. I'm not sure that the English language even has words to describe this place, because English is such a controlled and deliberate language. Nothing in Colombia feels controlled or deliberate. I think the only way one could truly understand Colombia without visiting is by listening to the various styles of music from this country. Each region has its own style, and it is in the music that one can find the emotion, the rhythm, and the pride that seems to ooze from everything from the flowers to the three-year-olds here.

Despite the idyllic location, I would never have learned to love Pereira and Colombia if I had just been a tourist. As a tourist, it is difficult to meet locals, but it is almost impossible to develop close friendships with them. Because I was lucky enough to have the chance to work at LPV, I was able to see a side of Colombia that many people will never see: the people. I have traveled throughout Europe and the United States, and I can honestly say I've never met people as genuinely kind and welcoming as the Colombians are. Don't believe me? Today the school accountant drove us home after school. Not impressed yet? She waited an hour for us and drove 30 minutes out of her way to take us home, even though we were able to take a schoolbus. We were even SITTING ON THE BUS, waiting for it to leave, when she pulled up and waved us into her car. Why would she do this? Because she knew that we were tired, and because the bus trip takes a "long" time.

The people here are also fiercely proud to be Colombian. Americans may be proud, but I don't think we even come close to the pride of the Colombians. For example, we recently gave a writing test to a group of seventeen 9th graders. Please imagine a group of 9th graders in the United States. If you asked them to write about their favorite country and why it is their favorite, how many of them really would write about the United States? In 9th grade, most American students are dreaming about France, Italy, Australia, Japan, or some other exotic destination they've learned about in school. Here, however, 14 out of seventeen students wrote that their favorite country was Colombia. COLOMBIA! A place known for its violence and drugs! They wrote that it was beautiful, that the weather was wonderful, that there are lots of interesting animals and delicious fruits, and that the people are nice. When was the last time that you heard an American 14-year-old praising the United States because it has delicious corn and amazing white-tailed deer?

People here are genuinely interested in us. They are constantly asking us questions, the most common ones being: 1. Do we like Colombia? 2. What is our impression of Colombia? 3. What did we think about Colombia before we got here? I struggle to answer these questions. I love Colombia, but I worry about giving my honest opinion of this country and my thoughts prior to my arrival. I mean, Colombia is a recovering country. It is struggling to come back after years of horrific and wide-spread violence and government corruption. Slums are spread throughout Pereira, and, perhaps what still shocks me the most, I have a maid.

For someone as thoroughly middle-class as me, having a maid is honestly just as difficult to become accustomed to as I imagine sleeping on a dirt floor would be. I'm sure my mother is rolling her eyes right now, but it is WEIRD to have someone make my bed and cook for me every day. My mother thinks I treated her like a maid when I was young, but there is a very distinct difference in eating a dinner made by your mother while she sits at the table with you and eating a dinner cooked by the maid while she eats on a wooden chair in the laundry room. (Believe me, I've tried to get Dora to sit at the table with us, but she always refuses.) When I admitted this to a group of students the other day, they stared at me in shock. They couldn't grasp the concept that people in the United States don't usually have maids. One girl stared at me with eyes full of horror and asked quietly, "But who cleans the bathrooms?" When I said that we clean them, the entire group went "Ewww," as if cleaning a bathroom was the most disgusting thing a person could do.

The obvious divide between the haves and the have-nots here is probably the thing about Colombia that I find the most revolting and uncomfortable. On our way home, we pass a neighborhood that literally smells like manure. The smells comes from the nearby stream, which people use to both wash their clothes and to go to the bathroom. The smell from the stream always makes me nauseous. The school has really tried to shelter us from the poor. I have very little knowledge about what life is like in the slums. I know the minimum wage here is around $200 per month. I know that many poor students do not receive a proper education, and that anyone that can afford it sends their children to private schools. But my life here is spent solely among the wealthy. It's very surreal, and I often feel like I'm missing a huge part of the culture. I would very much like to experience the grittier side of this country instead of only witnessing the carefully cleaned and manicured lifestyles to which I'm allowed access.

Of course, I admit I'm hesitant to jump on a bus and hop off at the first sign of worn-down buildings and homeless people. It's not only unsafe, it seems almost cruel to walk through poverty-stricken areas while I flaunt my white-middle-class-American-college-educated-self. I have done nothing to deserve or earn my position in life, and I don't understand why I grew up sheltered and loved, with everything I've ever needed, while the children here often go without shoes, healthy food, or even a comfortable place to sleep. It's so incredibly unfair and unjust, and I want to help, to do something, but the problems seem overwhelming and culturally enforced. If there is a solution, I'm certainly not smart enough to come up with it.

In the end, Colombia is what it is, and I'm grateful for the chance I've had to experience it. Americans were impressed, if concerned, when I told them I was going to Colombia. Colombians are just amazed that Warren and I were brave enough to venture here despite the travel warnings. People don't come to Colombia because it's "so dangerous," and Colombians really appreciate that we were willing to visit their country. If they were smart, they would have sent us home as quickly as possible. As soon as Americans figure out how colorful and pleasant this country is, it will be transformed into one of those horrid tourist-trap places and lose its original charm. Until then, if you aren't too scared of breath-taking scenery, insanely gorgeous flowers, wildly different and tasty food, and truly caring people, you just might want to visit this country yourself. Just be careful--the hibiscus and orchids can be quite frightening!