Life Stories

In my 6 or so weeks here in Colombia I've had the opportunity to hear some pretty incredible life stories. Hearing personal narrative is a fascinating way to get to know a country, so I've included here some short renderings of Colombian lived experience. I've tried to keep the stories as brief as possible. They're snapshots and nothing more. I've also changed the names of the those involved. Here's a look:

Doctor Silva: Dr. Silva graduated from medical school in the 1970's. He and his wife, another doctor who he met while in medical school, left for the Colombian department of Choco to do a year of medical work in the jungle. Rural access to health care in Colombia is extremely difficult, and thus all new doctors are required to do a year of medical service in a rural region of Colombia. While performing her service, Dr. Silva's wife had an allergic reaction to an anti-biotic and due to the remote location, wasn't able to reach adequate medical facilities in time. She passed away less than one year after having become a doctor.

Ellen Jones: Twelve years ago, Ellen fell in love with a Colombian man who was studying in England. Ellen decided to leave native England and follow her love back to Colombia. She's been working as an English teacher in Colombia ever since, and she and her husband have two children ages 6 and 3. Ellen's primary occupation at the moment is trying to save enough money to buy plane tickets for her family (and a visa for her husband) so that they can return to England to live. For her it's imperative that they leave Colombia before her son turns 16 and is obligated to serve in the armed services. In Colombia two years of military service is required for all young men, or at least the ones who can't afford to attend a university. While Ellen loves Colombia, her fear of losing her son in armed conflict is compelling her to return back to the country she hasn't seen in over a decade.

Maria E. : Maria met her first love when she was 15, and married him at 18. Her husband worked as a taxi-driver. He was murdered at age 23 by a drunk passenger who refused to pay the cab-fare. A few years later Maria remarried a professional soldier. This man was one month away from completing his military service, but was killed while fighting leftist guerrillas in Santander. He and Maria had been married for just a year. Maria's next husband left her when she was five months pregnant. "Love isn't for me," Maria told me after having related the story of her three husbands.

Alejandro: Alejandrom ,20, and his family left their hometown of Barranca ten years ago to come live in Bucaramanga. Alejandro's father's physical appearance so closely resembled that of an infamous leader of the FARC (Colombia's most powerful leftist-rebel group) that he received constant death threats. As such, he was forced to relocate his family and start a new life.

Adrianna S.: 15 years ago Adriana, a native of Bogotá, did some brief consulting work in New York City. She worked in the World Trade Center and there befriended several Latin American employees of the same company. On the 9th anniversary of 9/11, Adrianna and I recounted our memories of that day. She said she watched in horror, fearing for her friends who worked in the building. To this day, she doesn't know if they survived, although she suspects they didn't.

I know these are heavy stories and they highlight the some of the more difficult facets of Colombian life. Nonetheless, they are stories which have made an impression on me, and I know they will always be in my memories of Colombia.

Nurses, Colors, and Landslides

One of my newest responsibilities as an English teaching-assistant is to travel once a week to ‘El Bosque’, the medical school campus associated with La Universidad Autónoma de Bucaramanga (UNAB). While there I run a conversation club designed specifically for nursing students. 7 to 8 semesters of English are required for all UNAB students. However, students in the nursing program have an even heavier course load, as English is becoming more and more of a requirement in the nursing profession. I have to hand it to these girls. (All ten of my students are young women. Of the 80 or so students in the nursing program, only ten are men). Classes for these aspiring nurses typically start at 7 a.m. and most of them stay on campus until at least 7 p.m. After that it’s back home to study. After class ended at 6pm, one of the girls was catching a bus which would take her an hour across town so she could go to yet another English class!

I showed up late for this nursing class for this week (for the second time…out of two times) because for the second time I got on the wrong bus. I’m supposed to get on the bus that says ‘Carñaveral’…but with ‘Carñaveral’ written in yellow letters and not blue letters. I’m starting to see the holes in my liberal arts education. Here’s to hoping next week my kindergarten life skills actually work and I can tell the difference between two primary colors. Luckily all the nurses showed up late to class as well. I’m getting the hang of this not being punctual thing and I think I kind of like it.

At the end of the week I will be concluding my one month stay with my Colombian host family before I move into an apartment with other foreign students. This family has treated me exceptionally well, and living in such a nice neighborhood has made my transition into Colombiamuch smoother. I currently live in a neighborhood officially designated ‘Estratus 6.’ Colombiahas system whereby neighborhoods are given an official designation of 1-6, with 1 being the poorest and 6 being the wealthiest. I will be moving to an ‘Estratus 4’ (I think?) neighborhood soon. Not too much will be different…just a bit noisier, I won’t have a doorman, and my front door has 3 deadlocks.

I’m not going to pretend I have any real sociological knowledge of classism and wealth stratification here in Colombia, but the view from my host family’s front window provides an interesting glimpse. Looking east, one sees a mountain ridge covered in tropical vegetation. At the south end one sees this:

I think the technical tern is 'Really Nice House'

Panning one’s view to the north on the same ridge only about 50 meters, one sees this:

This structure is commonly called an 'invasion', at least by wealthy Colombians. It's a settlement constructed by poor residents with no official claim to the land.

And just about another 50 meters north, this appears:

Landslides like this are common in the mountains around Bucaramanga. Unfortunately, many of the precariously constructed 'invasions' fall victim to these landslides every year.

This ridge spans an entire social strata. I was struck by the close vicinity of the extremely affluent and extremely poor. It remains to be seen if this 'invasion' will one day be claimed by a landslide. The other day I walked less than 20 seconds into the forest behind my host family’s apartment (maybe not the best thing to do by myself?) and I stumbled upon a cow tied to a tree. We looked at each other for a moment and I was about to start a conversation (it’s sometimes easier to practice Spanish with non-humans) when I noticed a tin shack hidden in the trees a few meters back. There was a man in a torn red t-shirt in front of his dwelling, staring off into the distance. He didn’t see me, and I slowly retreated. With only a few small steps I crossed from the world of ‘Estratus 6’ to the world of ‘Estratus 0.’ From the world of the people who write the map to the world of the people who aren’t even on the map.