- Pharmacies: I think that one thing I've come to expect and take for granted in the USA is the fact that pharmacists are professionals who have had extensive training in their fields and, well... truly know what they're talking about. In Colombia, I have discovered that this is not the case. My best story to illustrate this finding involves a wart on the pointer finger of my right hand, which was born shortly after my arrival to South America. I eventually decided to use a USA-purchased nitrogen spray to freeze the little bugger off, but it was apparently determined to stay put and did not disappear. Therefore, I resorted to a local Colombian pharmacy, where I showed the "pharmacist" (AKA: the man selling medical supplies) my wart ("verruga" in Spanish). [As a side note, you need no prescription to buy any medicine here, and you can buy pills individually in unmarked packages without any instructions or descriptions. There is no such thing as the FDA]. He "prescribed" me a little glass bottle of something with a name I can't remember and told me to apply it to the wart three times a day, surrounding it with Vaseline to protect the nearby skin. He said it would fall off in four days.
I religiously applied the ointment as directed for far over four days, and my little wart friend still had not gone away. I knew that it was stubborn, and it seemed to be making some progress, so I continued the treatment for another 20 days, keeping the vile in my purse at all times and applying it more than the recommended three times per day. After day 28, I had become disillusioned. I showed the wart and treatment to Carlos' mom (who, once again, is a doctor). She instantly started laughing really hard. "That's what men put on their penises!!!" she told me. "I beg your pardon???!!" I had no idea what she was talking about ... She then explained that I had been given a treatment for sexually transmitted diseases, which had obviously had no effect on my wart. I felt very betrayed by this little container, which I had so carefully taken with me everywhere I went for the past month. It definitely let me down!! "Colombian pharmacies are just like any other store that someone owns to make a living. The workers there will sell you anything," I was told. I think I learned my lesson.
- Selling: That last note is a great transition to another cultural norm that one finds in Colombia: any person of any age can sell you anything, anywhere, at any time. The informal sector of the economy is incredibly high (I once attended a conference on the economic "competitiveness" of Colombia that talked about specific numbers which I should be able to share with you, but I apologize for having forgotten them all. Just trust me that they are very high). People make a living by selling things on street corners, on buses [Note: I hope to do a full report about buses soon], in neighborhoods, at stoplights, in parking lots-- basically anywhere that people might be. The sad part for me has been to see the number of children who work selling items (mainly gum, candy, fruit, and avocados) at street lights and on buses, but I suppose families do what they can to support themselves.
This bicycle belongs to the man who, like many others, roams daily about our neighborhood, announcing his products by tooting a horn and calling them out in a megaphone. He sells mazamora (a drink made of corn and milk) and champus (a drink made of corn, lulo, pineapple, and cinnamon) and usually begins at around 7:00am. It’s a concept that reminds me of the "ice cream man," although I don't think that people get as excited about things like shoe polish, brooms [another short digression: one of my favorite images is the man awkwardly riding a bike while trying to balance his supply of brooms, dust pans, and mops on the front], and limes as children in the USA get for ice cream. =)
- Paying bills: I have to say that one of the most annoying things that I’ve had to do here is pay bills. I won’t go into detail about all of the minor and major situations that have arisen from our monthly obligation to pay for water, telephone, gas, electricity, and public services, but I will say that I have learned to GREATLY appreciate the simple system that we have in the United States. Let’s face it—paying bills is NEVER fun... But receiving the wrong bill or the correct one after payment is due, having to go to inconveniently located places to hand over the money (as you have to pay in person), being forced to wait in long and chaotic lines, and being told that I’ve come to pay a bill too early and need to return a few days later are some of the things that have happened that have been just too much for me!!!
P.S.: Shortly after beginning this reflection, I realized that we had paid the WRONG phone bill that arrived to us a few months ago, which totaled over 120,000pesos (over $60USD)!!! I hadn’t even noticed that it wasn’t even our phone number. I just blindly trusted that is for us, at it arrived one day to our apartment address. Grrrrr!
- Phrasing: Of course, Spanish is very different from English, and the language has its own way of phrasing things (case in point: “I have 25 years,” instead of “I am 25-years-old”). But what I’m talking about here is that Colombians have a distinct way of talking about certain situations—due to a different outlook about them (which even varies from other Latin American countries I’ve been in). For instance, whereas I would say “two weeks” or “one week,” Colombians say “15 days” or “8 days.” So, if today were Saturday, and I was going to see you next Saturday, I would say “See you in 8 days” (apparently today would count as day 1).
Another example is that you are often asked what you are, and you must reply according to what you studied (basically your university major in the form of a noun-- like “political scientist,” “social worker,” “sociologist,” “psychologist,” etc.). This gets confusing because people may not work in exactly the same field that they studied. My Italian teacher (yes, I’m randomly taking Italian classes in Spanish!), for example, studied law (which is only an undergraduate major here, not exactly like the law school system in the USA), so she calls herself a “lawyer,” even though she doesn’t practice law. The majors offered in the U.S. make this a little challenging. Like, if a person studies “International Studies,” does that make him/her an “international studier?” Or, since I majored in both Communication and Spanish, does that make me a “Spanish-speaking communicator?”
They also use terms like “vieja” (the noun for “old lady”) and “gordo” (which is basically “fattie”) to refer to others (who are neither old nor fat). They say things like “the bus left me,” instead of my natural inclination to say, “I missed the bus.” Etc., etc., etc.... Ergo, I’m trying my best to speak and think like a Colombian!
- National Pride: Something that I’ve found amusing is the extent to which Colombians are very proud of their national and local anthems. They sing all of them (their national anthem, department [state] anthem, and city anthem) at all formal events, and (surprisingly) almost everyone seems to know all the words. I had a friend once tell me that his sister had a true life changing experience when she left her country for the first time and discovered that Colombia’s national album was not the most beautiful song in the world. The national anthem is played on all radio stations at 6:00am and 6:00pm daily, and it is also played periodically throughout the day. I find it funny when a song of popular culture—such as one of reggaton, pop, salsa, or merengue—is followed by the national anthem, and people begin to sing along with true patriotism. I mean, can you imagine listening to something like Britney Spears, and then pow! “Oh, say can you see...”…I guess people from other countries probably think it’s odd how children in U.S. schools recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning … so my conclusion is that all patriotic traditions are only understood by those from the country in which they originate.
- Fixing pets: Perhaps we can thank Bob Barker, but we North Americans are really into getting our pets spayed and neutered. This is ingrained in our minds since the very first time we get a pet, and I hadn’t realized how much this idea was a part of me until I ventured Southward and saw not just 100’s of non-fixed stray animals (There’s no such thing as an animal pound), but also the private pets of most families still having all of their parts (*note: I’m talking about Colombians who are “well off.” I wouldn’t apply the same pet care standard to those who live in extreme poverty) . The same expectation of scooping poop also seems to be unique to the U.S., which has provided for some unpleasant experiences. =)
- Bags: It seems like almost any product in Colombia comes in a plastic bag. This includes the gasoline that I mentioned during the mattress-burning incident, in addition to all dairy products. I’ve attempted to explain the concept of a milk carton to various acquaintances, and it’s just about as foreign as I am! Yogurt (which is completely liquid, not like the stuff we eat with a spoon at home) also comes in the same style of bags. Refrigerator storage of opened bags of such products after they’ve been opened has proved to be a little challenging.
Here I am drinking water from a plastic bag, a very common and cheap way to become re-hydrated after a day in the sun.
- Activities/games: As expected, the typical games at gatherings and parties in Colombia have their own distinct sets of rules and expectations. Sometimes, I’ve thought, “Oh, I know this game,” only to discover that it’s not exactly what I had in mind. I once was invited to this to a party which involved drawing the name of an “amigo secreto” (secret friend) a few days before the event. It seemed a lot like a white elephant exchange (which I LOVE, by the way), only I was told that there was a minimum spending requirement of 30.000 pesos (about $15USD). Hmmmm... I’d never heard of a gift exchange with a price minimum before! Furthermore, each person had to request what they wanted, and my “amigo secreto” had asked for a sweat suit set (not just sweatpants or a sweatshirt; he wanted them together). This proved to be very challenging in the warm weather climate of Cali, Colombia, and I spent several hours of time that I did not have searching for his requested gift. I almost gave up and bought him a gift card. However, I finally found a warm-up set (which, by the way, was far over the minimum price), which I assumed was what he wanted... although he didn’t seem too pleased with it upon receiving it the next day. I consoled myself by thinking “oh well, at least I tried” and enjoying the typical Colombian woven hat my “amigo secreto” purchased for me.
- Seasons: I hadn’t realized how much our lifestyle in the Northwest of the U.S. revolves around the seasons of the year until spending so much time in a place without seasons. Cali is known as the “land of eternal spring” because it is basically between 80 – 90 degrees (26.67 to 32.22 degrees Celsius) year-round, perhaps only varying in the amount of tropical rainstorms it experiences. I find myself saying, “in the spring” or “in the winter” to refer to times when certain events will take place (like schools start in the “fall;” graduations take place in the “spring;” students have “summer” vacation), only to be received with blank stares. I’ve realized more and more that the way I think, what I eat/drink, and what I do are all affected by having seasons—a non-existent concept in these parts.
- Horns: The driving here in Cali has been quite scary for me after having driven down the calm and quiet streets of Idaho and Washington, and I’m still not accustomed to it yet. However, yet even more difficult for me to handle has been the seemingly over-abundant usage of the horn. In a city of 3 million people, it becomes overwhelming when people use their horn repeatedly for everything, and once one person begins to honk, many others join in. I’ve even seen horse-drawn carts that also have horns! Sometimes, I can see the necessity of it-- like when a bus is about to pull right over on a motorcycle that is buzzing right along the side of it; the motorcyclist must let the bus know it’s there. Yet, it seems quite unnecessary when cars are stopped at something over which they have no control, like a construction site, and several of the cars/buses/taxis behind them begin honking over and over again-- as if that makes the situation any better. I guess honking can be a way of expressing one’s frustration, and the others who join in the honking are simply acknowledging that they feel the same, like a form of empathy. Perhaps it’s just another form of communication...
- Violence: I hope to blog more about the violence of Colombia in a future date, but I just wanted to note here that the years of conflict and violence have created their own sets of cultural norms and expectations. Having lived my entire life in a peaceful setting, it has been hard to get used to the precautions that one must take, the guard that one must put up, and the sights that one sees in the non-touristy sites of Colombia. I know that things have drastically improved, and I’m not exactly living in a war zone, but things are certainly different. The first thing that I was taught after getting off the plane was not to “give out papaya,” which is a local way of expressing not to draw attention to myself, show-off any valuables, or be careless with my possessions. Newspapers being sold on the streets show the bloody and mangled bodies of people who’ve been tortured and killed (often related to the drug trade), and the various armed rebel groups (like the FARC, the ELN, and the paramilitares) are constant topics of conversation. My classmates (many of whom work directly in the field of violent crimes) often talk about the graphic details of deaths, and emails circulate with photos of people who’ve been killed in horrendous ways. I know that I would call 9-1-1 for anything suspicious in the United States, but I was shocked recently when we heard 4 gunshots outside of our apartment (don’t worry; it wasn’t too close!), and it didn’t even occur to me to call at all (a realization I made a few days later). (I don’t even know the emergency number here; people seem to be distrusting of authorities, and those who report anything must live in fear afterwards). One of my thirty-six-year-old classmates told me, “People of our generation have never known peace”—a statement that greatly impacted me... Yet, in spite of everything, Colombians have consistently been shown to be some of the happiest people in the world—very inspiring!
