Distracted!

Although I should be concentrating on more important things (like term papers), my mind keeps shifting to all of the upcoming exciting explorations that I'm soon to experience. Alina (another Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar studying in Medellín) arrived this morning for a few days of local adventures, and Erica (my beloved sister) will come on Sunday (I'll make her write a blog entry like all of my other guests, of course!). She and I will journey to the Amazon, while we'll see the famous pink dolphins and be one with the deep jungle; Santander, where we'll visit beautiful pueblos and partake in extreme sports in Colombia's "adrenaline capital;" Santa Marta, where we'll marvel at the one-of-a-kind view of a snow-capped mountain next to the beautiful Caribbean Sea; Guajira, where we'll sleep in hammocks on the tranquil beach after days of excursions with fascinating indigenous people; and Cartagena, where we'll enjoy one of Colombia's most historical and breathtaking cities.

How can I focus if I have so much to look forward to?!

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round...

Transportation in Cali still proves to be an interesting and sometimes frightening part of my daily life. Not only could I still continue to write my motorcycle diaries (my friend, Paola, often gives me a ride to class on her bike), but I could produce an entire book filled with my regular escapades on the bus.

Yesterday, for instance, after my journey from my apartment (in the South of the city) to Liliana and Fernando's house (in the north of the city), I arrived without enough money for the return bus trip (which is 1,500 pesos, or about 75cents). This was due to the various entertainers, vendors, and beggars who had given their spiels to us, the bus passengers (who, after all, are a captive audience). First, a crippled woman got on and presented to all of the passengers, explaining that she and her children had been displaced (due to violence), and she had not been able to find work in Cali. Although people always tell me to be skeptical of people asking for money like this (who are everywhere), I gave her a few coins. Then, a man performed by singing about how women should not be abused with his little guitar and reciting poetry (while still playing the little guitar) about how black and white people should get along, and I gave him some coins as well. Next, a man selling hand-crafted dolphin pendents boarded. I didn't buy one, but he had obviously worked so hard on his little sales pitch (talking about the endangered pink dolphins in Colombia's Amazon) that I felt he deserved a few coins, too. Finally, a man selling tooth brushes that fold-up hopped on, showing us how practical they could be. He ended by saying, "And by closing this tooth brush, you will prevent cockroaches from walking on the bristles!"... And, with a quality like that, how could I not buy one?!! =)

Even though cars are true luxury here and the majority of the population relies on buses and/or taxis, it is important to note that Cali (unlike Medellín and Bogotá) does not have a public transportation system. They are working on finishing a project of a bus line called the Mio, but (due to corruption and vandalism) this has been a very long-time coming. Therefore, all buses are privately-run businesses, and they can pretty much follow any rules that they want. There are no designated stops; bus drivers can arbitrarily change their normal routes; they will lie to you and tell you they go to places they actually don't (just so you'll hop on board); and they race with one another to pick up the many Caleños flagging down buses on the side of the road.

Bus performers must delicately keep their balance in the aisles. This Andean flute and guitar player ended up in my lap after we swerved to miss a large hole in the road.

The buses must maneuver through the crowded streets of taxis, pedestrians, cars, carts, horses, trucks, etc. Since they allow people to get off or on anywhere, this can prove to be quite a mess.

The trend seems to be "the more = the merrier." While I don't often get to ride on a "chiva" like this one (which is actually filled with indigenous people headed to the protest), I do often get to stand with lots of others in the aisles, packed in like sardines. This is particulary uncomfortable in the "busetas" (or smaller buses) because I am too tall and must hunch over, hoping that a seat will soon become available.Then, however, there are the times when I am alone on the bus. This makes me nervous because the driver sometimes gives me my money back and asks me to get off in some random place, as it "isn't worth it" to continue driving for just one person. This means I am left to find another bus to get me where I need to be, starting the whole process all over again...

Un-Constructive Criticism

Saturday was not a good day for me.

Still recovering from the 17-hour bus ride from Bogotá to Cali (that should have only been 12 hours-- tops, mind you!), I wasn't exactly in my best of states. I was groggy and exhausted. Our professor had assigned us 3 major group projects to present in one day (talk about pressure!), and my group members and I had frantically worked very hard to pull it all together before I left for my trip. Still, it had all turned out quite nicely.

However, as I've mentioned before, I've had a bit of a complex and have always struggled with feeling like the "weakest link" of my graduate program. Things have certainly improved, but I'm still the only non-native Spanish speaker, and I am one of the youngest members of our cohort. I have often felt like people are a bit condescending to me and underestimate my abilities. Although they treat me with kindness, I've always felt the need to prove to them that I am a capable, qualified, and intelligent human being-- not just the "funny little American."

Therefore, in presentations like these ones, I try really hard to show that I know what I'm doing and can understand and communicate complex ideas. I probably put more pressure on myself than I should, but I want to blow everyone away with my capabilities... or at least that's the idea.

Our first presentation was about women, as a protected group in International Humanitarian Law (the main focus of the program), in the context of Colombia. Rosario, Sonia, and I had prepared almost 150 PowerPoint slides for our presentation, but (when it was our turn to present) the professor announced that we'd only be given 15 minutes (whereas other groups had presented for over an hour). As I showed our slide with our list of what our presentation would include (our "road map" or table of contents), she told us that we should skip basically everything that I was going to present, moving right along to Rosario's part.

I skipped all of the precious slides that I had so carefully created and rehearsed in my mind until I arrived to the ones pertaining to the topic she requested. She then proceeded to talk over me, using more and more of our precious 15 minutes.

Furthermore, she insulted me-- right in front of all of my classmates. It was like a slap in the face; I couldn't believe it. This got me flustered, and I said, "Now you've made me nervous!" Everyone laughed, but I wasn't trying to be funny. She had made a personal attack in a public environment; I didn't find it humorous at all.

Then, she interrupted me once again, saying: "If you're nervous, why don't you just speak in English?"

This was another insult. Was she doubting my capabilities as well? Perhaps I was a little harsh, but I instantly snapped, "No" at her. I had done all the work in Spanish, and it was her who had thrown me off course-- not a language barrier.

I continued as fast as I could, skipping more and more slides to get to the point where my other group members could present. I ended abruptly, skipping my last several slides and announcing that Rosario would then begin with her part. I then proceeded to sit down.

In front of everyone, she told me, "If you want to work with victims, you'll need to learn to manage stress. You'll never be able to handle it." Excuse me???! I was incredibly ticked off. What did she know about me? What gave her the right to say this in front of everyone else? This was personal insult #3.

I felt like saying, "If you want to work with victims, you'll need to learn something called respect and something called tact-- or maybe even something called empathy." However, I just told her "thank you" and filled my mind with more negative thoughts than I probably should have allowed.

I have pondered sending her an email with all due respect, explaining what I feel about her actions and how they affected me. However, I think she'll probably just brush it off by saying it was all just a "cultural misunderstanding." Part of this could be true, but I think that a lot of what she said/did would be considered rude in any culture.

And, in case you were wondering, she gave us a rare and impressive 100% on the project. Perhaps she just enjoys intimidating her students??? I, for one, was not amused.

Arka Foundation

I spent today visiting two sites of "Fundación Arka," an organization that provides full days of educational activities and nutritional food for 200 children between the ages of 2 and 5. The children come from very "marginal" communities and are rated on a scale of necessity, which focuses on kids who have: high rates of malnutrition, come from overcrowded homes, have only one source of income in their household, have a family income of less than $1.25/day/person, live in a very risky physical environment, live in a potentially risky social enviroment—such as housing with drug addicts/criminals/abusers, and/or come from areas with high environmental risks-- like landslides.

The idea is that the education of children must start early, in order to really make a difference. The programs are based on the following concept: "In Colombia, poverty is hereditary. Unless we intervene by changing the children’s environment and helping them develop study habits, 95% of the children whose parents did not complete primary school will ultimately also drop out. This lack of education is the surest way to condemn them to a lower income bracket." --Fedesarrollo.

María Eugenia, the Director of the Program, was more than kind and even rode the bus for a total of 4.5 hours to be able to guide me around the sites. I learned a lot about the philosophies, goals, frustrations, and plans of the foundation, and I got to spend a lot of time with entertaining preschoolers.

Within the schools, the children seemed like "normal" kids. They laughed, picked little fights with one another, begged and begged to get their picture taken (of course!), sang little songs, drew pictures, and had some mischievous moments.

I accidentally captured this moment of shame as this little one got into trouble.

This group just returned from the park.

These children became distracted from their lunches as they waved at me shouting, "Take my picture! Look at me!"
These little ones are heading for a trip to the potty.
And, of course, what day would be complete without nap time?!

Yet, as "normal" as they seemed, it's not "normal" for a child to be malnourished, to live without basic needs being met, to lack basic hygiene habits, to have to share a small space with several others, or not receive the attention that a developing mind needs ... But the Arka Centers really seem to bring that needed "normalcy" to the lives, hopefully undoing all of the harm done as soon as they leave their schools and enter their "abnormal" home environments.

Drawn by Nature's Valley

Friday, I took the overnight bus to Bogotá. When I arrived on Saturday, I was kindly welcomed by Rotarian hosts for the week, who invited me to various activities throughout the day. I even took my first warm shower since I was traveling with my family! I have had many neat experiences since I arrived here (like dining with a local member of the City Council), but the most impacting of them thus far was a day spent with a local community surrounding Bogotá. It is an area similar to many found outside of Cali, consisting of lots of displaced people who've migrated to the city and set up their new homes with makeshift materials. Most of these neighborhoods are technically "illegal" because they are not officially recognized by the government and therefore are not often provided with basic services, like water and electricity. (Many outside of Cali have recently been recognized). In order to reach these communities, one must hop into one of the jeeps that can transverse through the steep and uneven dirt roads-- an ascent which is impossible after heavy rains. Luckily, we were able to make it!
The day was special because the people were celebrating the opening of a new community room (made possible through various organizations), which will soon be the home of useful trainings, workshops, and events of the people.One of the first people I met was María Cecilia, one of the local leaders who has been involved with all sorts of projects to improve the zone, serving as an adviser and liaison between the people served and the agencies and organizations working to help them. She told me about how her life had been threatened by paramilitaries, who often see people like her as a threat because they help to empower others-- who will then not be as easily intimidated. (For instance, human rights workers are often listed as victims of targeted assasinations). She had recently returned after being "protected" for a little while. She told me, "I've already been displaced once, and I'm not going to be displaced again!"The service project of the day was basically a yard sale that sold clothing and household goods to the people for very cheap prices (like 50 cents or less for each thing), with the proceeds going to other projects. While this was interesting to watch, what will stick with me the most was my encounter with these two boys:They are two brothers (named Diego and Cristian), and they have lived in this area for all of their lives. Cristian (the older brother) had to interpret for Diego because (as much as I tried) I had trouble understanding him. He had obviously been born with a cleft lip and pallet. Although he told that he had had five surgeries to fix it (funded by Operation Smile), his speech was still really unclear, and the poor thing really struggled with communicating (even though it was obvious he was saying really intelligent things). I think perhaps his teeth were simply in the way of his tongue??

Here I am with Diego. He bought this sweater at the sale because he said he was always cold.

The two instantly began following me around, pretty much attached at my hip for the entire day. At first, I thought it was because of my digital camera, which always makes me very popular with the kids. Like many others of their age, they enjoyed getting their picture taken and taking pictures of other adorable children, like these ones:


Soon, though, I told them that they were going to take their "very last photo" because the "camera was retiring," and they still were right there beside me. I thought that perhaps they were just drawn to my evident charm or kindness (haha!) until I opened the second half of a Nature's Valley Bar. I could tell that they really wanted some, but they were just afraid to ask for it-- and it dawned on me that they'd become my shadow shortly after eating the first half. I gave them some pieces of it, and they seemed quite satisfied. I later went to buy some water (in a bag, of course!), and I bought them some empanadas. Other volunteers went to get some soft drinks and snacks, and they shared with them as well. The people in charge of the little sale had brought sandwiches for us, and I gave most of mine to Diego and Cristian, too. They never actually asked for anything, but they were always there, patiently waiting for an offer.

I learned a lot about them throughout our conversation. Their father had died, and they lived with their younger sister and mother, who does not work. We started talking about food, and I discovered why they were so eager to eat everything, "We only get food at school on weekdays. On weekends, we don't get anything, unless we find something," Cristian told me. I have seen many families begging for food or spare change in Colombia, but what struck me about these two was that they never, ever asked. They were strategic, but very dignified and gracious, in finding ways to eat.

Health Service Fair Fun!

Last weekend, I partook in yet another “jornada de salud” with my host Rotary Club in a poor neighborhood in Cali. The children of the community’s school were offered free eye care/ vision tests, dental treatment, and haircuts. I was in charge of dental services registration and had quite a few stressful moments. I often become frustrated because we can never serve everyone who greatly needs these check-ins, and it was up to me to tell frantic/begging parents that their kids could not receive the free dental care we were offering. I became frustrated when I discovered that other volunteers were allowing young children (4 or 5-year-olds) in to see the dentists (even though we were told this was not allowed). I had already turned away a few mothers who told me very convincing stories about how their small kids really, really needed dental care. 80( I felt really bad about this.

However, my interactions with the people soon started cheering me up. I had funny conversations with entertaining boys, and this adorable family was one of my favorite groups of people that I met throughout the day:

Indigenous People = United!

I’ve done a lot of research projects on the indigenous people of Colombia in my studies, so I’ve really taken an interest in their cultures, ideas, and “civil resistance” tactics. Because they live outside the major cities, they have always been one of the groups most affected by the violence of the country; many of their people have been killed for no reason whatsoever. They also have been historically discriminated against and have done a great job of becoming united together to work for peace and achieve all of the rights they deserve.

One huge mobilization of the indigenous people of this area of Colombia began over two weeks ago. They were protesting for land that had been taken away from them and against the TLC (or free-trade agreement with the United States), among other concerns. Thousands of them marched down the Pan-American highway into Cali, carrying their typical symbol of the staff, which they held to connect to one another (like a long chain of people connected by large sticks). Sadly, under mysterious circumstances, two of them were shot and killed by the Colombian army along the way (even though it was a peaceful protest). Seven (including a child) had been killed recently at a demonstration outside of Bogotá (*not sure about the details*) , so it was certainly a risky endeavor! [There was also a protest in their name (although not by the indigenous themselves) by a group that always protests in the setting of Cali’s public university for all sorts of human-related issues (they just finished protesting in honor of the workers of sugar cane plantations). However, this group often becomes violent and destructive. It used “papa bombas” (potato bombs) that we could hear for two afternoons straight. It also left the nearby streets covered in broken glass, and several buses without tires.].

When the huge peaceful group of indigenous people arrived to Cali, we went to watch the rally at the local city center. Many of the participants wore their traditional attire, while others were clad in the modern gear of jeans and t-shirts. There were so many people that many had to climb into the trees to watch the speakers!

The president of the country (Álvaro Uribe) came all the way to Cali to address their concerns in person (it was the least he could do after so much had happened), but he arrived very, very late to their meeting point in the city center. Most of the indigenous people were offended by his late arrival and decided to leave in order to show how disrespectful he was to them. There were only a few people present when he arrived, and the stage had been destroyed. He was forced to talk through a microphone on a pedestrian bridge, and many people (who I actually don’t think they were indigenous) shouted rude insults at him. I know that they would have been “kindly escorted” away by the authorities had something like this happened in the United States, but they were allowed to continue their verbal attacks. President Uribe even responded to them, yelling back through his megaphone. He became particularly upset when these two particularly feisty hooligans began calling him a “paraco,” a term implying that he is involved with the paramilitary groups (Many, many members of the congress are being investigated for their connections to these right-wing violent groups, and rumors also claim that Uribe has ties to them as well). He shouted right back at the men, saying: “Don’t you ever, ever call me that again! If you want to say something, come up here and say something that’s productive!¨ He also made comments like, “Did you just invite me here to insult me?”

There have been a few other talks between the indigenous groups and the Colombian government since this very interesting encounter that I witnessed, but things have not yet been fully resolved. The government did agree to sign the United Nations Declaration on Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which is great progress. Here’s hoping they can come to some agreements soon!

Gotta' love the broom man!

SWEET! I finally got a picture of the “broom man,” whom I mentioned in my blog about cultural differences. There are actually quite a few of them, and I find it very impressive how they’re able to balance their cleaning supplies for sale on their bikes, while pedaling around in the pothole-filled streets. I don’t know why I find them so amusing, but I thought you’d enjoy getting to see one of these famous “broom men” for yourselves!

Here he is making a house call to a large, wealthy apartment complex. “Anyone need any mops, toilet scrubbers, or brooms? Come check out my bike!”

He then rounds the corner onto a traffic-filled main road, sure to be met my many cars honking at him. Poor guy!

Team 10!

Friday, I took part in a triathlon that featured competitors from four of the local universities. Some of you may remember my pretty horrible triathlon bike crash experience from over a year ago (which left me unconscious and with 3 fractures in my cheek bones and one in my left wrist) and question my desire to participate... But the beautiful thing about this one was that it was in teams! I simply had to do one leg of the race, which was not bad at all. Each team had to contain at least one woman, which made me popular (female athletes are rarer in these parts).

I was on a team with two guys from the swimming group that I’m in: Ricardo (age 41, although I had thought he was much younger) and Jairo (age 17, although I had thought he was much older). I chose to do the running part, although I regretted it later when I saw my fellow runners (all men, except for one other woman, because all of the women chose to swim) in their competitive track uniforms and warming up faster than I usually run at a “fast” pace... Yikes!

We ended up finishing fourth in our category (which were formed by the sum of the ages of the team members), and I was very pleased with this placement. I was hoping for third (just so we could get a medal) but fourth was okay, too. Here is a re-cap of the event:

First, we got ready for our race to begin. We were labeled by our team number (with permanent marker that didn’t fully come off for another two days, might I add!), and here we are proudly displaying our number 10’s. Go team 10!!

Ricardo began with the swimming. He started out way too fast and burnt himself out (even having to stop briefly at one point), but he did a great job and finished his part of the race nonetheless.

Next, Jairo was full speed into the bike course. It was really hard (and included lots of hills), but he did really well and made up for some of the time Ricardo had lost us. Cycling is the national sport of Colombia, and there are many amazing cyclists in the country. However, I watched as even the best of them fell on the course... but they all got right back up and kept going along, like true champions.

Finally, it was my turn! It was pretty unpleasant in the true heat of the day (at 1:00pm, yikes!) and with the many mosquitoes that bit me along the way (in spite of my fervent application of bug repellent), but I attempted to keep up a steady speed and not trip on the many tree roots throughout on the path. I would like you to know that no one was blinded by the glowing whiteness of my legs (hahaha!), and I finished strong (mainly because I kept thinking, “The faster I run, the sooner I can get in the shade!”).

Yay team!

Democracy from abroad

Happy Election Day!

I would like to proudly announce that my ballot is officially in the mail, and I’m looking forward to discovering how things unfold tonight on the news. Voting from here proved to be a lot more challenging than I expected. My absentee ballot (which was sent from King County several weeks ago) never arrived, and (due to the unreliable mail system of Colombia) I was sure it wouldn’t come until far after the election—if ever! Therefore, I made a few phone calls and was sent an email ballot on Friday. I thought that I could simply fill it out, attach a signature from the “paint” program, and send it back... but no, no that was definitely NOT allowed! It had to be sent through the hit-and-miss Colombian snail mail.

My first step was printing the ballot on 8.5” by 14” paper, which I had to convert to centimeters (21.59cm by 35.56cm). I then had to walk to three different Internet Cafes to find one that was capable of printing on this paper (or at least offered that size as an option). I had a lot of trouble with the printing of it because the numbers, letters, and dashes at the bottom of the two pages wouldn’t show up. It was an un-rewritable pdf file, so I couldn’t modify it to allow these to be visible, so I simply hand-wrote them in (perhaps this will invalidate the ballot???). I then went to send it, only to discover that it would not leave Colombia until Tuesday (as it was a national holiday over the weekend), and it said it had to be postmarked “by” November 4th. I called the voting hotline listed on the absentee ballot, and they assured me that being postmarked on the day of the 4th itself would be okay. Therefore, I returned to the only mailing place that was open on the national holiday (which still wouldn’t send it until Tuesday anyway) and followed the instructions that were included with the ballot.

The instructions were very specific and said that I must put the ballot in a sealed envelope labeled “security envelope,” then put in my voter affidavit and seal them both in another envelope. I attempted to follow these rules, but I was told that an envelope inside of another envelope was not allowed for security purposes. I begged to the woman attending me and explained that my ballot would not be counted if I did not do as told. She finally agreed to this and handed me my bill: over the equivalent of $35USD. I then received a call saying she had made a mistake, and it was actually over $50USD, and I would have to return to the office (over a 45-minute bus ride away) to pay the remaining amount... Geez—exercising my democratic rights from afar sure is a hassle and certainly is expensive! 80) I just hope that it arrives and is counted, but (if not) no one can say that I didn’t try!