Salsa Is In Su Sangre!

Colombia es Pasión!

2010-05-04T12:24:00.001-05:00

I always wanted a sister. I love my brother Chris, but I've always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. I finally got my wish when I met my half-sister last week for the first time ever. I have to say, I was not disappointed. :)
I decided to make another quick trip to Cali to visit my birth family before leaving for the USA. My half brother's (Medardo's) birthday was a few weeks ago, my birth mother celebrated her birthday on the 28th, my niece (Daniela) is having her quinceañera (15th bday) on May 15th, and my birthday is on the 18th. I figured it'd be a nice present for all of us to be together. I had hoped to make the quinceañera, but I couldn't fit it into what will soon be a busy schedule. While I was nervous to meet back up with everyone, I wasn't nearly as shaken up as when I went to try to find my birth mom for the first time. The scary part is pretty much over; I was just worried about not being able to communicate well, but there was no problem with that as my Spanish has continually improved. I was also worried that I wouldn't get along with my sister. She had seemed nice on the phone, but I was scared of how she might view me.
I feel silly now for all the fear I had. While those feelings are definitely justified, I could definitely feel the similarities we had in our personality. Hanging out with the 2 brothers I had already met (Medardo and Jorge) and my sister (Consuelo) felt so comfortable. They're hilarious, passionate, and super nice, qualities that I hope people see in me. I had a smile on my face the entire time I was there. I can't speak to generally because perhaps my case is rare, but it seems to me that while there are quite a few cultural differences between us, our core personality traits are, in fact, very similar.
I've always wondered about nature versus nurture and how someone's personality traits are shaped throughout their life. I think I may be an example of how it's not one or the other that shapes a person's personality- it's a mixture of both. One thing that nurture definitely played a part in is my height. As you'll see in forthcoming pictures, I tower over my family. I accredit that to vitamins, having the 'luxury' of a daily dosage of calcium and eating healthy fruits and vegetables.
It would be interesting to read more on the subject of adopted siblings and how they compare in terms of personality traits. I would love to know just how much weight is placed on how one is raised in comparison to their genetic composition. I know I would have grown up in an extremely different environment if I was never adopted. My two family backgrounds (in terms of religion, education, political stance, income level, etc) differ greatly, but I still felt something inside that bonded me to my siblings, in particular. It's hard to explain, and I'll try to think of a better way to put it in the book, but I've never had a connection that was so strong to a stranger before.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. Now that I'm moving back to the States, I'll have more time to really think about all my experiences in Colombia. I've got so many new relatives that I had to make up a cheat sheet just to get all the names and their relationships to me straight. As you know, I have 5 brothers and sisters who all have children, so that in itself is hard to remember. But, just last week I realized that I have 8 aunts and uncles who all have children, too...! I look forward to getting to know all of them one day.
Colombia has been an amazing adventure that I will spend a lifetime thinking about. I wouldn't change my time there for anything. I hope to go back soon because I left a big piece of myself there. My heart was heavy leaving Cartagena because I feel such a strong connection to Colombia. While there were a lot of cultural differences that were hard to get used to, I couldn't deny the feeling of being at "home" and being comfortable in my skin. The paths I followed while there just felt right. I finally followed the right path home and I can't wait to go back someday. Now I know how it feels when following my gut and how the path just opens up naturally when you're going in the right direction. I feel stronger, more confident, fufilled, beautiful, and amazing- like i've been walking on air for the past 7 months.

Colombia definitely es Pasión!!

The Rainbow Connection

2010-04-16T15:52:00.000-05:00

It's impossible to walk around Colombia and not see the bright splashes of color around every corner. When Americans first step foot in Cartagena, one of their first comments is that they love how colorful this city is. The colors of the houses, apartments, administration buildings, busses, and schools span the entire rainbow spectrum. I agree- I wish cities in the States had half the amount of colors Colombian cities have, but this blog is not about the colors of buildings. This blog is about the color diversity of the people living here in Cartagena.

I immediately felt more comfortable in my skin living here in Cartagena. Growing up, I always looked different- not just in the classroom or on the swim team, but also in my family. Our family lived in a white neighborhood. I stood out in everything I did...in school, on the soccer team, taking music lessons, in girl scouts, or just walking around with my family. You get used to looking different, but i loved when my family or friends would go somewhere and they would be in the minority. I didn't feel so different when there were people around who looked like me.

The first time I came to Colombia, I couldn't explain why I felt so comfortable. I felt like it was a 2nd home. Now I understand why I felt that way. I felt comfortable in my skin- it's a hard feeling to explain, but I know most of you have felt the same at one point in your life. I fit in here...at least when it comes to appearance. I love how Colombian's skin color ranges from every color in between white and black- it's beautiful. The lighter colors are a result of the Europeans and Spanish who were here during colonial times (beginning in 1533). There are tons of international ex pats who have moved from all over the world to live in this beautiful country, which just adds to the diversity found here.

Colors make a city beautiful, in my opinion. But it's important how the people who represent those colors are treated. Many who visit may not realize that there is a strict social stratum here, which is assigned via neighborhood. The lower your stratum number - 0, 1- the lower your social status and income. Most of my friends from Colombia fall into stratum 1. Now, stratums don't necessarily denote color, but more often than not, people tend to subconsciously assign your stratum number based on your color. This holds true in many countries, unfortunately, and Colombia is not so different. I feel that the social stratum that the government places on neighborhoods in Colombia works against social integration. While I do feel less racism here than say...a small town in Texas, I still do feel it.

I am clearly not white, but I'm a darker shade of brown (at least while here since I'm constantly getting tons of sun). There have been many times that I have been treated poorly, overlooked, ignored, frowned upon, etc, just because of the stigma attached to my color (here and in the States). It usually occurs when I walk around a fancy hotel, nice restaurant, or upscale store. I hate to admit that while here in Colombia, I have learned to use my background as a weapon against racism toward my skin color. All I have to do to change their opinion on me is speak in English. Immediately, I am brought back up to at least stratum 5 (there are only 6 stratums). It's almost sickening how quickly I'm re-classified. Really, who says it's fair to be treated like an insignificant human being just because of one's color or income (or language for that matter)? In the States, it's sometimes harder for me to distinguish this discrimination because people won't treat me any differently if I speak English or not- that's expected. Being able to speak English here is a mark of wealth.

While I was aware that racial discrimination is a world-wide issue, I had hoped that the wide array of colors represented in Cartagena would lessen the occurrence of such a superficial concept. Though it may be less prominent in other cities within Colombia, in Cartagena, where store employees and hotel staff are constantly trying to rope in their preferred clients (stratum 3-6), racism is alive and painful. Even though I'm disappointed in the way I'm treated by certain people, I feel comfortable in my skin here as I'm not in the minority anymore. It is nice to see so many colors represented in Colombia.

Strictly Business

2010-03-29T11:13:00.005-05:00

Sorry, but what follows in this blog is a bit of shameless promotion....

Just put up the new website for my business, Tours By Alicia. If you know of anyone coming to Cartagena or Colombia any time soon, please send them this link: http://www.toursbyalicia.com

I give tours of the Old City and sell cheap tickets for activities in and around Cartagena.

If you know of someone who needs a place to stay in Cartagena, send them Casa Sweety's brand new hotel video: http://vimeo.com/10495692

Casa Sweety - Boutique Hotel - Cartagena, Colombia from GetUp&Go Films on Vimeo.

You'll get a glimpse of me giving tours near the end of the video! :) If they need proof of our reliability, send them a link to our Trip Advisor reviews http://tinyurl.com/qcaqpw - here, you'll see reviews on my tours and tour advice, as well.

Thanks for your love and support!

Colombia's Congressional Elections

2010-03-14T17:33:00.002-05:00

From the armed military police walking around, you'd think that Colombia was going to war. Instead, they're just defending voters against possible acts of violence by FARC and other paramilitary groups.

Today, Colombian voters will choose 102 Senate seats and 166 representatives in the legislative elections. This election may shed light on the presidential election which is to be held at the end of May.

The infamous FARC (Fuerzas Amardas Revolucionarias de Colombia aka Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) threatened the safety of voters and politicians, as they do nearly every year, so the government stepped up security (armed military officers were at every polling station) and police officers coated the streets. In order to protect it's democratic process, Colombia also placed a temporary halt on the sale of alcohol and motorcycle rental, and even closed its land borders.

I think I've figured out everything but the sale of alcohol. The motorcycle rental ban is to prevent drive-by shootings, which motorcycles are often used for by these paramilitary groups. Travel is restricted so people can't vote more than once. Alcohol still confuses me. Alcohol obviously can get in the way of making sane decisions, but if you want to cause trouble, you don't need alcohol to do it. Plus, people could always plan ahead and buy alcohol to drink in their own home. I can't seem to figure out the logic, but I do appreciate the safety measures put forth in order to allow Colombians their democratic right to vote. {Picture above from local supermarket aisle says that alcohol consumption and sale is prohibited from 6pm on Friday until 6am on Monday according to the Dry Law in effect throughout all of Colombia}

I hope that FARC and other rebel groups didn't interfere too much in these elections. There's no way drug trafficking didn't influence politics at all in this race. At least 90 legislators are under investigation of being linked to right-wing paramilitary groups. One candidate offered subsidized housing to his potential voters...seems a little suspect to me. This persuasion technique, however, is much less severe than what's been done in previous years.

One of my older friends told me of his recollection of the 1990 presidential election when 4 presidential candidates were murdered before election day. I read today that in an election 8 years ago there were over 200 political kidnappings. I couldn't even fathom the fear Colombians must have gone through during that time. These rebel groups will do (and have done) anything in their power to control the vote. This year in Tolima, where my birth family is from, they set a bus on fire, and in Cali, where most of my birth family lives now, they tried to set off a car bomb.

But their attempts at scaring people away from the polls this year are not working. President Uribe has done an amazing job the past few years (even though many didn't like that he tried to change the constitution so he could run for a third term) fighting FARC and other paramilitary groups, and the significant drop in violence and kidnappings in Colombia is attributed to his tight, fearless security measures. The rebels may have a less obvious way of swaying the vote this year, but when the results come out tomorrow, Colombia should know which direction the country is heading.

Mom, Defined.

2010-03-11T19:25:00.002-05:00

Someone asked me recently how I define the term "mom." While many people may default to whomever gave birth to them, my answer is a little more complicated.

A mom to me is someone who has always loved me since I came into her life.
A mom will support me, even if she doesn't agree with my actions.
Mom will take care of you and try her hardest to keep you healthy and happy. A mom would even sacrifice her happiness for her children's.
A mom is someone I can tell anything to, and I'll know she'll never leave my side through good times or bad.
A mom teaches her children everything she knows because she only wants the best for them.
I can always trust my mom. A mom will never lie to me (except that one time when she switched my pet bird out with another and didn't tell my brother and I for at least 5 years! ;) ).
A mom will tell you straight-up if she thinks you're making a bad decision.
A mom will never try to hurt me on purpose, especially physically!
A mom will always make me feel better when I'm sick. She always seems to know the cure.
Moms will try to lift you up on those really hard days.
A mom always seems to make the best home-made food.
A mom can remember things about their child that even they might forget.
A mom will always want to be your Valentine.
A mom will stand up for you even when no one else will.
A mom to me will help mold their child's life by introducing them to new food, cultures, religion, sports, music, and educational opportunities, but she'll never try to hold her child back or restrict learning about something new even if it worries her.
Moms will always want to know what's new with their children.

I guess I don't agree that a "mom" is simply one who gives birth to a child. There is a lot more attached to that word for me. For that reason, I am having difficulty calling my birth mother, "mom." I have dedicated hours of this topic to a few unlucky friends, and I have realized that I just can't do it and there's nothing wrong with that. Yes, Teodora gave birth to me. Yes, she is my birth mom. But she has not had the chance to be my "mom" yet.

Things may change and it may become easier to one day call her "mom," but based on my definition, I know she'll never replace my mom completely. My mama fits my "mom" description. She's who I based my definition off, so how could she ever be replaced?

Yes, I'm about to quote Tupac. "Ain't a woman alive that could take my mama's place." :)

I know my birth mom wanted the best for me from day 1; she knew she couldn't give me what I needed- food, education, a home. I know now that she still has plenty of love to give me and has never forgotten about me, but does that mean she automatically becomes my "mom?"

The worst part is that I have to somehow tell my birth mom that I feel uncomfortable with calling her "mom." Can you imagine how hard that's going to be?? I know there are a few out there reading this who can relate in some way- with a step parent or birth parent. It gets sticky with birth parents because by dictionary definition, they are your "mom." I'm just worried that she'll be upset. I'm not sure if I should just start calling her Dora or if I should try to explain my feelings and let her know that I'm thankful to have found her, but that this is a lot to take in and that'd I'd like to take things at a slow pace...?

The reason this naming thing is an issue at all is that within the first few days of knowing my birth mom, she started saying that she loved me....

Love is another word that deserves its own blog post, but it should be obvious to you by now that this whole situation has caused a lot of confusion. I feel guilty that I could deny my own "mother" her title. Isn't it a birth right? I realize that I'm lucky to have two women who consider me their daughter since there are many people who have lost their mothers, but I can't deny this inner conflict that has arisen. While there's no replacement for my mom, there may be space for two moms someday...but it'll definitely take time.

Which Path Are You Following?

2010-03-05T11:57:00.007-05:00

I don't have much time to jot down my feelings, but I felt the need to write a quick blog this morning. I know its been awhile since I've written; I've had a lot of feelings to deal with that I'm still not sure I'm ready to share on this blog. It's hard exposing myself to everyone as I go through emotion after emotion. That being said, I hope those who still read my blog aren't disappointed by my recent lack of exposure.

I have to say, I never believed in fate more than I do now. In Colombia, every time I follow my gut, follow my real feelings and desires, I end up exactly where I feel I should be. The past few days I decided to follow a new path, conquer new fears, and do things I've never done before but have always wondered about. My path lead me to a few people and experiences I will not soon forget. While I don't have time to retell everything, I thought one meeting in particular might be interesting to a few (especially those who know my entire adoption search story).

The end of the new path I took two nights ago, lead me to a bar last night that I had not been to in several months. It was 3am and the group I was with wanted to hear salsa music. I wanted to show my new friend the view from this bar's window on the 2nd floor. I had taken a picture from that same window exactly a year ago when I came to Cartagena for the first time and that view has always been magical to me. There's just something about the smokey lighting that permeates through the Passageway of the Martyrs and finds its way to the Clock Tower entrance to the Old City that gives me a feeling of peace and happiness. I glanced at a woman sitting right where I was hoping to sit. She yelled something to her mate who was inside the bar and caught my eye. I did a double-take. "No, it couldn't be," I thought. "But maybe...?" I immediately turned to this new friend of mine who already knows more about me than you could imagine, and began to tell him that she looked exactly like this woman I had been communicating with about my adoption last year. I didn't get the whole sentence out though before something within me kicked me forward to just say something to this woman.

She looked at me, noticing that I had been staring at her, and apologized, asking if I wanted to stand in the area she was in. I shook my head, and bent down to where she was sitting. I said, "No, no...it's just that I thought you were this woman named Alina." Her eyes lit up and said, "I AM Alina!!" I couldn't hold back. The same feelings that I had experienced for the first time last month came rushing back and I couldn't help but cry. For those of you who don't know, Alina is who I am named after. My first name, before I was adopted, was Alina Marin. I got Marin from my birth mother and Alina from a woman who worked at Chiquitines, the orphanage I lived in for 3 months of my life. Alina was around 20 years old when I was born and her position was similar to that of an Office Manager. She was the owner's daughter and spoke the most English of anyone at Chiquitines. Alina communicated with my parents via snail mail about me.

As I've said in previous posts, my mom saved almost every single letter and piece of information she could from my adoption. Last year at Christmas she gave me a booklet of everything she had saved- pictures, letters, documents, case statements, etc. It was one of the best Christmas gifts I'd ever gotten. :) I started picking through the details and decided to try to find Alina Hleap by Googling her. I found out through Google that she is a movie producer and I even found her email address. I emailed her, hoping it was the same Alina Hleap, and I lucked out. We almost met a year ago because she was in Cartagena for the International Film Festival (an annual Festival that's in Cartagena now) while I was visiting for the first time. We never did find a moment to meet, which was disappointing at the time, but maybe it was for a reason.

Alina, as she herself told me last night, held me in her arms the first 3 months of my life. She explained to my friend that she felt like she had been my mother those 3 months. Finding her meant a lot to me. I couldn't stop thanking her for all that she did for me as a baby. Without a place like Chiquitines, I don't know where I'd be or if I'd even be alive. Meeting her was like meeting my birth mom again. It was very emotional for both of us. She kept asking how I knew it was her. While I've seen her main Facebook photo, I really didn't know her face well. I don't know how to explain it, but it was the same feeling I got when I saw my birth mother for the first time- I just knew.

The night couldn't have ended any better. Things just keep coming in full circles. I don't know where this path started or where it might end, but I'm fully enjoying this journey and I hope I continue to really listen to myself since it seems that I'm finding my way.
(Pic above of yellow brick road from Wizard of Oz)

Together Again

2010-01-31T20:18:00.013-05:00

As soon as we heard that they had found my birth mom, I rushed to Raul's wife to thank and hug her for all her help. George, the taxi driver, had already started the car, and Monica and I hopped in before we realized we hadn't paid our internet bill. We jumped out to pay them the $3,000 COP ($1.50 US), which I don't think they were expecting, and piled back in the car. Raul and another man, who seemed to come out of nowhere, hopped on a motorcycle to lead us up the insanely steep hill to my mom. Within the first few minutes, their motorcycle stopped and Raul talked briefly to a woman who had been walking briskly down the hill in our direction. The motorcycle continued up the hill, but this lady waved us to stop. George, again, asked the question of the day, "Do you know Teodora Marin Cabezas?" And for the first time, we received a positive response. "Yeah, she lives up the street...but who's looking," she asked as she peered in our cab? She was holding a cell phone, and I had a strong feeling she had my birth mom on the phone at that moment. Monica was sitting in the seat nearest her, so she quickly replied, "a family member."

As we continued our ascent up the rocky, dirt road, my heart was racing, and I was trying every means possible to calm myself down. I fought the fear and I fought the urge to cry, but I welcomed the excitement. For those 5 minutes it took the climb the hill, our cab's wheels worked as hard as they could to grip the road below, and I worked as hard as I could to remember what I was going to say to her. It seemed as if everything I had thought of before had slipped out of my memory; I couldn't remember anything. I decided to focus on the first sentence I'd say to her and how to say it without crying.

The motorcycle finally parked on the curve of the road at what seemed to be the top of the hill. I looked out the window and saw a woman walking down stone stairs. Even though she was quite far away, I knew it was my birth mom. I didn't have a clear view of her face, but I could just sense it. I felt the tears pushing their hardest, trying to be set free, but I wouldn't let them out. I kept repeating the first sentence in my head, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

Finally, my birth mom was right in front of me and without a second's delay, I blurted out (while crying-doh!), "Hi,myname'sAlicia,Iwasborn28yearsagoandwasadoptedfromanorphanagenamedChiquitines.IthinkI'myyourdaughter!" She looked at me with a bewildered expression, but placed her hand on my arm me as if trying to comfort a stranger. Soooo...didn't go quite the way I had imagined. Trying to stop from crying seemed impossible, so I turned to Monica, who only had a few tears in her eyes, for help. Monica asked her, "Did you give a child up for adoption 28 years ago?" Looking around at the people who were with me, she immediately replied, "Come up to my house so I can tell you my story, and you can tell me yours." Monica mumbled that maybe we had the wrong person, but I was certain that we didn't. My birth mom, Monica, and I walked up several stone steps, out of sight from the others, and she turned around and asked, "Now, tell me again what you said?" This time I was able to get it all out clearly. She hesitated, and Monica asked her again if she had given up a child 28 years ago. She finally nodded that yes, she had and turned to look me in the eyes. Then, as if it suddenly hit her, she grabbed me and hugged me saying something like, "Oh, my dear child..." I felt like I didn't want to let go. I really couldn't believe that I had finally found her. She asked me to come up to her house so she could explain her side of the story and tell me about my family.

My mom lives on a steep mountain-side in San Agustín, a neighborhood next to La Sirena. She owns a good chunk of land, but says her health has kept her from taking good care of it. I invited George to come up with us as I knew we might be there for awhile. George had to catch his breath from the walk up to her house. It's quite steep and my mom is 63, yet had no problem striding up the steps. She's living quite poorly, but is surrounded by beautiful scenery. Her yard is full of fruit trees and tropical and exotic plants. She has plátano, coffee, and guanábana trees (an exotic fruit- one of my personal favorites), and there were several chickens and two dogs around the side of her house. There are only three rooms- she has a large bedroom with two beds, a cozy kitchen, and a storage area along back of the house. My brother, apparently, built half of her house.

While filling me in on why she gave me up for adoption (will have to save most of these conversations for another blog...or maybe, the book??), she began telling me about the other children she already had at the time of my birth- my brothers and sisters. Turns out, I still have 5 half-brothers and sisters. Last year during my visit to the orphanage, the director had told my mom and I that as of 28 years ago, I had 5 half-brothers and sisters, but I didn't know if they were still alive. My birth mom confirmed that they were all alive. Three live in Cali (2 brothers and 1 sister), one sister lives in the Canary Islands, and my other brother lives in Tolima.

Within the first 10 minutes of being at my mom's place, my sister just happened to call from the Canary Islands. While on the phone, my mom interrupted her and said, "I have a huge surprise to tell you. Do you remember the daughter I told you about who i had to give up for adoption?" She broke down in tears and added, "Well, she's here at my side." I was able to talk to my sister for the first time and we were both so excited that we kept interrupting each other with questions. After I got off the phone with her, my mom pulled out a bunch photos of all my brothers and sisters. One of my sisters and I look a lot alike (see girl on left side of pic)- it's so crazy seeing people who have similar body types and facial features. I had a hard time focusing on everything that was being said because I felt like I was absorbing everything around me, so it was hard to keep up. I was super lucky to have George with us because he speaks English fluently. He was able to translate if I got lost, and trust me, it happened a lot.

About 30 minutes after being there, I heard children's voices coming from down the hill. I looked up to catch the eyes of a male version of me! It was my brother, Medardo, and his children. Turns out my sister from the Canary Islands had called all of my brothers and my sister and told them that I was at our mom's house. I had an instant connection with Medardo and he was all smiles my entire stay. He introduced me to his children and it quickly dawned on me that I'm an aunt! ...To ELEVEN nephews and nieces! And you thought you had a lot of Christmas presents to buy! ha! ;) I'm the youngest of 6, and I make our family even- 3 boys and now 3 girls. Medardo is 40 now and was 12 years old when I was born. He remembers my mom being pregnant and has always held a little resentment toward her for giving me up (will talk more about this in another blog). Needless to say, he was extremely happy to see me last weekend and has called several times since I've left. His children are adorable and so beautiful.

A little while later, my youngest brother Jorge came to my mom's house with his son and daughters. He's taller, like me, but has a different father than the rest of our siblings. He and I may have the same father (again, will need to save details for another blog), but that's up for debate right now. Unfortunately, my mom could not give me much information on my father. I'm not sure how upset I am about that. From what I know, it seems that he left my mom after hearing she got pregnant in the first 3 months of their dating. I'm lucky to have a fantastic, loving dad already who has been there for me since day 1. Jorge and I also got along really well. His ex-girlfriend, believe it or not, was the one who heard the loudspeaker message in San Agustín and pointed us up the hill to my mom. There's a connection between my brothers and I that I can honestly say I've never felt before with a complete stranger. I can't wait to learn more about them and their girlfriends/wives. That night, even though I was feeling extremely sick, Monica and I went out to celebrate in Cali. I felt like I was walking on air.

The next day, we went to Medardo's house for lunch and I got to hang out with 5 of my nephews and nieces. I'll spare you the details on how I threw up over their balcony- I was pretty sick by then even though I worked as hard as I could to fight it. There, I also got to meet Medardo's wife and his youngest son who I hadn't met the day before. I really enjoyed getting to know a little bit about everyone and I can't wait for another family reunion! My oldest niece, Daniela, is turning 15 on May 13th, 5 days before my b-day, so I may try to come back to Cali for her quinceañera (we also look alike! hehe).

My new family has welcomed me with open arms and hearts. Every one of them has called me since I left Cali last Monday...several times. I've been so happy and stress-free since I found them. I can't wait to share more about my family, but I know the last few blogs have been extremely long. I'm seriously contemplating writing a book about this journey because one of my favorite things to do now is convince other adoptees to search for their families. I can't tell you how blessed I feel to have two loving families now. This may just be the beginning of what I see as a happy ending. :o)
{Below, i've posted more pics from Cali of my brother's ex girlfriend who heard the loudspeaker message in San Agustín, my brothers Jorge and Medardo, Medardo's wife, and my new nieces and nephews. I also posted a pic of me at the ER just for fun- 1st IV I've ever had! wahoo...}

Toma Aliento (Deep Breath)

2010-01-26T15:50:00.009-05:00

Things dont always turn out quite the way you expect. This past weekend may take awhile to retell, so please bear with me.

Friday, Monica and i arrived in Cali and did a little sight-seeing. I had felt a little sick on Wednesday night and was steadily getting worse so we couldn't do much. While we were heading to a Salsateca, I decided to ask our random taxi driver if he knew the neighborhood La Sirena and if he thought it was dangerous. He hesitated for a moment, glanced through his rearview mirror, and said "more or less¨ in a guarded manner. I laughed and said, ¨So, yes.¨ I had expected that answer as everyone had been saying the same thing. He then said there are guerillas in the area...now that got my attention. I immediately told Monica that she didn't need to go with me if she was scared. She laughed and told me she was more worried about me. She told me not to say a word while we were looking around the neighborhood so people wouldn't hear my accent. Fine by me!

Saturday morning, our faithful cab driver, George, took us into La Sirena. When I came to Cali the first time with my mom, we had the pleasure of meeting George through our hotel. He was so nice, helpful, and trustworthy that my mom suggested I call him and ask him to take us to La Sirena. This neighborhood really didn't look bad- it didn't seem any worse than neighborhoods I had been to around Cartagena.We drove in a bit up this rocky road and soon saw the street name that we were looking for. The only problem was that the street numbers were not matching up. Instead of the houses having two numbers -like i had for my birth mom's house (12-26), there was only one number. So, we started with number 26. Nope, they had never heard of her, but they told us to try number 12, which was around the circular block. We arived at a cute house and got the attention of an elderly woman living there. She said she had been the landlord at that house for 32 years and had never heard of a Teodora Marin Cabezas. I immediately thought of the letter i had sent and we asked if she had gotten any mail recently. She shook her head apologetically and said that there were addresses at the top of the hill that often get confused with her's.

Although we didn't quite understand what she meant, we drove further up the hill to ask a few more people if they knew my birth mom or any family members with the same last name. No, no, and no. One man said he knew of a family that ran a hair cuttery with the last name Cabezas. We drove to his address and asked if anyone knew a José Cabezas. The lively chatter at his shop stopped suddenly as if i had cut the salsa music playing in the background off. The man cutting hair asked, ¨who's looking?¨ George explained what we were doing and the same man replied that he was, in fact, José, but he had never heard of a Teodora Marin Cabezas. A few of these men suggested we ask the water control office since just about everyone in the neighborhood had running water and they'd probably have her address, but we soon learned it was closed for the day. While driving, George explained to us that many people in small neighborhoods like this one are terrified of guerillas and are hesitant to give their names or family's whereabouts to strangers.

Next, George stopped at an elderly person's home to ask the landowner there if he knew a Teodora. While he didn't, he suggested we ask a man named Raul. ¨Raul knows everything about La Sirena¨ he said, convincingly. Raul and his family are in charge of the cable for La Sirena. We stopped at Raul's house, which looked like an old plantation house surrounded by lush trees and plants and was significantly bigger and nicer than the other houses in the area, but his daughter told us that he wasn't home.

George asked me what I wanted to do. ¨Let's try the police station,¨ I shrugged. George warned me that the police wouldn't do anything for me, but i argued that I wanted to try anyway because I was running out of options. At first we couldn't even get through the front gate, but we finally convinced the guards to let Monica and I talk to a few more guards closer to the entrance of the building; George had to stay put. Monica and I pleaded with them to let us talk to a few officers to see if they could help us. After 10 minutes of arguing back and forth (them telling me that i should go on the radio or TV to announce that i was looking for my mom and me telling them I only had one day left in Cali and another police officer in Cartagena had gotten me an address, so it should be easier for them), one of these guards said he knew a few officers who may be able to help. He led us to a windowless office with two computers sharing the same desk pushed up against one of the 4 white walls. The officers we were talking to were detectives who specialized in homocides. The three officers began to search online for information, but this I soon realized, was nothing different than i had done in Cartagena a few months ago. Their internet dropped and one of the officers told me to come back in 2 hours. The other officer, who may have had a small crush on Monica, took us aside and said he may be able to help us, but we'd have to go to another building. Off we went to another police building. This one looked more like a normal office with cubicles and windows. The officers in this building specialized in kidnapping and extortion cases. Our friendly detective began asking his co-workers for their help, but everything was done quietly behind cubicle walls. Monica and I waited and waited for an answer of some sort. The detective finally came back and said he had good and bad news. They had matched Teodora's cedula number to her name, but they had found out that she didn't own any property, didn't have a car, and didn't own a landline nor cell phone. These are all things I knew or could've guessed, but I thanked them for their time and help. The detective told me he'd be in contact if he found out any more info and suggested I go back to La Sirena to ask as many people as possible if they knew her.

I had come all this way, I was not about to give up easily. One of the first people we talked to back in La Sirena suggested we ask the water plant owner (whose office had been closed earlier) and was able to give us her home address. Her daughter told us she was sleeping, but once she heard why we were asking, she went into her mother's bedroom and came out with a negative response- they had never heard of my birth mother. Her family suggested we speak with Raul, the cable owner. We drove back to Raul's and although he still wasn't home, his wife was. She invited us to their office around the side of their house and called her husband to tell him to come home. We explained who we were looking for and why, and Raul replied that he didn't recognize the name, but knew of a few Marin's in the neighborhood. While Raul went to ask a few neighbors in the area, his wife got out their cable records and began calling all the Marin's and Cabezas in La Sirena. Raul's wife also called the people who run the loudspeaker, which is audible throughout the entire neighborhood, and had Raul run a message asking if anyone knew a Teodora Marin Cabezas. She even got permission to make the announcement over the loudspeakers in the adjoining neighborhood, San Agustin. I couldn't help but smile when I heard Teodora's name radiate throughout the streets. A few minutes later, several people came to Raul's house and I rose with excitement thinking they may know something about my birth mom, but, of course, they were just coming to pay their cable bill.

As I sat on this kind family's paved backyard watching Raul and his wife play with her newborn girl while calling at least 30 people, a wave of fear and disappointment came over me. What if my parents were right? Should I have waited until I confirmed her address? It had already been 4 hours since we first came to La Sirena and my optimism was deflating as time passed. I took out this little Peruvian angel figure that a good family friend had given me for luck and safety only a a few weeks before and even though I tried to hold back, I couldn't help but shed a few tears. I was overcome with frustration and couldn't believe I was going to go back to Cartagena with nothing. I kept thinking that I had followed all the signs and took all the risks I could to be right here, in this moment, and I just couldn't believe that this long road that I had journeyed along led to nothing. Monica told me later that day that she had seen me holding the angel and had felt a pain in her chest, so she closed her eyes and began to pray for answers.

George called for me to come inside to where he was searching the internet because he said he had found Teodora's Ficha number (a number I had already found, but i had forgotten that the webpage wasn't working in the past so we were unable to do anything with it before). This number can link you to family members and their cedula numbers. While we were scambling to do that, I heard a lot of commotion outside and Raul's wife was shouting my name...I dropped everything and looked out the door. She shouted, ¨Les encontramos (we found them)!!!¨ I looked at Monica in disbelief asking with my eyes to repeat what they had said, and she confirmed it...they had found my birth mom.

{As this entry is super long, I'll save the next entry for how it went... My computer charger gave out on me over the weekend, so I apologize for the delay!}

Lost and Found in Thought

2010-01-18T14:26:00.003-05:00

Time has passed quickly since I've been back in Cartagena. We had a busy, full house for several days and I've been unable to pass thoughts onto paper. As the weeks roll by, so do my emotions. I'm only now slowly becoming able to wrap my head around what exactly is about to take place.

I'm going to Cali January 22nd for three and a half days with my good friend, Monica, from Casa Sweety. We're both excited to have a mini-vacation in a big city. We've got our hotel booked (Jardín Azul Casa) and we've looked up lots of things to do in the area such as hand gliding, museum-wandering, restaurant-hopping, and salsa dancing at the hottest clubs (it is the Salsa capital of the world). I'm filling up the days and nights surrounding the visit with my birth mom because if things go badly (she's not there, she doesn't want to see me, etc), I'll have other things to occupy my mind and body with.

The logistics are set-up: got the plane ticket, the hotel reservation, a friend for support, a taxi driver who I can trust to take me to Teodora's house, and a few pictures of me growing up to bring along. I also sent a letter to let her know I was coming (although I didn't mention when out of fear she might leave) and it should have arrived last week. Never knew that I could feel jealousy toward a letter! My letter, while full of emotion and feeling, experienced no fear nor doubt and has probably made it into the hands of my birth mom before me. :/ Now that the logistics are set, all I need to focus on is me. If I could just prepare my soul, I'd be all set.... But how do you prepare for something like this?

The past few weeks, people have asked me how I'm feeling about finally going to Cali, but I've had a hard time replying. I say that I'm a little of everything- a little nervous, a little excited, a little scared, a little apprehensive, a little emotional, a little stressed, a little skeptical, a little optimistic, and a little unsure. I tell them that I have no idea how it'll go, so I don't want to expect too much, nor too little.

Interestingly enough, the young, friendly, easy-going woman who has been staying at Casa Sweety the past few days, and will continue to for the next 3 weeks, is a psychologist. Things have had a weird way of just falling into place for me the last few months. Anyway, this woman has been helpful in provoking me to delve into my thoughts more deeply. This past month, I've only allowed myself to explore my shallow feelings and emotions because if I stay afloat, barely skimming the surface, then I don't feel too scared, too excited, too emotional, too stressed, etc.... This, however, has prevented me from getting to my heart and soul...and is probably why I've been unable to explain just how I'm feeling at the moment.

Now that I've found my problem, I can begin to work toward solving it. I hope to be as prepared as possible for all outcomes, positive, neutral, and negative by listening to what the whispers lost deep inside my core have to say.

The Locator

2009-12-30T17:12:00.006-05:00

"You can't find peace until you find all the pieces." ~Troy Dunn

One of my good friends told me about a TV show called The Locator in which Troy Dunn, the star of the show, works with his team to locate lost family members and friends. There have been several shows like this one in the past few years, but I don't usually take the time to watch them. With heavy, emotional storylines, these shows are sure to move scores of people to tears. Touching stories, they leave most with a warm, peaceful feeling inside. I, however, get something entirely different from these shows. I tend to feel anxious and sometimes even become morose as I watch these strangers reunite with their family's, but more recently, I have been taking mental notes on what seems to make these reunions more comfortable for both parties. Shows like The Locator, bring up emotions that don't come out normally- they're overwhelming to watch sometimes. I know exactly how these people feel...and, truthfully, I can't imagine how it must be to have a camera in my face during such an intense reunion. While my adoption is a little different than these reunions (language barrier, international adoption), it's nice to be able to imagine what it could be like if I do get to meet my biological mom.

I have decided to write and send a letter before I go to Cali. In The Locator, Troy Dunn always serves as the intermediary who lets the missing family member know that someone is looking for them. This gives the searched party a chance to think about what they will say when they come face-to-face with the person who has been searching for them. I want to tell Teodora that I've been looking for her and that I'm coming to meet her. She deserves to know that I'm coming. I don't want to shock or hurt her. Plus, I don't know who may or may not know in the family and I don't want to cause any drama or pain. As a few Colombians have told me, adoption in Colombia is not taken lightly. They place high importance on family and Catholicism, so I want to make sure I don't cause a bad situation. I just want to see her.

In one of the episodes on The Locator, an adoptee brings childhood photos of herself to show her birth mom. I think that photos would be great to have on hand when I go to Cali so Teodora can see what I looked like growing up.

While most of what will be said or asked in Cali will be unplanned, it's nice to see what has and hasn't worked for others. Over the holidays, I've had a chance to talk to my close friends and family about what I'm expecting, but it's hard to really explain the growing anxiety and fear within because they've never been through it. I don't want something to be misconstrued and accidentally hurt someone else's feelings. Here, the thin line between empathy and sympathy does stand out, so this tv show really is helping me search within to understand my feelings and thoughts about needing to find that missing piece and it's also helping me feel more prepared in case I do get the opportunity to meet my birth mom.

**Kudos to the producers of The Locator- I bet they didn't realize they'd be giving me much more than just another sentimental reality tv show to watch.**

La Fuerza De Una Mujer (The Strength of a Woman)

2009-12-16T21:48:00.003-05:00

I consider myself a tough woman able to withstand physical pain. I'm not the type of female to cry if I get into an accident, unless it's a really serious one. Playing sports for the majority of my life and having strong role-models (like my mom) made me into the powerful woman I am today. My friends in the States are the same way, most likely for the same reasons.
I recently fell into a hole within the spiral staircase in our hotel. As strong as I may be, I am quite clumsy (as many of you know), but I don't let small things like falling down the stairs slow me down! I was running down the stairs, trying to help a guest out, when I slipped on some water and fell into the hole. I started laughing, but my co-workers were shocked and terrified. Within 5 seconds, the male security guard on duty had raced to my side to help me out of the hole. I told him I could do it myself and used the stairs to leverage my body out. As soon as I took my first step out of the hole, I rushed to our safe box to get the keys I had originally been after. My female colleagues were begging me to stop in my tracks and lay down, but I finished my job before even looking at the damage done.
One shallow cut on my left leg accompanied by a huge bruise, which didn't show for a few hours, a small cut on my right knee, and two scrapped up elbows with small bruises that formed later. It really wasn't that bad, and I probably only fell a little over a foot. I had been successful in stopping my fall by using the walls (hence the scrapped up elbows). Staring at me as if I had just fallen off the roof, one of my co-workers said, as if surprised, "you're not crying (translated)?" I figured she was joking, but she never cracked a smile and just stood there waiting for me to reply.
I know women my age in Colombia are strong. Many persevered through tougher times than most, experiencing everything from poverty to drug and civil violence. Yet, hardly any women here portray the same strength as that of an American woman. American women are tough. Most of my American friends are athletes and continue to exercise, play sports, and keep fit. The majority of women in Colombia do nothing of the sort. When I asked my friends if they played any sports growing up, they all laughed and said that sports are for boys. No joke. They don't like to be considered "tough"= that's an adjective reserved for a man's character. Yup, back to machismo.
I guess Colombian women's strength could be described more effectively as endurance. They are clearly capable of being as tough as other women around the world, but they don't seem to want that label. I know a few of my colleagues look up to me, and I don't plan on changing my ways while I live here. I hope to show those who care just how strong a woman can be...on all fronts.

"Reasons...The Reasons That We Hear, The Reasons That We Fear..."

2009-12-11T19:10:00.009-05:00

I am extremely grateful for all the responses I received regarding my last post. After much thought and discussion, I have decided to wait until January to go look for my biological mom. I wanted to go as soon as possible, but there are several relatively important reasons to wait- the most important being that I need more information.
I need to know that my birth mom is still living in the same house in Cali. I have contacted the few people I know in Cali and am waiting to hear what they can find out. One contact I had (who shall remain nameless) offered to connect me to a man she knows who would search for $200.... The listed reasons for the amount of money owed were "Transportation, etc." While I realize all of these people don't know me well, I thought this a bit ridiculous since this neighborhood is in Cali and can't be that far out of the city. With $200, I could buy a plane ticket from Cartagena to look myself next month!

I've been lucky, though, to meet so many people in Colombia in such a short time. Here, I've learned time and time again that sharing why I'm in Cartagena can be of great help. I used to hate using 'connections.' Acquaintances would always tell me to use my dad's connections in the non-profit world to get a good job in DC. Instead of taking their advice, I rebelled and moved to California to do it myself...to start from scratch. Living in Colombia, however, I have come to learn the true beauty of connections. My new tour business depends on it and if I hadn't met the right people, it'd be sinking right now. Some of the most important connections I've made I met in the most random of places. Who would've known that this guy I met at a couch-surfer fiesta may just be the crucial link to another person in Cali who can find the one woman I've been wondering about all of my life? Waiting on this lead, I continue to pursue other possible connections who may be able to give me more answers before I leave.
If I only had to buy one ticket, I could go now. I think I would feel stronger, emotionally, if I had a friend to listen to me and support me...and force me to knock on Teodora's door. For this reason, I've decided to bring Monica to Cali with me. She's a good friend, an awesome supporter, and she has the ability to make me smile no matter what's going on in my life. She's never been on a plane before and has never ventured far from Cartagena; I know she'll have a fantastic time- she always does. Ontop of the trip for two, Colombia is just starting to implement their high season prices (Dec. 15th until Jan. 15), so plane tickets and hotel rates have sky-rocketed. I'd rather not spend a fortune on a whim.
Last, but certainly not least, I am scared out of my mind. I've tried to "prepare" for what I could say to her when she answers the door, but everything I think of looks ridiculous on paper. People keep saying it'll just come to me, but I'm worried it won't. Of course it's frustrating not being fluent yet, but I'm just hoping I can remember enough vocabulary to be able to express myself the way I would like.
I need to be prepared. I'm battling a lot of fear and doubts, and I'm planning for the worst. I heard this neighborhood is very dangerous, so I'm scared of the pain I might feel when I see how she's living. There is a lot of poverty out here and if she's living in a dangerous neighborhood in Cali, chances are she's still suffering from a bad financial position.
Needless to say, it feels like there's a storm brewing inside me and I have no doubt that being home, near those I love and who love me, will help calm my fears, anxiety, pain, and stress. Christmas and New Year's are a great time to refresh and reflect...and prepare for the future. While these reasons could have been tossed to the side and I could've taken the plunge to find my biological mom, I think that waiting until January may be best for me (as much as I denied it at first). 2010 is right around the corner, and I'm right down the street from my past...and my future.

'Tis the Season...

2009-12-06T15:05:00.008-05:00

Three days ago, I finally (after a month and a half) had a confirmed appointment with my lawyer to meet a woman who, I was told, could look up my birth mother's address. Although my lawyer called that morning to say she'd be earlier than she had originally proposed (2:30pm), we didn't end up leaving until 3:30pm. We met this woman at Instituto Colombiano de Bienestar Familiar (ICBF aka Colombian Institute of Family Welfare). ICBF organizes most adoptions out of Colombia, but not mine. My parents got me directly from Chiquitines, my orphanage. My lawyer never told me that Bienestar couldn't look for adopted children who didn't go through them directly. So after explaining my situation to this woman at Bienestar who didn't seem to know we had an appointment that day, we realized they weren't going to help us and left empty-handed.

Back in her office, my lawyer said she knows someone who knows someone who can search for people for a fee. I have been warned not to search that way because often these people will hook you up with a random family who lies about being your birth family in order to receive monetary help. My lawyer also said she would contact my orphanage to request information on my mom. I told her (again) that I had already gone to the orphanage and had gotten everything they had on my birth mom- they didn't have up-to-date info on her. My lawyer insisted on it though, so I finally gave in. Sigh...another block in the road.
I went home with a tummy ache from the stress. My co-worker Yuberleidys gave me some Panela tea to settle my stomach. Strange, but a block of Panela melted down in a pan with water tastes like a brown sugar molasses tea and has actually made me feel better several times while sick with a cold. Different people have told me a range of its many benefits- it helps cure stomach ulcers, prevent tooth decay & amenia, and cures colds. I'm sure it does more. They sell Panela in blocks at the grocery store...unwrapped.
This feeling of hopelessness began to take over. I realized, though, that there are people who have searched their entire lives for their families. I really shouldn't get discouraged so easily, but it's hard not to. I thought once you had someone's ID number and name, it wouldn't be too difficult.
Yesterday, I was walking out our front door about to go to the market when my co-worker Lizety stepped out of the passenger side of a parked car. Not many families have cars, but as I said before, her brother is a pretty high ranking police officer. My heart jumped, i hadn't seen him for a month and I realized he may be here to give me good or bad news. I backed up a few steps, searching for some sort of answer in Lizety's eyes. Then her brother got out, looking serious as ever. I kept looking into Lizety's eyes for her to give me an answer, but all she did was half-smile and tell me to follow her. A sudden wave of fear came over me- she's going to give me bad news. She's dead, I can't believe I missed her. I came all the way to Colombia to find out that the only link I have to my family has passed away. Lizety reached into her purse and pulled out a small piece of paper. She handed it to me and smiled....

They had found my birth mother. She's still in Cali. I smiled, laughed, and said thank you about 5 times before I walked to a corner away from her and her brother. I couldn't hold it in anymore- I cried. My breathing slowed down, and I felt a small, yet noticeable release of stress and worry. Lizety came to check on me and gave me a big hug, which didn't help me to stop crying. Her brother walked by, saw tears rolling down my face, and I knew he knew how much it meant to me. He smiled, but walked to the bathroom out of sight. All of my co-workers at Casa Sweety...i mean friends...no, i mean family...know what this meant to me. I walked up to my friend Monica and placed the paper with my birth mother's address in front of her while she was typing. She stared at it then suddenly jerked her head up to look at me...she saw me crying and tears formed in her eyes. Monica has tried everything in her power to help me look online. We just kept hitting dead-ends and webpages that weren't working anymore. She instantly said she wanted to come to Cali with me to find her. Right..., the next step....I hadn't thought of that yet.

All the girls got together and brainstormed. First thought- call 411. Nope, she doesn't have a landline. Next, look online again for any leads. Turns out she is in need of a new cedula card. We then discovered she had renewed it. We even found out when and where she needs to pick it up! The internet is amazing. More evidence that she is still alive.
I'm thinking about bringing a friend from Cartagena to Cali. I feel like I need someone there with me to keep me sane. I have NO idea what to expect. Right now, I'm looking at my options. My mom brought up the idea to call the taxi driver who took us around the city 9 months ago. He was super friendly and knew my story. He may even be able to check out the neighborhood and see if she's still living in the house I have an address for. I only have 3 connections in Cali right now, so I'm contacting all of them (orphanage, taxi driver, & Medellin woman whose husband's family lives there) to get a feel of this neighborhood and maybe see if she's still around. Lizety's brother even said he may know a cop or two in Cali who can ask around.
The last piece I'm considering right now is WHEN I will go to Cali. Part of me wanted to go as soon as I had her address in my hand. My heart says to go now so I don't miss my chance. My head says to wait until I return to Colombia after Christmas (it's cheaper & I may have more information if i wait). One thing I know for sure is that I couldn't have made it this far without using my heart. I've always wanted to come to Colombia. I didn't really start pressuring my parents to visit with me until the holiday season last year. My mom and I finally decided to make the trip in March. My mom always uses Trip Advisor and found a beautiful, friendly B&B called Casa Sweety. I loved it and ended up keeping in contact with the manager and owner. 7 months later, I decided to offer my services to Casa Sweety and got a job. Casa Sweety introduced me to Lizety, Lizety introduced me to her brother, and her brother found my birth mom.
I have to make this decision as soon as possible. Any advice is greatly appreciated! Through the help of so many people, I've come this far. I can finally picture myself in front of my birth mother's house- and as scared as I am, it doesn't seem so unlikely anymore. :)

Where Does Your Family Tree Begin?

2009-11-28T20:34:00.002-05:00

I had the chance to get to know one of the couples staying in our hotel this afternoon. This couple is extremely nice- the lady is from Michigan and her boyfriend is from England. We talked for nearly an hour this morning, during which they asked me why I was here. As I said in previous posts, I welcome the chance to tell people about my search for my birth mother now, unlike before. I shared my stress, anxiety, and excitement- it's really quite therapeutic for me. I told them how important it was to me to find a blood relative of mine. I've never had that connection before. I've never stared into the eyes of someone who looked like me, who had the same blood running through their veins. It's a hard feeling to describe to someone who has blood relatives, but I know other adoptees feel me. Anyway, after I had gone through what seemed to be my entire story, the woman shared hers.

Turns out, this guest of ours had to give up her new-born when she was 18. I was shocked. I stared at her like she was a gold mine of information. I had so many questions for her, but didn't want to pry into her personal life if she wasn't ready. I did, however, ask the one question that has been on my mind ever since I can remember- do you remember your child's birthday? Her demeanor changed, she looked me straight in the eye and told me the exact date, year, and time that he was born. She told me she NEVER stops thinking about him and that mothers never forget their children, no matter how long its been. Relief...a little piece of my soul healed.

Her situation is a little different than mine, obviously. Firstly, she said hers was an open adoption, so her son can get ahold of her if he wants to. Secondly, he gets access to all medical records, which (trust me) would've been nice to have. Thirdly, they both live in the US. It does make it more difficult for her, though. She still hasn't heard from him, but is thinking about contacting him this year. You see, he just turned 18 so it's completely legal now for her to search for him. She's just not sure if he wants to hear from her. I felt her anxiety through her words because it's such a familiar feeling. Fourthly, she told me she had written him a letter when she was 18 to explain what had happened and how much it hurt her. I would've killed for a letter- any kind of contact...just to see something of my mother's would've given me more confidence in her love for me. I didn't receive any such thing until I went to the orphanage 9 months ago and saw her case statement.

As I've said in past posts, some adoptees harbor hatred and anger toward their birth mother for giving them up. Some just don't understand how a mother could leave them. Others get stuck with adoptive parents that abuse them or never end up with parents at all. I understand adoptees who never want to meet their birth parents (it's a hard and sometimes uncomfortable feeling & what do you do with the relationship once you find out?), but to hear this woman talk about her struggle and what she's gone through, has really helped me understand what it must be like for my birth mother.

I no longer feel forgotten. This conversation brought me confidence. I am somehow on the right path. I feel like I was supposed to have met this guest, talked to her in depth, and shared my story so she could feel comfortable enough to share hers. My words brought her comfort and confidence to go ahead with her plan. She seemed to have made her decision- she was going to contact her son by the end of this year. Her boyfriend looked pleasantly surprised and extremely happy for her. We then went out to explore Cartagena and they treated me to my favorite sushi restaurant (Tabetai!), which brought us all peace and happiness! :o)

Keep trying, keep pushing, keep searching...I'm not going to let fear get in the way this time. I'm already here in Colombia, and I'm so close to finding her...I'm so close to finding my roots.

Twiddling

2009-11-26T16:24:00.006-05:00

One of the reasons I decided to move to Colombia was to find my birth family. When I came to Colombia for the first time 9 months ago, I had the opportunity to visit Chiquitines, the orphanage I stayed at for the 1st 3 months of my life. While it was the same organization I was adopted from, Chiquitines has changed locations within Cali several times since then, so it wasn't the exact same building. Chiquitines is a wonderful non-profit organization that has about 34 employees (social workers, psychologists, speech therapists, nurses, teachers, etc) and 75 kids (about 34 babies and 41 kids aged 2-12).
Before arriving, my mom and I had arranged to meet with the director of the orphanage, Agatha. When we arrived, she sat us down and began to go over my file from 28 years ago. Most of the documents I had already seen since my mom saved nearly everything from my adoption, but then Agatha pulled out documents I had never known about. I finally learned my birth mother's name, Teodora (Dora, for short) Marin. I also received her Cedula #, which is more or less a Colombian ID card. Her ID # is important because the government in Colombia uses them when someone registers for work. Agatha recommended that I hire a lawyer to help me look for her. She said that many agencies in Colombia that claim they can help find your birth mother may actually be telling random people to act like your birth parents, and adoptees would never know.
I also got to read the case worker's summary of Teodora's life cerca 1981 and her statement on why she was giving me up. Growing up, many adopted children fluctuate between anger and love for their birth parents. Many of us never know why our parents gave us up, and some tend to focus on the negative reasons. I can't lie, I often wondered growing up if there really was a good reason- it's hard not to. My birth mother, Dora, had lived with a man in Tolima with whom she had 7 children (apparently I had 7 half brothers and sisters- 2 died before I was born). In the summary, it says he went crazy and left the house never to be heard from again. In order to help sustain her family, she moved to Cali to find work with 3 of her children (i don't know what happened to the other 2). The woman she ended up working for in Cali offered her a room and some money for cleaning her house. For some reason, this lady ended up telling my birth mother she had to leave so Dora was jobless (and possibly homeless). During this time, she became pregnant with me by a guy she saw occassionally. This guy said he would stay and help her, but ended up leaving her on her own (thanks, 'dad'). She ended up giving me up for adoption because she "wanted my life to be full of indispensable love and security and for me to have a good education (translated)."

I then got a chance to speak with 4 ladies who were about to give birth and were planning on giving their children to Chiquitines for similar reasons. It was a total surprise, and I instantly had butterflies flapping around in my tummy. My words came straight from the heart so i didn't even have to worry about the Spanish. I told them my story and told them that I knew that my mother had been so strong to give me up in order for me to have a good life. I told them that I've had the opportunity to travel, play sports, get a great education, a well-paying job, and most importantly, i told them I had a wonderful family that has loved me since the day they found out I was coming. By that time I was crying while talking. I emphasized that I thought they were all so strong just like my birth mother had been and that they were doing a wonderful thing for their children. I told them that I'd never forget my birth mother and have always thought of her all of my life. I also shared with these women that I would like to find my birth mother one day. Lastly, I told them that I understood why she decided to give me up- and it wasn't b/c she didn't love me, it was the complete opposite. She had given me up out of unconditional, unselfish love.
During this conversation, almost every single person in the room was crying, including Agatha and my mom who were standing at the door. I knew that it had touched them, but I had hoped that I had gotten my point across- that they were making the right choice for the good of their babies and that their children would one day be thankful and grateful to them for making the toughest decision of their lives.

So here I am, 9 months later, stuck. I've talked to people here who say they can help me find my birth mom and then they never show or take a month to get back to me. It gets frustrating when someone doesn't take something that's extremely important to you as seriously. Seeing my frustration, my friend Lizety said she could help me last week. Her brother works in the Secret Service equivalent here in Colombia. She told me that her brother could find tons of information on my birth mother or just her address. I opted for as much information as he could provide. While I realize this is a HUGE favor, I can't stop asking her if she's found out any info on her. Her brother has been busy investigating murders around the city so I guess i understand why it's taking so long...it's just something i've been wondering about my whole life.

While i sit here, patiently waiting, pondering what I should do if I do find her home address, my leg shakes anxiously, my tummy does somersaults, and everything I've ever dreamt of happening races through my mind. These are hard emotions to deal with, but I'm lucky to have such loving, supportive friends and family members who don't mind listening to my rambling. Someday soon, I may be lucky enough to have two families to be grateful for- what a blessing! :o)

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Sex & The City-Type Noche

2009-11-19T01:03:00.002-05:00

The other night, a few girls and I went out to eat sushi at Tabetai (again). Four of the girls were from Colombia, one was from France, and you all should know by now that I grew up in the States. Their company was much-needed that day. I had just finished writing El Mundo Machista and I was exhausted from dealing with the devil tourists- I just wanted sushi and some good conversation!

We got onto the topic of one of the girl's relationships. Let's just call her 'Samantha.' Samantha made a general comment about the men in Colombia not knowing how to appropriately please their women in bed (imagine a more graphic term that Samantha might use- just trying to keep this blog parent-readable). She went on to say that they just didn't seem to care how their women felt, as long as they 'got off.' The ladies around the table began shaking their heads and telling similar stories about the Colombian men they had been with. Here we go again, I thought to myself, and gently suggested the term we were all dancing around, machismo. The table exploded in agreement.

"Yes, exactly," said 'Carrie.' "These guys cheat on their wives and girlfriends with no consequences, and then wonder why their partners turn into crazy, insecure monsters!" Carrie was pissed that women were made to look like the bad-guys when they were, in fact, the innocent victims.

"They can sleep around and STILL get a pat on the back by the women's brother," said 'Miranda.' Yes, the brothers, mothers, AND fathers will actually cheer a man on for cheating on THEIR daughter! I nearly choked on my Dragon roll (it's my fav). I wish I had asked if they 'cheer on' domestic violence, too.

Meanwhile, 'Charlotte' was sitting on the far side of the table, and when prompted by a friend, admitted that she had a Colombian boyfriend. The table fell silent, waiting for her rebuttal of these accusations against Colombian men. More silence....

There are serious relationship/life consequences with this sexist attitude of men toward women. It's the same in most countries when a man abuses a woman, or vice-versa. The victim ends up believing they're to blame and, inadvertently, causes the abuser to continue his/her abuse. Typically, the man sees he can get away with the cheating and physical/mental abuse because the woman keeps coming back...it's what she's used to, and her parents and friends justify his manly actions. It's what her society says is 'normal.' The men have this machista support from their family, friends, and culture...and don't waste another minute thinking about the possible consequences.

The sad part is, there are lots of Colombian women who start to believe that that's their place in relationships, and in a greater sense, the world population. They fall into the subordinate hole and don't make it back out. These women start thinking that men can disrespect them in any way imaginable because they deserve it for some reason.

Fortunately, the strong, independent Sex & the City type women I was with at this sushi restaurant in Colombia had had enough. They knew this machista way of life was B.S. and were not going to fall into the same unhealthy patterns their predecessors did. I hope from them, and from the women who inspired them, there will be a wave of independent women setting the record straight.

'Sex & the City' was actually brought up in our conversation before we started talking about machismo. While some may think this is just another silly, popular TV show, it may actually be just the right kind of influence women in Colombia need.

The Ugly

2009-11-18T21:43:00.002-05:00

Thanks for your kind words, thoughts, calls, emails, posts, etc regarding what happened last weekend. I really appreciate having a strong, supportive backing- you don't know how much that means to me.
I did, however, have ONE bad response. This person told me that I couldn't have been drugged- i must be making it up because I was too coherent to be writing a blog at 4:30am. They also told me that I was probably being called an escort because I had probably been sleeping around in Cartagena, so it was probably justified.
I don't feel the need to justify myself because I know me...and I have absolutely no reason to lie. Plus, the last thing I came here to do was find a boyfriend (need proof? see El Mundo Machista). I was utterly shocked at this response, but I suppose everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But just like them, I can say what I feel.
So, without further adieu, I would like to tell that person to F off.

Eyes Wide Open...at 4:30am

2009-11-15T04:33:00.003-05:00

I thought to myself tonight that I probably shouldn't write this blog. I didn't want people to worry about traveling to Colombia. The drug wars and horror stories from 30+ to 10 years ago were enough to destroy Colombian tourism for years, I didn't want to add anything else. But, as I wrote in my first blog, I want to tell anyone who reads this the raw truth about my experiences here. I absolutely love Colombia. I feel very comfortable here, and Colombians are extremely friendly and helpful. The beauty of Colombia cannot be overlooked- from the people to the landscape to the music. I have tried to immerse myself in the culture as much as possible and I'm passionate about bringing more and more people here to share this gem of a country. I can't say the same about a few other countries (1 in South America) that I've been to.
Tonight was my boss's last night. He told our French clients that we were going out to a local discoteca after dinner. The Frenchmen insisted on coming (with the Colombian escort I mentioned below). I really didn't want to go this time, but felt obliged since it was my boss's last night, so we left for dinner. On the way, the Colombian girl waited till we were alone and told me that a girl she knows, who was at one of the discotecas we had gone to, had seen me and commented that she was pretty sure that I was an escort too. She said that she had seen me walking through the city several times with different foreign men. The girl I knew argued with her for awhile, telling her that I worked for a hotel and often gave tours or was around tourists. I thanked her for setting the record straight, but she warned me that I should wear a badge so people know that I work for a legit business. Apparently, word spreads quick since I've only been here for 6 weeks. Needless to say, this made me more paranoid about going out with these people.
I suffered through dinner, exhausted, waiting for what seemed to be an eternity for everyone to finish eating. I noticed, however, that one of the French guys had been in the bathroom for quite a long time. When he got back he was acting a little abnormal. I know when someone is high and I'm 90% sure he indulged in a lil' cocaine while in the men's room. This also made me feel uncomfortable. My boss and I had a second to chat while the 2 Frenchmen and this girl went out to smoke a cigarette- they were very jumpy about leaving all of a sudden. I explained to my boss how I felt and told him I was going straight home and skipping the club. While disappointed, he totally understood and felt terrible that I was put in that position- I hadn't told him how I felt about walking around the city with this girl and these guys before tonight. The last thing I need here is a bad rep. I noticed, however, that I began to feel VERY strange. I was talking, but I was shaky and nervous. I decided I was just upset and very tired so I hurried the rest of the convo so we could leave.
We walked a few more minutes together towards my hotel and this chica told me more about her paranoia walking around town knowing that people know what kind of business she is in, which in turn made me more paranoid. Finally, I got a chance to split off from the group with my boss and we started chatting about everything that had happened. My boss randomly noted that he, too, felt very strange. He said he felt like he was flying. Scratching my head, I noticed that I felt the same way...we started talking about our symptoms and soon realized that we had been drugged.
Ok...so I was sitting at the same table, never got up, never saw any weird movement around my cup, and can't imagine why a restaurant would drug their customers, but I know how it feels to be on drugs. All of a sudden my head was warm, pupils dilated, my senses were definitely heightened, and dammit...I felt like i was on Ecstasy or cocaine. Confused at how this could've happened, my boss and I started walking home a little faster. I saw several people I knew on the way home (furthering my paranoia about how small this city is and how this negative gossip about me being an escort could be spread quickly if i continued to hang out with this really sweet, but confused girl). We made a b-line to our hotel and drank several cups of water (how many signs do you need??).
I can't say I completely trust these French guys, but I don't get how, nor why they would try to drug Anthony and I. I was PISSED off that someone could do this to me. How do they know I'm not allergic or have bad reactions to drugs?? How do they know I'll live to the next day? I decide what goes in my body- no one else does (well, unless it's an authorized doctor who I trust). One of these guys had taken his antibiotics before he starting drinking (never a good idea) and the other was sniffing powder in the bathroom, both were very disappointed that I wasn't coming out (which is odd cuz we've never had a long, good convo- they're not interesting people & I don't try to talk to them unless forced)...I have no strong defense, nor strong evidence.
Whoever did it better hope I don't find out about it. I am through forcing smiles and being polite. I was exhausted at 10pm before we left, all through dinner, which lasted until 1am, and now, at 4:30am, I'm WIDE awake. While I'm positive I didn't get a full dose, I know what I had. I'm extremely disappointed in someone, I just don't know who. I should've listened to my mom's advice, and lied to get out of dinner. I know this may worry friends and family, but I do not feel in danger here. While I can't be certain who drugged us, I lean quite a bit more toward the French guys over the Colombians from the busy, semi-fancy restaurant in the Old City. It's a pity that some people feel the need to control others in any fashion possible, but at least I got out before anything else happened. Someone's looking out for me...and I'm definitely grateful for that.

El Mundo Machista

2009-11-13T17:51:00.049-05:00

Yesterday I went with my boss, two male French tourists, and a Colombian chica on a private boat tour to the Rosario Islands. I thought it was really nice of the two Frenchmen to invite me to come along considering I wouldn't be able to afford a private boat by myself. We went to Isla Cholón for the day, which is a private island opposite Isla de Baru (where Playa Blanca is located). On the way over, we spotted a school of 10 dolphins- it made me want to go diving again soon. The water was super warm, clear, and calm on Colón so we were able to sit in the water and talk.

I got a chance to talk quite a bit with the Colombian girl who had come along. I was baffled by her decision to be with this tourist because she is so beautiful and nice- not that he isn't, but he is significantly older (upper 30s) and not anything special. She told me she was 24 and from Bogotá, but had come to Cartagena to make more money for herself and her 7-year old son. She said she had left Bogotá in a hurry because she was trying to get away from her ex, who she described as 'machismo.' She said that a lot of the men here are 'machismo'- definitely not the first time I've heard about this (our Spanish class even had a discussion about 'machismo' in Colombia in comparison to the US). This woman's ex didn't allow her to work or study, he never allowed her to pay for things, and to top it off, he was physically abusing her. He was obviously trying to control everything she did. She told me that she had wanted to be more independent and in control, so she got up and left.
Interested, I asked what line of work she was in and she then told me she was working at that moment. This beautiful girl who studied through college, found the courage to leave an abusive relationship, and wanted to become more independent and in control, had decided to become an escort. I was so disappointed and told her that she could do much better. I didn't want to be too aggressive with my words, but I outright told her that she was in the wrong line of work. I didn't understand how she felt like she was in control of 'machismo' if she was an escort. Yes, I understand that women in jobs such as these feel in control because they decide who they want to go home with and sleep with, but in the end, I have always felt that they are simply a product for sale.
So while it was nice to have food and drinks paid for and to be able to go on a private boat trip, I felt extremely uncomfortable after I learned more about these guys. I didn't want them to feel in control of me, buying me everything (Note: while writing this, my boss told me that their credit card had been declined over 5 times. We figured they were spending a lot of cash and thought it best to ask for their payment now rather than wait...hmph). Plus, as nice as this girl was, I didn't want locals to think I was in the same line of work!

I wonder how being an escort makes her feel. She is definitely working this deal to her advantage- got a new pair of shoes, convinced him to buy tix to a reggaeton concert, got good food, drinks, private boat trip, and a lot of cash, but there were times when she looked very uneasy. My boss told me that our French clients wanted to take him and I out, and we should really go to be polite. I went because I wanted to see how she was treated and because I'd get to see a few of the elite clubs I had never been to so I could tell future clients about them. These are the types of tourists who like to sleep all day and party until 6 am, so I knew it would be a different kind of noche. This chica looked uncomfortable at various times during the night and would come up to me and tell me that she saw a guy who had used her services or that she saw other girls in the same business. I'm not sure if she was embarrassed to see people she knew because they knew what she was doing or what the situation was exactly. (Picture note: Just being silly in the pic to the right...ha!)
At first I was surprised at the amount of girls partaking in the escort business (they were at the ritzy clubs as well as the cheaper ones), but then I figured they're a product in demand and 'machismo' definitely plays a role in this demand. This girl was used to being treated in this manner by her 'machismo' boyfriend, so I'm assuming her situation is pretty common. My co-worker said the escort business is so big here that it's almost normal for girls to get into this business. While 'machismo' varies by culture, Colombian women have seen the opportunity to sell their company as the 'subordinate' and try to use it to their profit. It's an interesting dynamic. Who's using who? Either way, it's a problem that needs to be addressed here (and everywhere) and seems to be overlooked, especially during busy holidays like Cartagena's Independence Day/National Beauty Pageant.
Machismo deserves more discussion, but I don't have time to write more. I have a feeling this topic will come up quite a bit during my travels as I observe the culture here and try to figure out what exactly happened with my birth father who disappeared on my birth mom when she was pregnant with me. To be continued....{Title accredited to Lizety, my co-worker and amiga, who said it while we were talking about machismo guys all over the world}

Beauty or Independence?

2009-11-12T00:18:00.000-05:00

Cartagena gained its independence from Spain on Nov. 11th, 1811 (well, it was actually definitively won in 1821 b/c Spain took back this city while Colombia struggled to regain its independence). Regardless, November 11th has become of extreme importance to Colombia. Not only does today mark Cartagena's independence from Spain, it's also one of the many days that Miss Colombia is celebrated.
To foreigners, this is an odd combo. In the States, no one seems to care about the Miss America Pageant. I think the last time I watched it was back in Elementary school because it fell on the same day as my friend's b-day sleep-over. But to Colombia, the National Beauty Pageant is HUGE. Hotel owners increase their room rates (not Casa Sweety though :)), bars claim they have a cover charge, tour operators charge more for excursions, and bar owners from Bogotá, Medellín, and Barranquilla shut down their clubs and open up shop in Cartagena. Thousands of Colombians flock here for the fiestas, parades, fireworks, and good times! The Beauty Pageant contestants were welcomed this year by dozens of navy officers singing from atop their ship's mast with fireworks going off in the background...quite the spectacle.
What I wonder is if Colombia would explode with the same enthusiasm if the Beauty Pageant wasn't held on the same day. Miss Colombia seems to be the talk of the town....i haven't heard anyone talking about Independence Day. Even newscasters judge every detail of these women. It's hard for me to take it so seriously. People are hypnotized when one of the contestants is nearby.
I just think Colombians place a lot of importance on a person's beauty. Men are constantly whistling and calling after pretty girls (i've had to relax my mentality on this), and women don't take it offensively here. The women all tell me it's just a man's way of complimenting a woman. Still don't buy it, but that way of thinking does help change the way I feel about it. It's still degrading to me, but I'm trying to assimilate into their culture to fully understand what it's like for a woman here. My girl friends from Colombia were shocked when I told them that if a man did that in the workplace in the States, they'd be charged with sexual harassment. I've come to realize that 'sexual harassment' doesn't have quite the same connotation in Colombia.

While women might not be completely equal with men in the States, they sure have it better than in Colombia. In that regard, I know I was lucky to have such great opportunities available to me and even luckier to understand that it doesn't have to be this way....
I'm still not sure what it is we've been celebrating the past few weeks, but it's hard not to enjoy it! The tradition of spraying anyone who walks by with white foam and water is actually pretty fun. Constant music, colorful parades, lively atmosphere, no work for 2.5 days - can't get much better than that! People in Cartagena seem to be having the time of their life, so it doesn't really matter what they're celebrating as long as everyone's happy...right?!

"Enter"

2009-11-03T18:49:00.003-05:00

When I was little, my parents got a phone call from Leo, the liaison who had helped them through the process of my adoption. He said that my orphanage in Cali had called and told him that my birth mother had passed away. Leo also said that often orphanages will relay that message to the new family so that the child won’t come back to look for his/her birth parents, but he really couldn’t be sure in our situation.

My parents immediately told me. I was always grateful for their honesty and openness about my adoption. As far back as I can remember, they were always reading me children’s books on adoption, asking if I wanted to know more about what it meant and how I felt about it, what I could say to other kids who didn’t understand why I looked different than my parents and brother (kids could be pretty brutal and say nasty things- even today, I still get childish adults saying nasty things), etc. Truthfully at that age, I don’t remember how I felt finding out about my birth mother possibly passing away, but it has always stayed in the back of my mind.

As I grew up, I chose not to believe it. I didn’t want to think that I could never find my birth family. I’ve always wanted to look for them, but have been scared for multiple reasons of which I’m sure will come up in upcoming blogs.

Today I decided to do more research. I read on a random forum that if you have someone’s cedula (Colombian ID card) number, you can enter it into the Colombian election registration database and see whether or not they’re registered to vote. I found the link, entered the number I have for my birth mother and paused. I hesitated because I didn’t want there to be nothing at the end of the link. I thought about it, realized I was thinking way too much, and pressed ‘Enter.’

Sure enough, my birth mother registered to vote 2 years ago in Cali…the same city I was born in 28 years ago, and the same city I walked around in for the first time 8 months ago. I was so emotional because it was the first time I had confirmation that as of at least 2 years ago, she was alive. She exists…and that to me is priceless information.

The next step is to locate a lawyer I can trust who can search for more information using her cedula. Then I’ll know if there really is someone at the other end of “Enter.”

¿Hablas Español?

2009-11-02T03:00:00.006-05:00

No matter where I am, people always make assumptions. Assumptions on my background, my first language, my education level, my social status, you name it. One of the most bothersome assumptions for me is what language I speak. It may seem harmless to you, but it has always brought up issues for me. Ok, so I'll give it to you- I look Colombian...or Mexican...or like i'm from some other Latin American country, but does that mean I MUST speak Spanish?

Growing up, I had a hard time dealing with this language barrier issue. Before I graduated college, if someone started to talk to me in Spanish 7,000 words per minute, I would try to discern what it was they were asking. When I attempted a response, I'd always get the same confused, bewildered look accompanied by the response, "Como??" Then I felt obliged to explain myself, and went into detail about how I was adopted when I was three months old by parents who didn't speak Spanish at all. I'd always get a sympathetic look from these strangers, like they felt sorry for me or something. These conversations never left a good feeling inside.

After college, I decided to change my routine. Instead of try to understand someone speaking fluently to me, I'd interrupt them and say that I spoke English, or I'd simply reply in English. They'd laugh and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed you spoke Spanish." I'd shrug my shoulders like I had no clue why they'd assume such a thing and continue on my way. This still didn't make me feel better about myself, but at least I didn't get their pity.

I felt like I’d been a walking insult to my ethnicity for my entire life. I was the one who should be able to speak Spanish fluently, but my best friend could always rattle it off faster than I could...and she's white! I kept my mouth shut and never advanced because I never even tried. I was just too scared of the assumptions and the judgement that always followed. I didn't want to have to explain myself anymore because I felt terrible for “loosing” my Colombian background.

Now that I’m here in Colombia, things have started to change. The first few weeks, I was so used to feeling bad about not really knowing what being Colombian meant that I tried to hide the fact that I was born here. I didn’t want people to think I had shunned my Colombian heritage because I wasn’t fluent and couldn’t dance to salsa. But that feeling has started to disappear.

I’m proud to say I was born in Colombia now. I’m still not fluent and I'm still learning new salsa moves, but I can hold my own in Spanish and on the dance floor. People still try to guess where I’m from, and most of them know I’m Colombian, but just don’t understand why I’m speaking differently. I have no problem letting them know now that I’m here on a mission. Not one person here has made me feel bad about that. Everyone wishes me well, and even tries to offer advice or help in some way- be it teaching me the dances, finding a lawyer to help search for my birth mom, taking me to their barrios to experience life outside the tourist cities, filling me in on Colombia’s history, or just letting me know that Colombian women are some of the prettiest in the world- like I didn’t already know. ;) I must say, that does leave a good feeling inside.

Connected

2009-10-27T23:46:00.000-05:00

Cell phones are a part of everyday life in the US. They're becoming more common here, too, but it's still difficult for many to pay for even the most basic cell phones. Cell phone plans are rare. Most Colombians have cells that allow you to pay as you go, and you're not charged for calls received. I got a cell that sends me text messages letting me know that if I add $ to my phone, it'll triple in value (so if i put $5 down, they'll give me $15 worth of minutes/texts). These deals are great for me, but makes me wonder how cell phone plans are faring in Colombia.

There are still options for those who don't have a cell phone or don't have the money to increase their minutes to make a quick call. It's really quite interesting because even in the smallest towns (those without running water and consistent electricity), you can still call someone from a community cell phone. In Colombia, there are vendors sitting outside at wooden tables operating with a single cell phone...or three. It costs about $150 Colombian pesos ($.08 US) per minute to make a domestic phone call on these cell phones. Lots of Colombians use this method of calling because it's just so convenient. It's also turning out to be a great business for small entrepreneurs. I've seen lines of 4-5 people waiting to talk on these communal phones on every other corner. Hell, they're way more popular than the Juan Valdez coffee shop down the street. I haven't thought to take a pic of these vendors yet, but I'll snap one of my own to add to this blog later.
I've heard that in South Africa, communal cell phones are quite popular in small villages. These don't function exactly the same way, but the concept is similar. There is a communal cell phone that people can make calls from, but one person will take the role of an "operator" who notifies their neighbor down the street when they have a phone call. While this would be too difficult for a large city like Cartagena, it makes sense for a small village to have some sort of access to the outside world. After all, being "connected" is seen by many as a sign of progression for these countries. Colombians have found a way to stay "connected," in every sense of the word,...and are constantly working hard to change people's perspective of their country. In that respect, they're really not so different than you and me.

Salsa...the salsa (Spanish word for sauce).

2009-10-25T18:16:00.003-05:00

Living in San Diego the past 6 years, you might say I have a slight addiction to Mexican food. I eat it on a regular basis and I'm sure you know how much spice Mexicans throw on everything from fruit to tacos. The majority of Colombians I know, on the other hand, can hardly stand spice. All my meals at Casa Sweety, the B&B i'm working at, are prepared without spice. Fish (usually fried), potatoes, a WHOLE lot of rice, platanos (fried, boiled, or sweetened), beef, chicken (usually fried), sancocho (fish soup), arepas (fried food made of primarily corn, egg, and cheese), chicken, beef, or egg soup, and lots of exotic fruits make up my diet here. It's definitely not the healthiest- notice I didn't mention any vegetables, and it definitely lacks a lot of spice. My co-workers (feel weird calling them that since they're more like family now) are always making fun of me because they think it's so strange to put so much aji (spice) on my food. They always have a worried look on their face when they watch me pour aji all over my food! haha
This is interesting to me because restaurants out here serve Caribbean food, which is a fusion of a lot of different cuisines and has so much flavor and tang (the lime and coconut together = YUM). I thought the Creole influence would make for a spicier cuisine, but the majority of people here steer away from it. They tend to stick to what they know, so you won't find too many ethnic foods out here. This is especially true of the non-elite, who must bulk up on rice in order to get enough food in their stomachs and don't have the $ to try these "fancy," ethnic foods or restaurants.
Last week, my friend Sarah (who's from San Francisco) and I decided to make home-made salsa, guacamole, and chicken tacos for the three that were working that day. I had no idea how hard it would be to find tortillas, jalapenos, and tortilla chips in Colombia (we never did find black beans...). We ended up having to settle for individual-bag servings of tortilla chips (which were butter and cheese flavored, mind u) and pinto beans. Needless to say, my friends at the B&B were terrified to try it. All of them, except one, loved the salsa (which we dulled down quite a bit) and guacamole, but the chicken had "too many peppers in it." I'm talking about bell peppers, which you probably know have no more spice than a regular tomato! One girl didn't like the guacamole because of the spice, which i finally figured out was the garlic we had added.

Don't even get me started on how they feel about sushi here! I was lucky enough to have found a very good sushi place here called Tabetai. It's owned by a Venezuelan guy who is super friendly and ended up making me a mojito on the house last night (Cartagena is known for their delicious mojitos). If you're ever in the San Diego area, i highly recommend Tabetai. They have an awesome fusion of foods- next to try is their Temaki (cone-shaped sushi) filled with ceviche! The Colombians I know won't go near sushi though since it's relatively new around here and they prefer their fish fried.
Anyway, Sarah and I devoured our portion of the Mexican food we had prepared. It was a nice treat, which I doubt i'll be having more of in the near future. It did make me happy that my parents raised me to like all types of foods, or at least give them a try! I wonder if I would've ventured out to try ethnic food if i was raised by my Colombian family...
Viva Salsa (the sauce)!

Festival de Tambores

2009-10-25T15:33:00.002-05:00

The second weekend I was here, I went with new friends to San Basilio de Palenque (a little village about an hour and a half from Cartagena) for their annual Drum Festival. What we discovered in this tiny pueblo, I will not soon forget!
Palenque, a Spanish word for a fortified village of runaway slaves, is unlike Cartagena in MANY ways. They are trying to salvage their culture from outsiders and do so by hosting this drum festival every year and by continuing to speak in their native lengua (tongue), Palenquero. Palenquero may actually be the last resemblance of a Spanish-based lingua franca, which was used long ago slaves in South America.
Unfortunately, I didn't learn much about the language and definitely could not understand a word of it, but I learned a lot by watching and listening to the music and accompanying dances. From Afro-Colombian to Colombo-Indian, I learned about the progression and origin of styles of dance popular here in the Caribbean, specifically Colombia. It was absolutely beautiful- even through the rain (only rained for about 1 hour).
My friends and I watched the dances from 1pm - 2 am (some watched til 3 when the music seemed to take a break). Around 5am, a procession of drums went around the town waking up anyone who went to bed. We also saw races...not your ordinary races though. It looks difficult enough to balance a 10 lb container of water on your head, but try RUNNING with it on your head! ! These women actually had a race to see who could make it to the finish line the fastest without tipping the bucket over! Incredible!! The men had a potato sack race, which wasn't nearly as difficult; they were pretty quick though.

Palenque is out in the middle of nowhere, so there was NO breeze and it was SUPER hot there- I'd say 95-100, plus humidity. To cool off, my friends and i ventured to the river nearby. It was pretty muddy, but definitely worth a dip. I ended up being the only girl to jump off a 40ft cliff (estimation) into the 8-ft deep water below. Man oh man was it worth it! haha A bit scary climbing up to the top, but this trip is all about new, exciting experiences so i thought, "why not??" The way up is slippery from the mud and it's hard to secure your footing b/c it's steep...oh, and there's a fun little patch of barbed wire to cross too. I did it though, and about 5 minutes later (after several deep breaths), I proceeded to run and jump off the cliff...twice. :)
Sleeping in hammocks with mosquito nets, meeting world travelers, learning about new cultures, taking bucket showers, dancing my a$$ off, swimming in muddy river water, hanging out in private drum circles away from the stage, and testing some of their (all-) fried cuisine was all part of the experience, and I loved every second!

Cartagena

2009-10-12T23:14:00.001-05:00

Finally made it Cartagena, Colombia after months and months of talking about it. Talking about doing something risky and actually doing it are very different. I realized that there are two types of people in the world- those who take risks and those who don't. I figured out which group I wanted to belong to, and went for it. I quit my job, sold most of my belongings, moved out, and left San Diego (maybe for good).

I started working for Casa Sweety, a small, gorgeous Bed and Breakfast in Cartagena, and taking classes at Nueva Lengua as soon as i got here. The deal I made with Sir Anthony (the owner of Casa Sweety) is that i'll live and eat here for free plus earn commission in exchange for updating his website, S.E.O, giving his clients free 1-2 hour orientation tours of the city, teaching the staff English, and helping the girls to write emails to clients in English. I have plenty of ideas to improve Casa Sweety as a whole and have been exploring the possibility of opening a tour-guiding business.

I've been busy here while trying to get my head around the city, taking 4-hour Spanish classes, and finding myself a sofa bed, closet, air conditioner, cell phone, etc, so i haven't had much of a chance to start concentrating on the tour-guiding business. I hope to dedicate more of my time this week to figuring it out. It has been nice window shopping at small "shops" along the road to furnish my room, but I want to get started already! I see a lot of potential in this city if i just play my cards right.

Cheers to possibility! ;)

It's Time To Go

2009-08-09T18:50:00.001-05:00

It’s time to go and leave this place. I have done all I can here in San Diego- made lots of friends (close and shallow), lived in lots of different apts and houses, found my two loves for music, worked in several nonprofits, fell in love, went out by myself, and did it all on my own with no friends or family nearby. It was fun, but my time here is up. I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere anymore. I feel stuck in a rut in all aspects of my life. I’m not in the right line of work, I haven’t found the perfect place to live, I keep getting my heart broken, and I haven’t found myself yet…almost, but not yet.

Today I met up with two girls who were my two first friends out here in San Diego. It was such a wonderful feeling seeing them again and reconnecting. We’ve all been terrible at keeping in touch, but it didn’t matter b/c as soon as we were together again it was as if nothing had changed. Of course we’re more mature now, but we still fit together and were comfortable together. Catching up on each other’s lives took some time, but it was great to see them coming into their own. One of them is engaged, the other is in a serious relationship (a first for her) and they are both beaming full of life. I told them of my plans to move to Colombia and they were so happy and excited for me. It was at that point that I realized that my life here in San Diego had made a circle. I started my journey with them here and now I’m close to ending it. They introduced me to a few people 6 years ago who led me to a few other people who now mean the world to me. But, like them, I’m ready to take on the next part of my life. They gave me that extra boost of confidence I needed to take the next steps, reassuring me that if I could move to SD on my own, I could do it again in Colombia. I’ve got the strength within me- I’ve just got to do it.

So today I started my blog that I'll continue to write in while in Colombia. I promise to be as honest/raw as possible and as curious as I can. I have a feeling I’ll find myself…and maybe even find a few surprises along the way. Can’t wait to embark on this new adventure. I just hope I’m not too lonely. It’s inevitable that I will be for a while, but I hope I don’t drown in it. It's scary and exciting all at the same time. Looking forward to it though.... ;)