The Locator

"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)

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..."

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...

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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}