Colombia by Comparison
Comparing Colombia by our standards is unfair
In January 1977, we thought we were lucky not to be required to go to Colombia to pick up our new baby girl. We were young and couldn’t easily afford the trip when she was finally available to be brought to the United States. But knowing what we missed by never going there was always something I regretted as we got older.
So, finally, in 2017, we made a trip to Bogota and Cartegena, Colombia. While realizing that it was forty years since we got our precious Sarah and things were likely to have changed, seeing where she came from was a huge eye-opener. The juxtaposition of wealth (or what we might consider middle class) and poverty (what we might think of as destitute) is stark. Shacks with corrugated tin roofs pressed against the sides of modern apartments. Laundry hung out on the “balconies” of these ramshackle homes. The land surrounding these huts was dirt or mud rather than paved. The differences were severe and so sad to see. (But, as an aside, in Colombia, taxes were assessed (at least at that time) by address, so most people “lived down” from their means to pay less tax. My guess, however, is that no one who could afford better housing chose to live in a hovel to be taxed less).
Both cities also have great beauty. The colonial Spanish buildings are gorgeous, and the churches are spectacular inside and out. Bogota is the capital of Colombia, and the governmental buildings are built around a big plaza, giving them additional distinction. Cartegena is a resort town, also with a colonial history. The contrast between the old, historical buildings and the poverty of much of the city is startling. Little children (gaminos), not in school, beg in the plazas, perhaps the only income their families have.
We didn’t go to the pristine tourist beaches, but across from our hotel was a public beach. It was narrow and crowded and lined from end to end with utility poles hanging with wires. Again, the contrast between how many people live in Colombia and the tourists who visit and spend their money there is staggering. If I were to guess, the very poor do not go to the beach, so the people we saw there were likely tourists (and maybe some of the wealthier citizens).
People make their livings as best they can, with colorfully dressed women carrying fruit in baskets on their heads, myriads of street vendors selling their wares from blankets on the ground, and swarms of taxi and motorcycle drivers vying for a chance to drive tourists through the city. We rode in a taxi, and it was terrifying, with our driver weaving in and out of five or six lanes of traffic. There is no way you could have gotten me on the back of a motorcycle!
Near the end of our vacation, we went to a suburb of Cartagena, Boquilla, to take a boat tour of a mangrove swamp. What shocked us the most was that people lived in the swamp. (I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised, given that people live in the bayous of Louisiana and the Everglades of Florida. However, I don’t imagine they are as poor as the people of Boquilla are).
We drove into Boquilla and turned off the main paved road onto a rutted mud path. On the way, we passed an open air bar and a group of children playing soccer ankle-deep in mud.
We made it to the boats and climbed into our four-person canoe propelled by a gondolier standing with a pole at the back of the boat. With all the mud around, the water in the swamp appeared surprisingly clear, even if not a luxurious blue. People living within the swamp have “all the modern conveniences.” Most houses have television antennas, and there is electricity and phone service in the homes. Where the swamp opens up, away from the mangroves, men fish for crabs and fish using hand-made nets. The water is only about ankle to knee deep, and the men stay out all day, gathering large crabs and tiny fish.
At the end of this tour, we were given fresh coconuts, from which we drank the juice. They were given to us by a little boy, and although the drinks were included in the tour, we gave dollar bills to the boy for our coconuts. There was also a mother and her toddler leaning out of a window; my husband gave her a dollar, too. We learned that Colombians like American dollars since they are more precious than their pesos.
I think back on the little I know about our daughter’s birth mother. She was two weeks old before her mother surrendered her for adoption. I’m sure she was hoping to keep and raise that beautiful little girl, but I’m sure her life situation made that dream too difficult to realize. Sarah (or Clemencia as she was named then) might have been one of the little “gaminas,” begging for money to provide subsistence for her family.
We left Colombia humbled by the experience. We don’t have a lot of money, but by their standards, we are rich. They make do with whatever they have; we are never happy unless we have more and more. I wouldn’t want to live like they do, but there are certainly lessons to learn.
