iMovie, Reggaeton, and more...

Amrita:

Biblioteca Publico Piloto

Natalie and I ventured out to Carlos E’s library, Biblioteca Publico Piloto, this week to do some research about comunas 7 and 17 (communities are organized by number in Medellín). After spending about 10 minutes walking around lost in the main room, we were escorted back to the front desk because we had managed to get past them without turning in our bags. Foreigner alert. They directed us to the Sala Antioquia (Antioquia Room) for our research. As is typical of every Medellín inhabitant when they encounter us foreigners, the librarian asked us, “¿Están amañadas?”, which is a paisa way of asking us if we’re in love with the city. Our prefabricated, overused response: ¡Claro! Yes, of course!!
We don’t have the opportunity to be much more eloquent with our answer, but it’s the unembellished truth. We are in love. After living up Medellín for more than a month, it feels insanely unreal that we’re leaving so soon.

The librarian pulled out stacks of newspaper clippings. Natalie and I spent awhile scouring through the clippings, learning about the history of the communities where we had been working. It’s amazing how a few old photographs and captions could make me love this city even more than the food, nightlife, parks, and people already have. If you hear a person’s secrets or stories of their past, you feel a stronger connection with them. You get more attached. I had only spent 11 days in comuna 17, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the chance to hear more about its past in this library. This DukeEngage project has taught me the importance of documenting history. We only have 2 months here, but the stories we’ve heard and documented will stay with us and will help keep our love for this city alive even after we leave.

Articles about Comuna 17

Kendall:

We fear the unknown. I assume that is why I have put off writing this blog post all week- because the topic was unknown. I was left stranded and directionless aimlessly wandering my scattered thoughts in an effort to stumble upon something inspiring. The uncertainty is why I demand to meet with Jota daily to continuously check my progress on my videos and ask for guidance- because I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing or how far along in that vague process I am supposed to be. It is why our parents hesitated at the thought of sending their babies alone to South America. It is why my program directors forbade me from camping in the woods of Santa Elena and why they were petrified to discover we accidently stepped outside the city’s familiar bounds. The fear is that we don’t know the risk involved. And while potential rewards are enticing, we fear the far more menacing flipside of taking chances: that our leap of faith will backfire. Making decisions without all the necessary information is uncomfortable. Dealing with the residual doubt left behind from an inconclusive thought process is inconvenient. But the only way to cure this sense of uneasiness is to discover, to try, to do.

Plagued all my life with bad luck and Murphy’s Law I have come accustomed to planning ahead and anticipating the “just in case” scenarios with an extra this or that in my purse. But I have never let the fear of everything going wrong stifle my eager assertiveness. Life itself is an unknown, everything in the future is uncharted territory. We don’t know whether we will wake up tomorrow or whether we will live forever. So “just in case”, I say yes to every invitation here, without even asking where we were going or what we would be doing, because I don’t know when I will ever be back here and presented with such opportunities. I try to do everything I am able to experience- even if it scares me to death. I am not reckless or careless, for I still always plan for misfortune, but I would rather have a short, yet wonderfully full life with experiences and memories that I love, than play it safe and lead an indifferent, apathetic, uninspired life with nothing to show for my time other than the longevity of its existence. So, my combative strategy to the unknown is this: I will be cautious- I will bring some goggles and plug my nose- but then I will run off the cliff at full speed into the opaque waves below and whatever awaits me beneath, because the unknown is uncomfortable, and at times even scary, but the power to vanquish it is simply curiosity, resolve, a deep breath, and the will to take action.
--

I love being special here. I know that sounds vain and shallow and arrogant, but it is a feeling I haven’t felt before. As ridiculous as it sounds, I like being cat called in the street, and whistled at when I wear heels, or referred to as “princessa”, “muñeca”, “bella”, or simply “ojos”. I like the attention I receive just for being me. Everyone is nice to me even when I butcher their language and sputter out incoherent sentence fragments. As long as I smile and giggle at the end of it, they seem to welcome my presence in the conversation. Here I am beautiful, and it has been such an amazing experience to feel that way for the first time. Where I live in the US, everyone has blue eyes, most of which are more dazzling and alluring than mine. All of the girls are athletic and thin with long shiny hair and wardrobes I could never afford. They are the beautiful people. I have never been considered above average before. Comparatively, there is nothing that sets me apart, that makes me special. Duke is the same way. There are plenty of girls with flawless bodies and pretty smiles to catch your eye- why would you linger on me? I’ve never made a head turn in the US. I’ve never been hailed and praised for my looks. I’ve never been treated this way- as if I were exceptional. I know here they are just intrigued by my differentness- the paleness of my skin and the color of my eyes- and their interest is nothing more than an odd curiosity. But gosh, I’m going to miss it. When I return home and fall into my humble position as the fourth child, the anonymous face on campus blending in with all the others on main quad, this will only be a distant memory. Maybe this feeling of celebrity is part of why I have enjoyed my time here so much. It is silly and unsubstantial and contributes nothing to the Duke Engage project or my general cultural enrichment, but in the last twenty years of my life I’ve never felt so confident or happy with myself. I don’t have to freak out over the amount of carbs on my plate at meal time or straighten my hair to go out at night- two swipes of mascara and a little liner and I’m on top of the world. It’s temporary, it’s fake, it will stop as abruptly as it started, but for now: I’m special. I’m exceptional. I’m beautiful. And I’m happy.

Gabby:

Today I met someone from Canada. While talking with him about his time here and comparing it to mine, I could really see the difference and uniqueness of the DukeEngage program. He has been in Medellín for maybe a week or so while I have been here for over a month. All of his group members spoke very little to no Spanish, while my friends can all hold conversations with almost anyone. It felt great when he asked me if I could recommend any places to visit in Medellín and what I liked most about the city. His program focused on one project, building a water tower for an orphanage. He showed me pictures of the kids at the orphanage and the process of building the water tower. It was great to see how proud he was of his work but at the same time I couldn’t help but notice how little he got to experience outside of that one project. I was given the amazing opportunity to go into neighborhoods and interview families. I feel like I made a connection with several families that I’ll never forget. He’ll be going home soon while I still have a couple weeks left. He wished me luck with the rest of my project and we shook hands, which felt strange after getting so used to kissing people on the cheek goodbye. I left with a sense of pride for my work here in Medellín and also feeling very thankful for this incredible experience.

Natalie: A Surprise Visit

This week has been tough, trying to edit our videos and chiseling away at interviews we most likely hold dear to our hearts. At least, by this point, I imagine we’re either all getting sick of seeing our interviewees’ face on iMovie, or finding ourselves connecting with their story more and more every day. It’s a little bit of both for me. But yesterday, I decided to revisit Jorge Arango’s house to gather just a tad bit more information. I had talked to my cogestora, Tatiana, the day before, and she said to meet her at the Valle Juelos Metrocable station at 12pm. I couldn’t go alone, so I brought Stephanie with me. When we met up with Tatiana, she informed me that Jorge had just found some work to do, so he wouldn’t be joining us. But his wife, Marta Alvarez, would be there instead. I was a little disheartened, but also excited to meet another part of Jorge’s life. We were there a little early, and Tatiana said that we could walk around a bit before Marta returned from work. So we made our way up to the main center of Santa Margarita. There were some elder ladies sweeping the front sidewalk of the center. Tatiana made her way up there and asked if there was anyone I could talk to about the founding or history of Santa Margarita. An elderly woman took my arm, walked me a ways, and pointed to the green building next to the center. She said, “That’s where the founder of Santa Margarita lives.” Stephanie and I looked at each other with giddy expressions. We assumed we had just hit the jackpot.

But when we came into the house, he wasn’t there. But his brother was, and he was in the midst of cleaning the bathroom. But as Tatiana asked him if he had any information about the “barrio”, his sponge continued to drip as he mapped out the story of Santa Margarita: about how thirty houses were originally built, and that there was a period of time where violence was rocking the neighborhood. After that period of time died down, three schools were built for the children of Santa Margarita and health centers were founded in order to benefit the people of the “barrio.” Honestly, I’d heard this story before. And I even asked him, “Was there any specific event that occurred that marks a period in Santa Margarita’s history.” He looked off into the distance, and shook his head. “No, no. No fue un evento.” Like I mentioned in my last blogpost, I didn’t want to get angry because he wasn’t providing me with a specific date or event. So we decided to leave and make our way to Jorge’s house. We waited for about five minutes, and then Marta showed up. She greeted us warmly, telling us she was exhausted. Tatiana continued to say we could wait for her to relax before we came in. But Marta insisted we come into her house. Before we made our way in, Jorge called her. The caller id read, “Amor,” and I smiled, finally hearing and seeing another part of his life before my eyes. She then passed the phone suddenly to me, and Jorge began speaking. He said he was sorry he couldn’t make it, but that he had to work. He said, “It’s very hard to find a temporary job, so when offered one, you have to take it.” I told him that I really appreciated him letting me come to his house, and in that moment, I felt so connected with this family.

Marta led us upstairs, into their house. She pulled out mountains of DVDs, putting some in, and showing us slideshows of events her and Jorge had been a part of throughout the years. Semana Santa, Fiera de Flores, all sorts of things. They volunteered constantly. Marta said, “As long as I’m happy, I don’t need to get paid.” Of course, she said it was hard, and that her and her husband were constantly stressed out when trying to find jobs. She offered us food, tinto, and eventually, fed up a really late lunch (arepa con carne y aucate con un chocolate). Hands down, the best food I’ve had here. Sorry, Mom, but it don’t think anyone will ever be able to replicate that meal, or that selflessness, ever again. Eventually, Katerin (their youngest daughter) showed up, as well as their grandson, Mateau. I got so much, if not too much, information about their lives. So I am a little stressed about how I plan on editing this video. But spending five hours with the Arango family truly made my experience here well worth it. I really wish we didn’t have to switch families, or cogestores, every day when we were working, because its times like these where you feel extremely connected and welcome in a loving, warm foreign country.

Stephanie: Appreciation at its Best

Who knew editing could be so meticulous? After conducting an interview of over 40 minutes, I now had to tediously edit the whole experience into a 5 minute clip. Two hours and two granizados de café later, I felt that I was going nowhere with my editing process. Trim here, split clip there, voice over in this section, and add in music over here. I finally got my video to be around 8 minutes, then my computer failed me. Spinning wheel of doom, how could you deceive me? “Mac, I love you, pretty little thing,” I say as I slowly pat my 13 inch MacBook Pro. I love you laptop, but sometimes I just want to toss you against the wall. I guess it doesn’t help that I have been using you for hours and you are probably tired, as am I. I needed a break. Thank goodness Natalie, a fellow Duke Engager, had to visit the Santa Margarita community for more information so I could remove myself from behind this computer screen.

Pajarito, from the moment we began walking, seemed like a true community to me. The fresh smell of bunuelos being made, arepas hogao, empanadas—all compliments of the various chefs of the Santa Margarita community. Families came together in the middle of the neighborhood to bake and make amazing Colombian cuisine. This sense of community then became extremely apparent when we visited Marta. Her humble smile, her charm, everything about her was welcoming. She told us to take a seat. What was supposed to be a 30 minute visit turned into a 4 hour visit! Marta kept feeding us, although I wasn’t complaining, I felt bad. I must say, however, her Arepas with guacamole and carne and the hot chocolate on the side was BANGING! Natalie and I kept looking at each other in awe and nodding as if we both understood that this was an amazing meal, and it wasn’t just the hunger talking.

Even though I loved hearing about her story, as it seemed that this family could do no wrong, my favorite part of the visit was getting to try on the SYMPAD outfits. Zip here, zip there, pull here, look like a midget there. The zip up bright yellow jacket fit perfectly, despite looking like an oversized fireman, but the pants were ridiculously short on me. I forget that people in Colombia aren’t as tall as I am. Then to top it all off I got to wear this nifty helmet. I felt LEGIT; I felt like I was ready to go help people in the community with problems concerning natural disasters. I felt like I could do anything I set my mind to, and that has been a lot what this trip has done for me.

When Suzanne, a faculty member from Emerson University in Boston, interviewed me and asked me how this trip has provided me with an internal change, I had so much to say. Although I have not changed, I am still the same person I was when I arrived here, I have learned a great deal about myself and about life. We take things for granted, we do not take advantage of the time we have, we complain about the little things in life. As Og Mandino puts it “Each day is a special gift from God, and while life may not always be fair, you must never allow the pains, hurdles, and handicaps of the moment to poison your attitude and plans for yourself and your future.” The short answer to Suanne’s question is APPRECIATION and RESILIENCE.

Gideon: Reggaeton

One of the things I like most about living in a Spanish speaking country is the music, including mostly salsa and reggaeton. My interest in Spanish music has also led me to analyze Colombian tastes in American music. For some reason, when we go out we encounter a weird selection of American music. For instance, “Hit the road Jack” is somehow one of the most popular songs here. Last night was a perfect example of their eclectic and bizarre music selection. The place we went to was blasting hard-core rock (like System of a Down) and then would switch to Bob Marley and then switch again to disco music from the 70’s. All the while, the Colombians were dancing and singing along as best they could, probably not understanding a word they were saying. I have also enjoyed salsa dancing, and every salsa bar seems like it is out of a movie. They are tiny, overcrowded and sweaty. But one the best things to do at a salsa bar is guess who the foreigners are. It doesn’t take very long, all you have to do is look for people who are grinning too much and moving their hips both stiffly and awkwardly. However, reggaeton has been one of my favorite things about Medellin. Although I don’t really understand most of the words in Reggaeton songs, most of which are probably inappropriate, I can’t help my self from to trying to learn the lyrics and sing along. In 2004, reggaeton made the jump into popularity in the U.S. with songs from numerous reggaeton artists such as N.O.R.E and Daddy Yankee. Although it has gained popularity in the states, I think it will be along time before I hear J Alvarez playing in Shooters. I guess it is just our responsibility to help make it big by playing Junto al Amanacer at our parties back at Duke.

Lydia Rose: Ode to iMovie

Dear iMovie ‘09,

I don’t mean to sound unappreciative

Trust me, you are quite the upgrade from iMovie 8,

And I love that you do cool transitions like

“cross dissolve” and “page curl right”

and let me ken burns my photos

So they look all cool and animated.

It’s just that, well, if you can do that,

Why can’t you just line my audio up w/ my visual automatically?

So the words and the lips match and people look less like time-delay muppets?

Or, why not just translate the Spanish into English for me?

And while you’re at it, put in subtitle, eh? (I bet my smart phone could do it)

And not to threaten or anything,

But why can’t you just sense when a person finishes a phrase?

And fade out elegantly without me splicing about messily

Trying to manually fade audio for 1.7385 seconds to no avail?

This can’t be that hard. Really.

And what about text placement?! I mean, come on,

why must my subtitles always cut across my interviewee’s chin?

Can’t they just hop out of the way automatically when she nods or something?

And why must credits scrolls so quickly? It’s the end, right?

Have they got somewhere better to be or something? Please.

Yea, it’s cool that you can see into my iphoto library,

But why can’t you just pick appropriate photos yourself?

I mean, interviewee says “my daughter” you look for a

Photo of a cute kid, am I right?

And, while we’re on the subject—

“the application iMovie has quit unexpectedly”

NOOOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOO don’t

DO this to me, iMovie! I love you, I take it all back!

Please, please, I’ll be good! Just come back to me,

Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase!

Family

Amrita:

A man enters the metro train limping, but all the seats are full. The person sitting next to me jumps up to give the limping man a seat. A woman carrying a baby in her arms enters, and another man graciously gives up his spot. This would never happen in U.S. metros, let alone the buses at Duke. People in Medellín look out for one another, they call each other “corazón” or “muñeca”, and they’re proud of who they are and the city they live in. I would love to be part of the Medellín family. My looks don’t scream “foreigner!”, my host family treats me as one of their own, the families I visit in the barrios smile when I use paisa words like “bacano”, and I even know my way around the metro stations. But I’m still an extranjera as soon as I open my mouth. I wish I could easily fall into conversation with families like my cogestores do, and I wish I could understand the jokes our compañeros make in Spanish. Instead, I’ve spent a lot of my time staring at people as they try to slow down and explain what they’re saying as if talking to a baby. I never realized how much of a barrier language can be to being myself and showing my real personality. Everyone receives us with open arms in this city, but I wish I had more than 4 remaining weeks to become the best paisa I could be…and to sneak my way into becoming a part of the caring, beautiful, and proud Medellín family.


Stephanie: Family Matters

After a long morning of tears and laughs, I come home and think about family. The families that I have visited these past three weeks have struggled and their resilience has proved to be one of their greatest assets. Some families have been torn apart from displacement, daughters and sons have become drug addicts, mothers have had to resort to prostitution to put food on her families’ table, families have lost their siblings and parents to gang and guerilla violence, children have committed suicide, and families have had to flee neighborhoods for years to avoid certain gang members who seek to kill the family.

Is this what you want to hear? That violence has taken over the family dynamic and that all of the images we believe to be true about Colombia are in fact true? Well, there is more than meets the eye—the family dynamic and sense of community is amazing! Families in Colombia (and I believe in most Latin American cultures) stay as a knit group—family is everything. I have always been taught this as a child; friends, boyfriends, classmates…they all come and go, but family is ALWAYS there for you. This is not something that is extremely prevalent in the US, at least in my opinion.

I remember having a conversation with Natalie’s cousin yesterday. He asked me if I was going to marry an American and that led to a conversation about the difference between my Cuban heritage and the American culture. I spoke bluntly to him. I told him that when I went to Duke for the first time I was shocked. The people seemed a little distant and did not have the same bond I had with my family. Whereas I called my grandmother, my grandfather, my father, and my mom everyday, others would speak to their parents once a week if that. If strangers came into the picture at Duke, the majority of the population was not welcoming; I guess that was how I felt at first when I went to Duke—like a foreigner despite being born in the United States. All my life I had lived around latinos and had been a part of that culture and now I had to adapt. I can remember a time when I wanted to say I had a complejo with something and said complexion and people around me looked at me like I was crazy and laughed at me. Although I laughed with them, deep down every joke that was made towards me in relation to my culture and language barrier hurt. With time, I learned more and more and grew to become accustomed to it and would just laugh. I am glad that I found my group of friends who accept me for me and loved that I was different; they were my new family at Duke, providing me with support and love. When I got to Colombia, however, I never felt like an outsider. As soon as I arrived I was received welcomingly: Mi casa es tu casa.

And my family at home, they are wonderful to say the least. My grandmother always begs me to stay at home when I come visit from Duke, my mom freaks out if I forget to call her for a day, my brother bothers me over the phone, and my dad frequently has health problems, which scares me to death. All families have their problems; my family is definitely not perfect, but we love each other. And that is what I see in the families that I visit on a daily basis. They may not have enough food for the day, they may be starving, they may have been displaced, they may have no water to shower with, but they love each other and they are FAMILY. We may not choose our family, but they are God’s gift to us as we are to them. ¡La familia es una bendición!


Gideon:

Since the start of the program, we have become sort of a family. As the youngest members of the family, the Duke students are the children and siblings to each other. We hang out together, play together and of course sometimes fight with each other. Tam and Jota are obviously our cool young parents, who luckily give us a lot of freedom. They’re pretty easy going but know how to lay down the law when necessary. Greg and Nina are our young aunt and uncle (unclear as to which one we are actually blood related to). We see them from time to time, have a beer or two, and they seem to understand our generation just a little bit better. Camilo is the crazy uncle you have heard so much about but never actually met. He seems to have everything going for him, but you’re not entirely sure how he makes money or what his age is. Suzanne was our extremely supportive aunt who was not afraid to follow the unconventional path. Alex is definitely our older brother. He is protective of us but at the same time goes out with us. He shows us the ropes in Medellin, but is not hesitant to kick back and enjoy himself while we are doing the same. Finally, as the only guy in the group, I am the twin brother. I therefore also sometimes feel protective over the group. Not that any of the girls are irresponsible, but as the only guy I sometimes feel responsible to make sure nothing bad happens. And of course Gaby is the abuelita. Not that she is boring in anyway. But within the group she is the most responsible and motherly. This week we unfortunately lost one of our DukeEngage family members, Jessica, who had to leave Medellin early for family reasons. Although it’s only been a week, we all have begun to miss her already. While she is hundreds of miles away, we are going to keep her as involved with the project as possible, and we will use the footage that she worked so hard to collect.


Kendall:

A family is a group of people who make sacrifices out of love for one another and want the other members of the family to be happy above all else. They are the people that accept you for who you are and let you be crazy and weird and still like you at the end of the day. Here in Colombia I have experienced many different forms of family.

I have spent my days interviewing families of the most literal kind. They are blood relatives who live together and are united in their fight for everything in their lives. The families I have interviewed, who I affectionately refer to as “my families”, have overcome everything from civil war, to landslides, to sickness and loss, to displacement and poverty. But through it all, they have supported each other, found ways to make ends meet, and even fled their homes, leaving everything behind, to protect each other from violence. They are inspiringly resilient, creative, and welcoming beyond expectation. They have almost nothing in terms of material possessions, and yet they are some of the happiest people I know because everything they do have has been hard earned. I have grown quite attached to these people, even after only a few hours in their company, and I have found myself boasting about them and showing them off to the other Dukies at every chance I get. (I made Steph, LR, and Gabby come to a fashion show put on by one of my girls, and I made Gideon see a poster hanging in the Cultural Center because it had a picture of one of my boys’ playing a musical instrument on it.) I am so proud of the accomplishments of my families in Moravia and I admire how after their tough pasts they are soaring to new heights.

Then there is my small work family that guided me through my exploration of Moravia- Yamile, Merlyn, and Catalina- the three cogestoras who have taken Gideon and I under their wing. We would meet up after work each day at a small ice cream parlor in El Bosque, a sector of Moravia, and go out lunch together to talk and laugh over language barrier miscommunications. We have exchanged phone numbers, emails, found each other on facebook, and we have turned a work routine into a cultural exchange and then into friendships. The girls specifically picked out families to take us to visit, rescheduled their morning appointments to the afternoon to make time for our interviews, and helped us with our Spanish immensely. They are kind-hearted, and fun-loving, and I am so glad I had the opportunity to get to know them.

Next I have my families outside of work. The first is obviously my Duke family- eight strangers thrown together and forced to bond over their foreignness; and second is my Nacional family whose members have done everything in their power to keep us entertained and enchanted with their city (including going out with us and hosting parties even when they’re busy and tired, taking us to movies they have little to no interest in seeing, and inviting us to get to know their friends at fincas or meet their families in their parents’ apartments for a meal).

Finally I have my traditional families: one that I am only in contact with sporadically and through a computer, and the other that greets me every day. With my host family, I used to feel like just another responsibility- another mouth to feed, another load of laundry, another kid to take care of with the flu. But this week was a turning point. In the span of the last three days I have been invited to my sister Marta’s wedding and wedding shower, taken to a relative’s house to celebrate my brother Camilo’s birthday, been asked for help with English homework by my little brother Santi, and encouraged to attend a rock concert on Saturday in which a cousin is performing. Sitting at the wedding shower, silently starring at the lively people telling stories and laughing together, my head spinning with Spanish and fatigue, it hit me- I was no longer the gringa passing in and out, occasionally preset during meals. Without notice, something had changed. I had become part of the family, one of them, not simply one among them. The shift was strange and wonderful at the same time. But then again, families are like that- crazy, weird, but when together, wonderful.


Gabby: My Family: La Divisa

Walking through my neighborhood, La Divisa, for the last time I tried to soak in every moment I could. On our way up to the first house of the day, I realized I recognized houses, streets, stores; I could actually find my way around. I switched cogestoras this week, I got to spend time with Diana. We got lost once or twice, but I was pleasantly surprised at my ability to remember previous homes I had visited and I even stopped by one to ask for directions. A family with three little boys remembered me as we walked by and they ran out to ask if I could take more pictures. It amazed me that my short visit made such an impact on them. While I don’t know everyone in the neighborhood, it was still a great feeling to be able to walk around and wave hello to people I recognized. This neighborhood has had its tense moments, but I’ve gotten to experience the wonderful people who live here and who have welcomed me into their homes like family. Diana had promised her parents that she would bring back some of Doña Carmelita’s arepas, so our last stop for the day was her house. I will never forget my many visits with Doña Carmelita. She showed me how important family is, whether you're related by blood or not. Every time my bus passed by her house or if I were walking back to the MetroCable after a day in the field, she would look up from her kitchen and wave. Most importantly, she taught me how to make arepas, an experience I will never forget. Of course, Doña Carmelita greeted Diana and I with a warm hug and asked if we were hungry. My visit to this barrio started with an arepa and ended with one too.


Lydia Rose: Family Photos

If you’re travelling and looking for a good, inexpensive souvenir, a postcard is generally a safe bet. There’s no way my amateur photography and cheapest-I-could-find camera would be capable of duplicating the scenes captured by those glossy 5x7s of famous landmarks or vast cityscapes at sunset. And yet, photos of the metrocable soaring up a mountain or the bright colored blooms of the Feria de las Flores can only go so far towards capturing my time here in Medellín.

For the rest, I have a different kind of photo; these are the snapshots I’ve taken of family after family in the course of my fieldwork in the barrios surrounding the Parque Biblioteca España. In my three weeks there, I snapped portraits of some 23 families. My camera boasts images of eagerly smiling children, wide, curious eyes reaching for my camera, babies sleeping on their mother’s shoulders, couples smiling arm in arm, grandmothers patting their hair bashfully pre-interview, siblings wrestling or playing with the family dog. I’ve photographed 4 Luz’s, 7 Marias, 9 Andres’s and 10 Juan’s, ranging in age from eight months to eighty years. I have snapshots of at least a dozen pets, from Kandi, the miniature guard dog with toenails painted bright ruby red, to a flock of parakeets kept in a cage nearly as large as me, from four tiny, two-week-old kittens, to a turtle that would have taken two weeks to move a single flipper.

And they say a picture is worth a thousand words. I’m not much for math, but I think that totals to quite the archive of memories. So, while on the one hand it seems strange to meet these families, hear their stories, gaze at their adorable baby photos and the framed portraits of smiling girls on their quinceañeras, and then leave, I’m not walking away empty handed. What’s more, neither are they. When we give the families copies of the photos and footage we took, we’ll be handing them a tangible reminder of the time we shared together, and that is better than a postcard any day.

Natalie: La Pajarito Familia

Every night before I go to bed, I get all of my camera equipment and consent forms together, placing them in my small, over-the-shoulder bag. My Medellin Solidaria vest hangs above my bed, ready to be slipped on immediately after breakfast. I always try to put my water bottle in a place where I won’t forget it; leaving it behind once proved to create an extremely dehydrated day in the field. I usually sleep pretty peacefully these days (unlike the night before my first day, when I tossed and turned all night), all with the help of a daily afternoon nap.

All of this preparation is for the families I work with. Meeting up with our cogestores at a certain time and place, taking the long, sleep-inducing Metrocable ride up to Pajarito…all of it is for talking and listening to these families. Thus far, I’ve interviewed two to three families a day for the past eleven days. It’s been a short period of time, and sometimes the visits become monotonous. The process works like clockwork: explain the DukeEngage program (since we’ve been saying it over and over again throughout our time here, our Spanish is almost flawless), get them to sign the consent form, and then finally pull out your camera.

You never once take an interview for granted, though. Mentally, you almost want to coast through an interview. Read the same questions every time, react to everything in a similar manner, and take photos. General, dull, and forgettable, for both you and the family.

For a couple days, I was struggling with how I would be able to get some kind of story out of these families. The interviews had been a tad bit more uncomfortable lately because (mainly) the women I was interviewing were getting really nervous when I would let them know I would be video recording them and taking pictures. Usually the cogestores would tell the mothers that I would just ask a few questions, always forgetting to mention a camera. So the minute I would show them the scary, black Kodak brick with the glaring red light, they would say, “Oh no, film my children instead,” or “Oh, I look horrible. Can I change? Please?” At first, it was something to laugh about amongst ourselves, but then I knew after having an interview fall apart due to the interviewee’s nerves, my approach needed to change.

Instead of turning into a robot while I was recording, I needed to listen. I remembered Clara (one of two women who make Spanish transcripts of our raw footage) said at one of our Friday workshops that “you must be a lover, not a hunter, when giving an interview.” Tam also mentioned a piece of advice before our first day that I took to heart as well: “Your job is to listen.” So instead of scrambling for my Flipcam when somebody starts saying something interesting after the interview is over, or freaking out when one of my cameras dies, I listen. I wasn’t in these families’ homes to hunt down and search for a story. These were incredibly personal stories that were fortunately being shared selflessly within five minutes of meeting me.

Sometimes the fact that these connections are so short-lived bothers me a bit. I also sometimes feel this way about discovering the city; some companeros will tell me that I need to see other parts of Medellin, not always rumbeando at the same places, like Parque Lleras or Parque Poblado. These kind of processes, of getting to understand something or someone, take a lot more time than eleven days in the field, or two months of a summer. But it’s what we have and what we were graciously offered by our university. So we have to work with it. We have to listen and take in as much as we can. So tomorrow, on my last day in the field, I don’t want to be there to crave a story; I want to be there to indulge in an interaction with human beings I may never see again.

Halftime

Lydia Rose:

“We’re halfway there. . .”

(queue the music)

But really, 4 out of 8 weeks, gonzo and what have I got to show for it? Am I really halfway through accomplishing my pre-trip goals? Hell, by the end of this trip I was supposed to be fluent in Spanish, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, and practically the next Shakira.

But things don’t always go according to plan.

Because I still cannot get the hang of using “vos” to address people, step on every toe in my vicinity while attempting to salsa, and battle impatiently with iMovie when trying to insert audio from my ipod.

This learning curve is beginning to resemble my route in the field in Santo Domingo—up up up, down down down, a sharp turn— WATCH OUT FOR THAT BUS—down, up, down, down, oops—wrong turn, circle back, etc. etc.

Yet, while I’m still about a billion years away from being fluent in Spanish, I have made progress; I can ask “Que más pues” like a true paisa (ish) and toss about words like “chévere, bacano, aragan, and mañe.” While I’m no salsa pro, but I do now know the basics steps, plus, I’ve been taking some sweet Colombian hip hop classes. As for the film awards, those may have to wait a while, but for someone who had never used iMovie or flipcam before this trip, my ability to splice audio and, insert pictures, freeze frame, etc., is certainly an improvement.

And anyway, the point isn’t so much what I’m doing as how I’m doing it. This is Medellín, slogan: “obra con amor” (work with love). I’ve only got four weeks left, so I’d better make the best of it, obstacles and all.

I’m sure as hell going to be tired after an early morning start to a long day trekking about mountains and stumbling in Spanish through poorly-lit interviews as inconsiderate busses roar past into my microphone and inopportune times. My eyes will hurt from staring at my computer screen for too long trying to get the damn audio to line up, and my head will be spinning with Spanglish after hours of conversing with my super-patient compañeros.

But I love it! I’ve got to, right? This is an unbelievable opportunity, no matter how challenging or uncomfortable it may be at times. I can sleep in ‘til noon when I get home; in Iowa I won’t have to worry about hiking up mountains or hoping the metro; with my friends back at Duke I’ll be able to chat in English as much as I want; but for now. . .

“We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got . . .”

(fade the music)

(http://www.telemedellin.tv/pagina_nueva/telemed/m21_gallery/12492.jpg)

Kendall:

This week marks the half way point of our trip, and while most students are hinting at homesickness and allowing their weary heads to droop, I surprisingly do not feel as if I am separated from what I love. I feel like I have found it.

My generation has a word for girls who fall too hard, too fast, and want to be with their love every second of every day: “clingers”. And while I would be mortified if such a term were used to describe me in regard to my relationship with a boy, I whole-heartedly embrace the label when it comes to my courtship with Medellín. I am a clinger. I have fallen in love with this country, and as the group brought my attention to the fact that the trip was half way over, I began to hear a ticking timer on this whirlwind romance.

When I started to consider the implications of the visit’s inevitable conclusion, I was instantly terrified and devastated and thrown into a helpless panic, because what it means is leaving. Getting on a plane, taking off, watching the valley below grow unrecognizably smaller, and then out of sight altogether. It means perhaps never seeing the people I have befriended here again. It means not seeing the other Dukies for at least five months. It means not waking up surrounded by mountains blanketed in the color of bricks. It means not having fresh slices of mango and papaya for breakfast each morning. It means not being called beautiful by strangers a million times a day. It means voluntarily allowing myself to be ripped from my new home.

Four weeks down means only four to go. Only four more weekends to celebrate our time together and share each others’ company amidst cultural explorations. And as each day passes by fleetingly, taunting me mercilessly as I struggle to delay it with all my might, I cannot do anything but try to soak it all in and beg, plead, hope, and pray for just a little more time. Just a few more mornings of tropical fruit. Just a few more afternoons hiking up and down the slopes of Moravia talking to “Paisas”. Just a few more evenings hopping around Parque Lleras, laughing shamelessly at nothing at all. Just a few more café granizados with the DukeEngage crew. Just a few more.

Each night as I kneel down before bed and thank God for this experience, I also ask a favor: “Dear God, please slow time down and to allow me to cling- tightly, desperately, relentlessly- cling to the city that has seduced me so effortlessly. Cling to the people that welcomed me into their arms. Cling to the art sculpted flawlessly and casually displayed on a sidewalk. Cling to the trees and pure greenery that canopy even the busiest of intersections. Cling to the feeling of utter freedom in this culture that encourages me to be myself, unapologetically. Please grant me the time to cling. Amen.”

Amrita:

I happily live up my role of being the baby of my family. At 19 years old, I can still be found snuggling up next to my mom as she reads, playing videogames with my dad, or asking my older sister to pick out my clothes and do my makeup. As comfortable as I am being a “dependent”, I’m slowly learning to live a more independent life. It started with my move across the country to continue my education at Duke in North Carolina. It’s been during this month in Medellín, however, that I’ve had the opportunity to amaze myself at how grown-up I really can be:

It’s been a challenge to communicate with my host family when I have no one at my back to prompt me with a Spanish word I’ve forgotten (i.e. when I audaciously attempted to explain the concept of neuromarketing to them at dinner).

On family trips, my mother is the one to remind me to take my waterbottle, apply sunblock, or make sure I wear appropriate shoes. She still attempts to do so from two time zones away, but I’m mostly managing alone.

I never knew I could be street-smart without the guidance of my parents, until Natalie and I were caught in a conversation with 3 men on the metrocable and we managed to wiggle our way out safely.

Although these are small examples, the idea that I am able to independently survive in a big city after being brought up (and babied) in the suburbs my whole life is something of which I can be proud. I know I’ll immediately curl up in my purple blanket next to my mom when I return home completely exhausted from this trip. But I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.

Amrita (baby), mother (Nandan), and older sister (Anjali)

Natalie:

As the saying goes: “Don’t take anything for granted.” Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard it a million times and most of the time, even after the numerous, cliché times we’ve heard it, we still end up taking every little thing for granted. The way your host-mom would yell at you for not eating everything on your plate. The way your host-dog would greet you every day at the front door after a long day at work. The way classical music would constantly be playing in your host-family’s house. Literally, all day long. Each thing we take for granted is unique and personal to us and the minute we leave it on August 15^th, we’re going to want to come crawling back to hold onto it forever.

That’s the thing about these kind of trips. I’m sure everyone has gone away to summer camp, or spent the night at a best friend’s house. Even if you’re only there for a week, or twenty-four hours, you still miss the way the house smelled different than your house. Or the way things were organized even. Or how everyone seemed nicer because no one truly knew one another.

I sense something different in this DukeEngage trip though. We’re all here for a solid two months, which three months ago felt like forever. Now we’re a month in, and I can’t fathom the idea of leaving. The idea of home, friends, and my family…all of it is numbed at the moment. Of course, we all Skype with our parents, and know that they’re still alive and well and overly interested in what’s going on. But for right now, this is our home. I can honestly say I haven’t been homesick at all. Usually, I’m pretty homesick the first three days. Then we all start to become better friends with one another and get comfortable with our environments…blah blah blah. Of course that happened. Of course, we knew it would happen. We experienced the downsized versions of leaving home our whole lives: going to our first day of school, sleeping over at a friend’s house for the first time, going to a hippie camp in the mountains of California for two weeks (well, that’s another story…), going to a residential high school for two years, three hours away from home, and finally college. This is all prepping us for the big leagues: the real world. When we have jobs and live in our own homes; when we have to pay for everything we put in our houses. Imagine bringing a foreign kid during all of that.

The point of what I’m saying is that I was extremely nervous coming into this. Just getting on the plane ride here, let alone the night before with all of that packing…I can’t wait to say I watched the last Harry Potter movie in Colombia. I can’t wait to see a Junior World Cup game. I can’t wait to present our videos to all of the families we interviewed. Maybe if you become too comfortable with a new place, you yearn for it even more afterwards. Maybe this whole “taking for granted” business shouldn’t rule our lives, and maybe we should just live in the moment?

Gabby:

Halfway done with DukeEngage and I’m halfway satisfied with what I’ve accomplished here. There is so much to see in this beautiful city that I’m afraid I’m going to miss something important. I’ve made so many new friends, not only from Medellín but also from Duke. While the weeks can be stressful, it is such a rewarding feeling to see how grateful families are when I interview them. Simple questions like where they are from, what they do now and how many people are in their family, mean so much to them. Originally, I had no idea what kind of filming we would be doing for this trip. I was intimidated by previous years’ videos and I am still nervous about the quality of my own work. Today that changed. My cogestora Luisa took me to a small wooden house painted green and pink just to interview Gloria. There was not enough time to run through the whole visit, but Luisa knew the interview would mean a lot to Gloria. She was overjoyed to see us, although sweaty and out of breathe after climbing up the mountain; she welcomed us into her beautiful house and made space wherever she could. It amazes me how warm and hospitable the families we visit are. Many of them have almost nothing, yet they offer me arepas, they offer me a warm home cooked lunch. I now understand my purpose on this trip. It is for people like Gloria that we do the interviews. It is for her and her family that these interviews are presented to the local community and to others so that they can see the amazing people that make up this city. Still, I am only halfway satisfied because I know there are more stories to be heard and more places to visit. It’s hard to say if I’ll ever feel completely satisfied. If only I could stay longer.

Gideon:

I think it may a little of an understatement, but I don’t think I will ever be confused for a paisa. Especially because the people in this country have absolutely no idea how to pronounce my name. (They normally just make a “guh” sound and then mumble something). But after living in Medellin for a month, we are not entirely still tourists. Once you buy a gym membership in another city you kind of relinquish your tourist badge. Our almost complete immersion in Medellin life did not really strike me though, until my cousin came to visit this past week. Rafi and her boyfriend have been travelling around South America for around 4 months, visiting numerous cities and staying in numerous hostels along the way. I learned a great deal from visiting her hostel – aside from how to give Jota a minor heart attack. The Pit Stop hostel was full with young travelers from the UK, Israel and numerous other countries. Hearing so much English outside of my Duke Engage bubble was a weird change of pace. As I visited the hostel more and more, I began to realize that these people were not truly experiencing Medellin. I was thrown off by the tackiness of the posters inside, one of which advertised a Pablo Escobar tour. I looked at one of the room names that read “Valderrama” and cringed a little bit inside. Is this all they were going to witness of Medellin? Cocaine and football? The hostel made me appreciate the benefits of living with a home stay and the companero/a program. While I may not be able to travel around the continent or the country for that matter, I am getting to immerse myself in the culture here and get to know the city inside out.

Nonetheless, Kendall and I (quickly putting our tourist badges back on) decided to accompany them on the Pablo Escobar tour. However, the entire time we felt somewhat guilty. As if by going on the tour we were somehow aiding the Colombian stereotype we are not only trying to shed ourselves but to shed in America as a whole. I am not ashamed to say that I enjoyed the tour, especially since we were also able to meet his younger brother, Roberto Escobar. I just hope that when I return to the states and tell my friends about my time here, that they are just as excited to hear about the Pablo Escobar tour, as they are to watch our videos.

Stephanie:

As we approach the end of our fourth week in Medellín, fluxes of emotions roam around my head. For some reason, I feel like I have been here forever, but part of me feels like time is running out and we haven’t been here at all. Yes, I know, what a paradox. How could I possibly feel like I have been here too long, yet no time at all? Well, we have done and seen so much in the last four weeks that it feels like an eternity, but we have yet to finish what we came to accomplish, and we are already half way through with our time here.

Yes, homesickness has plagued me a bit…..I mean the food isn’t too different at home, but I miss my family, my friends, MY home. Although Medellín has been my home for the last month, and I do feel like I am back in Miami with my home stay mom cooking for me and looking out for me, the similarity brings back memories. My home stay mom actually reminds me of my grandmother; I can picture my Abuelita at home ranting and yelling “E-stephanie te tienes que comer la comida completa porque hay niños en Cuba muriéndose de hambre.” Oh, I can hear her right now pleading me to eat my food while pointing her finger at me and waving it around frantically until I obey her every command. That is the reason why I am homesick; not because things are so different and I miss the uniqueness I have at home, but because of the similarities between my situation at home and in Colombia. Every similarity reminds me of home, of my family. Every similarity leaves me more homesick as everyday passes by. Every similarity is a part of my past at home; a past I cannot wait to return to in four weeks.