1. Introducing yourself to the family and introducing the project
2. Asking the questions and interviewing
3. Thanking them and saying your goodbyes.
From there on, you learn about these families. The thing is, though, it’s a whole new world when you are actually in the house. You can’t predict that the head of the family cannot read or write, making the consent form slightly difficult. You can’t predict the kids running around everywhere, despite the interview going on, while you can’t do anything but laugh. You can’t predict hearing a terrible story of violence that has affected the family, yet they overcame that struggle anyway. You can’t predict their orgullo. You also can’t predict the unconditional love that flows through the casita.
These are not tears of pity or shame, however. These are tears of strength, tears of confidence, tears of perseverance. These families have overcome events that can consume a person’s life entirely. These are tears of pride.
Carolina: Week One - Quintana
We just finished our first week of working and I was assigned to a neighborhood called Quintana. The first day we went to work at 8am but soon learned that we didn’t need to get to work until 9 because the mothers in this neighborhood preferred to have their visits later in the day. This is because the mothers don’t want to eat too early so that they don’t need more than one or two meals per day. That way they can save more for their family.
In one house we visited, the front door was wide open but there was no one at home. My cogestor said they were probably all working at their carniceria, which was a few streets away. She said that many people in this neighborhood leave their doors unlocked or open because there is never any theft.
I also met a mother who was one of the first people to build a house in her community which is now called Truinfo. When they first settled the area, the city would come in and burn down their houses because it was illegal to live there. After this happened a few times, they went into the city and protested in front of the government offices. After hours of protesting, when they finally got the document signed, they returned to the community shouting, “triunfo, triunfo, triunfo,” and that’s how the community got its name.
Stephen: Week One - San Javier
This week we went into the city with our companeros to a visit families enrolled in the Medellin Solidarios program. They took us to a variety of neighborhoods, where all the families I met this week all had had stories tell. These visits were fulfilling, but felt strange at times. Here I was, an obvious foreigner, walking into the Colombians’ houses with expensive electronic equipment asking them to confide in me their fears and joys so that I could publish it to the world. Since my first interview, I have become more comfortable talking with the families, and I believe this in turn has helped them to be more comfortable sharing their histories and hopes for the future with me. Photos especially add a dynamic to their stories. With a photo in front of them, the families are more eager to tell the story behind the smiling faces. For the families, each photo captured a special memory of happiness or accomplishment; a memory they want to share with the outside world.
Katrina: Week One - San Javier
I woke up on Monday both nervous and excited for our first day in the field. My nerves were immediately put to rest when we went into the first home, where I was graciously greeted by a smiling older woman who pulled me in for a hug. Within two minutes, she brought the cogestor and I some tinto and asked us if we had had breakfast. In all twelve homes that I visited this week, I was offered tinto, Coke, torta, or, my personal favorite, jugo de mango. I was initially concerned that I would be treated as an outsider or that the families would be skeptical of the project, but most of them agree that their stories need to be heard. They are quick to emphasize that yes, violence is a large part of their history and it should not be forgotten, but they want to be associated with things besides drugs and guerrillas.
This week I visited united families and broken ones, people who have had those closest to them murdered and others who have managed to stay away from danger, but regardless of their differences, they all share a hope that their children’s future will be brighter and have more opportunities than theirs, recognizing that education is the only chance they have to permanently escape poverty.
Cassidy: Week One - Moravia
It is strange how when we say we want to change the image of Medellin, people immediately assume that we only want stories filled with positivity and perseverance. Yet this falsely represents a singular dimension of this complex city. Violence, loss, racism and extreme poverty are just as prevalent as the reggae ton drifting into the streets and the shouting children playing innumerable games of pick-up soccer. Medellin is multidimensional. It is real. It seems only natural that the goal of changing the Medellin’s violent image is not to create a flat perspective of sole optimism. Rather it is to convey as accurately as possible the patterns of life, culture and movement within Antiochia. The best example I can think of this property of give and take, the haves and have nots is the home of a woman I visited yesterday.
Her house is made of cinder blocks and concrete. The narrow alleyway that leads to her home is covered in waste. Her ceiling is low and the water that flows into the shallow stone basin in her kitchen is questionable at best. There is a hole in her home. When you descend from the cramped upper level, carefully noting the excessive distance between steps, you realize that the staircase is not lighted from either the upper or lower level. Instead, there is a small, unintentional break in the bricks facing the staircase.
While at first it is shocking to realize the woman’s shelter is compromised by a hole in her wall, the glimpse of Moravia you capture through the flaw is beautiful. The missing brick allows the light from the surrounding mountainscape to filter into this cement cave.
Even though the home is cold and damp, it is impeccably clean. New orange leather sofas dominate the sitting room and the two bedrooms upstairs are decorated with lively blue and orange curtains. Somehow cheerful paintings of women dancing and framed family photographs create a welcoming atmosphere that draws a visitor in rather than directing him away.
The home is owned by a single mother who lives with her two daughters. The mother is a nanny in a home uptown. Even though she insists that she will never reunite with the girls’ father, she keeps pictures of him dressed in his paramilitary gear hanging about the house, so the girls do not grow up without his influence. His camouflage hat hangs over her bed across from a framed grocery store Valentine.
Molly: Week One - Moravia
Wow. This is tougher, and so much more rewarding, than I could have anticipated. The days of work are long beginning with my annoying alarm sounding at 6:30 AM and ending with my exhausted return to Carlos E. by 5 PM. So many of the families we visit have been through more than I could ever imagine. A lady whose brother was killed on her front steps by his own friend. A mother whose child died by the time he was 2 years old by an unidentifiable disease which kept him from walking, and caused awful infections whenever doctors tried new medicines. Parents who can't read or write. Seven people, a mom, her five daughters, and her grandchild, who live in a 7 ft. by 7 ft. room sharing one bed. A 19 year old son sitting across from me at lunch casually discussing how was shot in the leg 15 days ago and his friend, sitting right next to him as I was eating my sopita de frijoles and pollo, who murdered the shooter. I didn't know how to react. I'd just chatted with a murderer. But these same friends who insist that in this part of Medellín (Santa Cruz), you have to stay inside after dark otherwise you're risking your life, have young daughters who they love so deeply. It's overwhelming. I'm not sure yet how to cope with these stories - how to process them, 3 or 4 stories like this every day. My greatest fear is that, by the end of this, I will have heard so many terrifyingly sad stories that I will force myself to become numb. It is not humanly possible to react to these stories the way these families deserve. But, then they tell me of their immense happiness. Everyone says "gracias a Dios" before telling me how well the family and business is going, but they need to know that it's their own strength, passion, and love that keeps them here today. A dad cried as he explained his love for his wife, son, and daughter and his dreams for them to finish school and be happy. This family in particular amazed me. Their old house burned down in an electrical fire - every family heirloom, photo, stuffed animal they owned burned. But now, in the hills of Moravia, they live in a beautiful three-room home and they run their own dulcería. The parents cook arequipe, toasted almonds, guayaba caramel, and everything else every day in their own kitchen. They restock the dad's tienda-on-wheels, a bike with a small platform upon which they pile their goodies. The children help to make the string bracelets and rosaries that they also sell. All of this within their own home. Throughout the interview, as we move from room to room, they took along with them the one lightbulb they own to ensure that I had enough light. They showed me the article about their dulcería in the local newspaper. They offered me a bag of their homemade sweets and treats, pineapple, and five handmade bracelets. That family is my inspiration. I promise to live life with optimism, love, and drive the way they do.
