Our first impressions of Medellín:
Bailey
The paisas have shattered each of my preconceptions with their warmth, kindness, and generosity. My host mother, Margarita, has not only welcomed me into her home, but has given me my own room and bathroom. She cooks constantly, always asking me what else I need to be happy (the answer is nothing; her food helpings are bountiful). She is incredibly thoughtful and philosophical—we spend hours after dinner talking about culture, beliefs, and experiences. She has encouraged me in every possible way, including clearing a space on her bookshelf for the novels she insists I will write. With every small act of kindness, she resists my protestations and denies my thanks, saying “con cariño, mi amor.” I’ve taken to calling her my madre Colombiana because “host mom” fails to express the way she has made me feel at home here in Medellín.
In addition, my compañeros--Viviana and Felipe-- are incredible friends to me. Viviana invited me to a finca, or country home, for her birthday weekend. After knowing me for a grand total of two hours, she included me in this celebration with her family and closest friends. The entire weekend she repeatedly checked in on me, asking me what I needed and what she could do for me. Even on her special day, Viviana made certain I was happy and comfortable.
The people I’ve met in Medellín have truly made my experience special. Instead of hiding, ducking, fearing, I’m being drawn out of my shell and being loved and welcomed more than I ever have before.
Browne“Vive con alegría”.
These are the words my host mom sings every morning as she prepares a hot breakfast. In just the first five days, I was warmly welcomed into my new family of eight uncles, six aunts, four cousins, a brother, grandma, mom, and dog – “La Niña de la Casa”.
“In Colombia, family is very important,” my host mom tells me. Even with ten siblings, the entire family spends the majority of their time together. The warmth and excitement my host family welcomed me with is mirrored in the city, in the people. My compañeros have invited me into their lives, introducing me to their friends and favorite places. After just one short week in Medellín, its nickname has revealed a new meaning. “The City of Eternal Spring” alludes, of course, to the weather, but also describes the constant happiness and openness of the people. In Medellín, I have not only found a new home, but a community that seems to take those lyrics to heart.
Live with happiness.
Vive con alegría.
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| Me with my host brother, Nico. |
Almost every morning, the first sound I hear is a tiny bike running into the bathroom door. My host brother, Nico, has a little plastic bike, and his favorite thing to do, for whatever reason, is to ride it around inside and run straight into the door. The first morning, it jarred me awake, but now it’s just another part of my amazing homestay family.
Yesterday when I got home, while I was unlocking the door (it’s a surprisingly complicated process), I could hear my family inside and they said hello. But when I opened the door, my host cousin, Miguel, was right there, and scared my so bad I jumped. The rest of my host family was sitting in the living room, laughing so hard they were almost in tears.
These two experiences in my homestay, along with countless others, have really shown me that this is my home. I never expected to feel this at home here, but my host parents, and absolutely my host brother and cousin (the youngest of whom is still learning to say my name), have made the transition incredibly easy.
And this kind of encounter mirrors everything and everyone that I have met so far in Medellín. Everyone has been incredibly welcoming, from the other homestay families to the people from ACI who gave us tours around the city. Everyone is interested in us, our families and lives, and also in what we are going to do for the rest of our time in Colombia. And I’m excited to continue to share this with them.
Jack
Bienvenidos gets the award for word of the week. Paisas are the most welcoming group of people I’ve ever met. After having traveled in Europe, where Americans are not the most anticipated visitors, it’s refreshing and comforting to be welcomed so warmly in a foreign country. EVERYONE, from homestay families, to compañeros, to waiters, to homeless people asking for money on the street (even after telling one I didn’t have money), have made an effort to say “¡Bienvenidos!” to the newest gringos on the block. For me, it has made a huge difference in adjusting to the new environment. It’s so much easier to relax and enjoy everything when everyone seems legitimately happy that I’m there enjoying it with them. In the other direction, I say bienvenidos to the paisa food. I’m very happily welcoming every paisa meal I’ve tried so far into my diet. I have fallen in love with arepas de anything, empanadas, limonada de coco, jugo de lulo, chorizo, the list goes on. Ajiaco is pretty easily the best soup I’ve ever had. Mom, if you’re reading this, I’m going to need you to Skype with my home stay mom to learn how to cook everything she’s given me. I’ve only been here for a week, and I’m already dreading the flight back home.
Kendall
My first impression of Medellín contains far too many thoughts and ideas to convey in one written piece or to internalize in a single moment. And so, I have chosen a small, standalone symbol that represents my initial perspective of this very new place.
In the heart of the neighborhood in which we are staying, there is a tree that has a very special set of branches which grow toward the ground and plant a new set of seeds in a simple and direct fashion. The tree takes up a tremendous amount of space and is commanding in a way that makes extranjeros like me feel quite tiny. In evolutionary terms, it seems, this tree has the potential to surpass all other species.
Medellín is a city of tradition and change. In the home of my host family, we eat arrepas and sit together around the table for every meal, recounting our days. In the center of the city, there is sharp modern architecture paired with the worn brick of old school buildings that the people of this place refuse to tear down. And in the mountains, the children play outside in the kind of eternal way that darkness cannot intrude upon, while their parents travel on fast moving metrocables to their jobs.
And in the constant shine of sun, the people and the city grow like trees with old roots.
Nicholas
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| Left to right starting from the top: Arepas, chorizo, papas, chicharrones, empanadas, morcilla, limon, y tomate |
Bienvenidos gets the award for word of the week. Paisas are the most welcoming group of people I’ve ever met. After having traveled in Europe, where Americans are not the most anticipated visitors, it’s refreshing and comforting to be welcomed so warmly in a foreign country. EVERYONE, from homestay families, to compañeros, to waiters, to homeless people asking for money on the street (even after telling one I didn’t have money), have made an effort to say “¡Bienvenidos!” to the newest gringos on the block. For me, it has made a huge difference in adjusting to the new environment. It’s so much easier to relax and enjoy everything when everyone seems legitimately happy that I’m there enjoying it with them. In the other direction, I say bienvenidos to the paisa food. I’m very happily welcoming every paisa meal I’ve tried so far into my diet. I have fallen in love with arepas de anything, empanadas, limonada de coco, jugo de lulo, chorizo, the list goes on. Ajiaco is pretty easily the best soup I’ve ever had. Mom, if you’re reading this, I’m going to need you to Skype with my home stay mom to learn how to cook everything she’s given me. I’ve only been here for a week, and I’m already dreading the flight back home.
Kate
“Fue un día muy duro.” I found myself repeating the phrase Friday evening— to “mi padre colombiano” Leo, “mi madre colombiana” Gloria, “mi hermana colombiana” Manuela, and “mi hermano colombiano” Fabrio, and later again to mis compañeros. Each was understanding, compassionate, and loving. “Claro,” “entiendo,” “tranquilla, tranquilla.” I’ve gotten used to hearing these patient well-wishes from my new family and friends. I am an often-flustered person, preoccupied with small things, the “big things,” and inconveniencing others. With rusty Spanish skills made worse by nerves and a tripping tongue, I should be one big gringa inconvenience in this city of paisas. Add to that my shyness, indecisiveness, and vegetarianism—well it’s a wonder they haven’t shipped me home by now. But the truth is, my Colombian support team, my new family, has never once made me feel like an inconvenience. The first few days I blundered about verbally- apologizing for my incoherence and relying too heavily on “Como se dice *insert entire English soliloquy here*.” Yet, my host family and especially Manuela helped me and continue to help me find the right words. They nurture my linguistic confidence with lies and compliments, and so I keep trying. Another trouble from the gringa: I don’t eat beef or chicken or pork or anything else good and Colombian. At first I felt uncomfortable knowing that Gloria would have to accommodate my pescatarian diet. “Tranquilla, tranquilla,” she says, taking incredible care of me.
Of course I could go on, sharing more examples of the ways in which everyone has helped me this week. (And I’m sure the list of examples will only grow.) But my point isn’t about a (long) list of favors and gestures. I have been welcomed and accommodated as if it were nothing by the people I have met here. I would like to say thank you, here. For everything my family and my compañeros have done for me this week. And especially for doing it all out of love. I’ve felt this love in the efforts you’ve made for me because these efforts have been un-asking, patient, and merry. I couldn’t feel luckier and I am so grateful. Thank you to Tam, Jota, and Alex as well for surrounding me with these wonderful new friends.
I am only just beginning to imagine how much I’ll lean on this support and generosity over the next two months. Friday “fue un día muy duro.” We visited five different sites throughout Medellín that are part of programs run by the Mayor’s Office. In the morning we visited a public mental hospital for children, el Hospital Mental de Antioquia. The boys and girls had been living on the streets. Some suffered from mental illnesses and others substance addiction. We happened to be visiting on the day of a big soccer tournament, and we saw the children happy and engaged. Part of their therapy includes artistic creation—beautiful bracelets of rope, paintings, drawings, rap about their lives, music, and more. Their creations and the creative confidence the program is nurturing sweetened the visit.
After a restful lunch (at none other than Crepes and Waffles), we visited three sites for “habitants del calle.” I love this Spanish phrase; it is equivalent to “homeless people.” However, the Spanish term doesn’t emphasize neediness and lack of property in the same way. The adults at the sites we visited don’t have permanent homes, but they occupy a permanent space in the fabric in this city (just as in any city). They dwell in the streets. At the sites, I thought of idleness, poverty, and the potential monotony of passing day after day in these places. However, as at the mental hospital, artistic creation brightened the visit. The last site we visited of the “Sistema de Atención al Habitante de Calle Adulto” was a site for adult “habitantes del calle” who are able to create products, potentially for sale. They make paintings, dolls, and other merchandise. Some of their paintings:
The artwork blew me away. One was a recreation of part of Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam,” which decorates the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. I was fortunate enough to visit Rome and the Vatican this past May. I stood in line to see Michelangelo’s ceiling and was silently and hurriedly ushered through the chapel. The contrast of the contexts between this recreation, in Medellín, Colombia, and the original fresco thousands of miles, lifetimes, and realities away moved me. I joked to another member of the group, “I’d take this piece and this view over the other any day.” But the truth is I would. Isn’t art about how one is moved, how one connects with the artist, the subjects, and the space, how the impression lasts and evolves after the viewer walks away, and how one is changed? In a homeless rehabilitation center on an unspectacular street in Medellín, I think yes. It’s not that the intricacies of the craft here were better than in that grand chapel. Yet I was better moved by whatever story was being told, by impressions of talent, mobility, charity and hospitality, and beauty. The recreation carried with it the context of Medellín, a context I’m only just beginning to see.
For our final stop, we visited a hospital for the oldest population. The experience was gripping. In the room for dependents some of the patients had deformed bodies. I cannot find words that are haunting, yet also soulful, graceful, and respectful enough for what I saw. Patients also walked about, dancing, greeting us. It was a tough visit, but I couldn’t help feeling that what happens there is incredibly beautiful. Everyday nurses shook these people’s hands, asked “Como estás,” looked them in the eye, showed them respect, called them señora and señor. It’s easy to see individuals in such stripped states and to dehumanize them. It requires trained faith and belief to see bedridden individuals and maintain the possibility in one’s imagination that their thoughts are complete, their eyes windows into imaginations and minds just as grand and nimble as ours. It is a beautiful thing that the nurses who work here engage with these people on whatever terms they are able: giving recognition to their lives and the possibility that they are so much more than they seem. They do the hard work of looking past their dependency, and up in the beautiful hillside, hugging myself with Goosebumps from the cold and possible something else, I was smiling.
We returned to Carlos E. and dispersed back to our homestays. As I walked back to my home, I began to cry, and I was frustrated that tears were coming now as I was alone, leaving the group. I lamented that I couldn’t go home to my Boston home and family, who knows my emotional ebbs and flows and who I can be a couch potato with. It’s the norm here to give your attention to each other with hugs and genuine interest about each other’s days upon entering and leaving a space. I walked into my homestay, and on cue mi padre colombiano asked me how I was and how my day was just as the rest of my family and mis compañeros would later. That afternoon, I felt comfortable and confident in the fact that Leo and the others wanted to hear about my day and my feelings, that they would understand and I mattered to them. This is what the Colombian tradition of greetings initiates, and on Friday afternoon it reminded me of the patience and generosity of my Colombian support team. So I began “fue un día muy duro” and continued to talk about our visits with the city’s vulnerable. I shared because each person wanted to know and I wanted them to too.
Kendall
My first impression of Medellín contains far too many thoughts and ideas to convey in one written piece or to internalize in a single moment. And so, I have chosen a small, standalone symbol that represents my initial perspective of this very new place.
In the heart of the neighborhood in which we are staying, there is a tree that has a very special set of branches which grow toward the ground and plant a new set of seeds in a simple and direct fashion. The tree takes up a tremendous amount of space and is commanding in a way that makes extranjeros like me feel quite tiny. In evolutionary terms, it seems, this tree has the potential to surpass all other species.
Medellín is a city of tradition and change. In the home of my host family, we eat arrepas and sit together around the table for every meal, recounting our days. In the center of the city, there is sharp modern architecture paired with the worn brick of old school buildings that the people of this place refuse to tear down. And in the mountains, the children play outside in the kind of eternal way that darkness cannot intrude upon, while their parents travel on fast moving metrocables to their jobs.
And in the constant shine of sun, the people and the city grow like trees with old roots.
Upon setting foot in the city of Medellín, an eerie wave of excitement came over me, even before I reached the sliding exit doors of the airport. And lo and behold, when the Colombian sunshine hit my face as I boarded the van with Rolando (our driver, and a soft-spoken yet kind man) and our group, I felt the magic that I had been waiting for, that transition from mystery to tangible reality, and I relished in it. From the rolling hills and lush vegetation to the soft eyes and genial salutations of nearly every single passerby, I felt comfortable and at ease. Though, I believe what truly solidified my love-at-first-sight for this city was my host family, for meeting them was tantamount to seeing my dearest and oldest friends. As soon as pulled into Carlos E Restrepo, removed my belongings from the van and rode the elevator to the 8th floor of the gated apartment complex, I realized that this was a very special place. The hospitality, the love, the food, the consideration, the talkativeness, and the friendliness: it all screamed royal service. I made my bed in the morning, and when I came back one night, it was remade; if I came back late at night, breakfast was left on the table for me were I to wake up at 2 in the afternoon; they refused to make juice with sugar to save me the embarrassment of refusing anything with simple sugar; and above all, they are simply interesting and funny people. And thus I fell asleep that night with an easy conscience. If Medellín is a city that has borne the brunt of much despair and violence, its beautiful people, culture and environment has passed the test of time; very little of the remnants of the past remain. Maybe the place in which I sleep every night is guarded by armed security guards with bolt-action rifles and policemen with riot bats. Maybe, I’ve seen the emaciated, malnourished homeless sleeping in broad daylight on the sidewalks and next to the carreteras. I’ve seen amputees hopping around for lack of a crutch, begging for money in the streets. But unbelievably, if a place can boast incredible despair and, yet, unbridled beauty and felicity, all at the same time, it is the small little town of Carlos E Restrepo, a town that I have only begun to know superficially, at best. I see in Carlos E a blanket desire to be happy, the benign eyes of strangers. What surprised me most is that, although I’ve just arrived here to Medellín, I can already point out similarities to life in California. Colombia has been alienated by the American press for some years; connotations and malapropisms abound to describe Medellín, especially after Pablo Escobar. From my perspective, walking in the streets of Medellín, I perceive a city that is just like any other. Maybe it is a little greener, in part because of the tropical climate. But, this is to say that every city has its homeless, every city has its drug problems. Maybe Medellín is a dangerous place, but so is New York City, so is Los Angeles, and so is Detroit. I’ve seen just as many homeless amputees in Los Angeles as I have in Medellín. My view of this picture that depicts Medellín is not complete, and I don’t think it ever will be; however, what is important to understand about Medellín is that, although it has had a dark past, it appears to me, as an outsider looking in, that its future could not be brighter. From the most dangerous city in the world to the most innovative, Medellín, through my lens, is doing well for itself and everybody associated with it.
Nikita
Being an art history major, I often think visually. To me, Medellín is a city of contrasts - one painted with endless layers and hues. I immediately associate Medellín with Paisa artist Fernando Botero. To my delight, our DukeEngage group visited a plaza entirely dedicated to his sculptures. His style is unmistakeable, and his work consists of figures drawn with exaggerated line and curve. In other words, they are extremely plump and just as beautiful. In reality, figures on the streets of Medellín seem quite different. Many Colombian women have sculpted their own bodies with the help of plastic surgery -- enough for Medellín to have earned the nickname, "Silicone Valley". Intrigued, I spoke with my compañeros about this trend, and learned that plastic surgery has often been given as a gift by drug lords to their women. Twenty years ago, Medellín was considered one of the most dangerous cities in the world. This year, it is considered to be the most innovative one. As I walk down the street, I notice a disabled man sleeping to my right. When I look down, I see that some of the stones are raised while others are not, so as to help the blind navigate the streets. It has only been a few days since I have arrived, but I am eager to understand how Medellín is able to balance immense poverty and a violent past with its overwhelming culture and brilliant innovations.
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| A bird's eye view of Medellín from Biblioteca España featuring Ryan Catalani |
Vaib
Medellín to most outsiders could fit the stereotype of any Latin-American city, filled to the brim with people, problems, culture, and conflicts. However, among the millions of occasions happening in Medellín daily, their efforts combine to form something distinctly paisa. The term paisa is used to describe the extensive dialect of spanish here or a native of Medellín, but in my week of experience, it has symbolized my feelings about the city. Upon my first glances of Medellín, the city is gorgeous in a purely aesthetic way, a jungle of lush rain and never-ending greenery. Yet, in a closer look, you could spend years picking out the peculiarities that take place everyday here. Some of these details are the ways in which the mayor's office interacts with its constituents, through thoughtful yet ingenious social programs found under the city's name. But the paisa trait also extends to the unflagging care that my host mom affords me, the openness of my Colombian university compañeros, and not to mention my favorite, the city's unburdening love of dance, specifically salsa. This whole environment invokes emotions of comfort that are new to me in their setting yet all too familiar too me. Medellín is paisa, and paisa is Medellín. How these two terms interact with each other fills me with awe, as the equal sign between the two is filled with a Medellín-only sense of community and tradition that I have begun to love and only begun to discover.
Reflections on our first visits around the city
Bailey
I’m not a graceful crier. My face becomes blotchy, my eyes red and puffy. Oddly viscous snot bubbles out of my nostrils. For some reason my longer-lived cries are always accompanied by hiccups that rack
It’s for this reason that I dislike crying and abhor crying in public. Yet somehow during our Friday tour of Medellín with the Mayor’s Office, I found myself crying in front of strangers for nearly an hour.
Let me give some context. Because our DukeEngage program is working with the Mayor’s Office (El Alcaldía de Medellín), a representative took us to several of that organization’s other projects. We visited a mental hospital for street children, a rehabilitation center for homeless adults, and a nursing home for the indigent. It was this last stop that turned on the waterworks.
The setting of this home is idyllic. Nestled in the verdant hills, away from the bustle of the city center, is the site of the last days of Medellín’s least-privileged citizens. We saw the autonomous citizens sitting on the porch, enjoying salsa music. We viewed their cafeteria, courtyard, workshop, and a school where many end their lifelong illiteracy. All of these things were beautiful, even moving.
But then we walked into the ward for the dependents. We saw adults shriveled like raisins, their wrinkled skin hanging in folds over slender bodies. A nurse patiently held a bottle to the mouth of an indignant elderly woman, coaxing her to take a few sips of the nutrients. Another in a diaper screamed repeatedly, wordlessly, her eyes rolling back in her head.
I was holding myself together pretty well until our staff guide asked me if I was ok. Then I proceeded to sob (ungracefully, as you’ve heard) for the rest of our visit.
Though it was shocking to see human beings in this state, the emotion I felt was not for the present. Rather, I was overwhelmed with the improvement this circumstance must be over what their lives were like before the program, when poor families were forced to abandon the elderly in their lives. When the woman who couldn’t eat and the man who couldn’t speak would writhe in the streets until their lives came to an end, alone and unnoticed.
I want my videos this summer to impact viewers the way this nursing home impacted me. Rather than pity for the present, I want to elicit awe for the monstrous past that has been overcome. Medellín Solidaria and the many programs of the Mayor’s Office have wrought a change over this city, revolutionizing the lives of its citizens. I want to share this miracle, this triumph, with people at home.
Browne
“Are you coming back?”
A young boy of around five or six years old, face pressed against the fence between us, asked me this question with wide, hopeful eyes. After touring the wellness center for children and learning of those affected with both mental and physical illnesses, we were led outside to a swarm of children holding colorful posters and chanting excitedly for their upcoming soccer game. This sudden change from a serious tone when learning of their illness to a lively, exciting environment caught me by surprise. It also, however, showed how the children had overcome adversity to enjoy their time in the center We had been living in this city for almost a week, yet I had no idea that such a place, or large population of these people, existed This “other” population of Medellín is important to learn about; we call the same city home, regardless of for how long. The way that the city has implemented such programs for affected people shows its adaptability and heart. At El Centro Día, a center for the homeless, we passed by amputees, men and women comfortably sleeping on the cement despite their access to a bed. The only black man in the center jumped happily on his only leg, following us and extending his welcome. “El Negro!”, they called to him happily. He exuded joy. Joy to talk to us, to welcome us. A woman missing an arm fed herself soup, waving with a smile as I walked by. The happiness of these people struck me and is now an image engrained in my mind. One arm less, one leg less, but full of pure and utter joy. The adults we encountered, the children we met at the other center, had this in common: happiness.
After our tour of the Wellness center, a large group of children was gathered around the fence, eager to talk to us. They spoke of themselves, they asked about us, but above all they showed their overcome hardships. Understanding another culture or person is easier than it seems.
Sometimes, all you have to do is listen.
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| The outside of the Biblioteca España, as seen from the Metrocable. |
Elysia
Last Thursday and Friday, went spent two jam-packed days visiting various sites and places around Medellin. The sites we visited were incredibly varied, something that really showed the diversity of the city. Thursday, we visited some of the most famous tourist sites in the city - the Plaza Botero, the Jardín Botánico - and also got our first chance to take the Metrocable up to the barrios, in the poorer parts of the city. While the views were incredible, it was also amazing to get to see the neighborhoods where we are going to be working for the next few weeks. We got the chance to take a tour of the Biblioteca España, which was astounding from the outside, and even more incredible inside. The architecture of the buildings is striking, three hulking black structures with cutout windows and sharp corners and edges. On the inside, each floor is crowded with people, books and technology, a true resource for this community. It was incredible seeing how much something as simple as a library has helped out, and will contribute to, this community.
On Friday, we visited several sites involved with the Alcadía (mayor's office) of Medellín. We visited a children’s center, several homeless shelters for adults, and finally a center for los ancianos. At the children’s center, a sede of the mental hospital of Antioquia, we watched a video about some of the kids who have lived at the center, including several who had created their own rap music videos. The psychologist there told us that in order to rap, they had to learn to read, and write first, something I think was an amazing way to promote literacy.
Throughout our visits, our was struck by the linear progression of our day, from the young children who had learning disorders or had traumatic experiences, to the habitantes de calle at El Centro Día, to the oldest, the inhabitants of our final visit. This really showed me that the idea of early intervention is of the utmost importance, and perhaps if the children in at the sede can be helped, like so many of the success stories in the video showed, they won't fall into a life on the streets. From what we saw from the smiling faces and exuberant chants of the kids, it seems possible.
Jack
Friday snapped me out if my paisa dream state. The week previous, we were on vacation with almost no responsibilities. We were all little pollitos, entranced by the culture and in an unreal state of excitement. On Friday, the reality of what we're actually here to do hit me in the face. The first stop was incredible. With kids laughing, chanting, and yelling all around us, it was near impossible for me to focus on the presentation. I gave the first autograph I've ever given to a little Colombian child, who swore we would be a soccer star. We climbed back into the bus, sporting new bracelets hand woven by the children that lived there, and smiling the entire trip down the mountain. The next two stops were more intense. We walked through two homeless shelters, stepping over homeless people that were too accustomed to sleeping on the concrete to sleep in the beds offered to them. Right outside the second shelter, the graffiti read “without truth there is no life, and without education there is no truth.” (Picture below) I suddenly felt thankful for the opportunity I was given on this trip, and the life I was born into in general. Seeing this situation gave me a really strong sense of what exactly Medellin Solidaria is trying to prevent. Understanding this lowest state makes me better understand Medellin Solidaria’s work, and what they’re taking actions to create and prevent. As I begin conducting interviews I feel compelled to document the impactful work that the mayor’s office and Medellin Solidaria is doing. I strive to find stories of improvement, in which the help of the city may have directed a family away from the shelters we saw and towards a more positive path. Friday was hard, painful at points, but it made me excited to get my hands dirty.
Kendall
In our two days touring the city of Medellín, I admired the consciousness in the contrast. On Thursday, we saw what change looked like. We saw the ways in which the city has progressed with its stunning public spaces like the Jardin Botanico, with its community centers like La Biblioteca de España, places constructed and run by compassionate geniuses. We ate at the most breathtaking restaurant oasis that put us at ease and made us feel quietly at home. We listened to people who believe that everyone deserves potential and that potential deserves to be seen in everyone.
The following day we looked at challenges that the people of the city face and we looked at them hard, in the colors that only reality can paint. It is not to say that the first day was not real, was not something to be valued. Those changes, progressions, and beauties are meant to ease the challenges, prevent them even, for those who suffer. And so, as we stood facing self-made soccer teams of children who had previously lived the street life just years or months before, we began to understand the gravity and importance of yesterday’s social initiatives.
This kind of careful planning may seem like a contradiction at first glance: poor and wealthy, hopeful and despairing, but in fact, it is so intentionally intertwined.
With the visits these past few days, I learned a lot about stories. As we look at the mountains and take pictures of the paisaje, we use cameras with wide angles and our eyes capture faraway snapshots of colorful homes stacked atop one another in a scene we simply cannot pull away from. We are floored by the grand scale of a very romantic landscape.
But what about the nursing home we visited that sits atop a hill way in the distance? What about the woman who lives there, the one who wears a baseball cap and wraps her arms around me without a sound from her lips? What is her story?
Or what about the young girl who speaks to me through the fence in a yard she shares with dozens of other kids? “Tu eres bonita,” she says and she is sincere and she is wearing a tee shirt the same color as all the other girls. You wouldn’t pick her out of the crowd for any particular reason. But she has picked you and what is her story?
These visits were like a zoom function on a lens. It was critical to learn about the larger social initiatives, projects, and programs in Medellín. But these programs work to support people who in turn support the programs with their stories.
It would be easy and more appealing to find some obscure, poetic moment that impacted me during our visits on Thursday and Friday, but reality is truth. I cried at the nursing home because despite the cultural dedication to family here, those people dying in their beds had no visitors. I held my breath at El Centro Dia because I couldn’t predict the actions of those around me and I couldn’t blame them for looking at me like an intruder. I let the goose bumps rise on my skin as I watched kids line up in teams grouped by colored shirts, holding onto the one special place and the handful of special people that were theirs.
These difficult instances are panicked opportunities. I was allowed into these different places, these very exceptional places without question, hesitation, or negativity. These opportunities to visit and reflect are given to me, in part, because of where I come from, where I study, what I look like, and so forth. These videos can’t be about us or about our perspective. They have to be about the people of Medellín. We cannot control a story about a life we will never fully internalize because we will always be wrong.
Nicholas
For some reason, however, this confusion and chaos in my head suits me. Comfort zones are sacred commodities in this world today, at least for most people. I’ve found that I’ve never cared for these comfort zones. I feel most accomplished and secure with myself when I am pushing the limits of my capabilities, of what my mind thinks I am able to accomplish. When I don’t know who I am or what I’m thinking, I seem to be at my best, oddly enough, because I feel as if am constantly learning new things about myself. These past few days of touring the city of Medellín moved me in a way that made me question who I was, but it wasn’t the cozy/fuzzy experience that I usually associate with learning. I loved and hated what I saw. I experienced things I have no words for, that to describe them would be to delineate the experience entirely from its visceral source. How can I describe to you the feeling of being shot with a supercharged emotional bullet? I will try to describe my perception of what occurred, through a foggy lens I suppose.
Shaking the out-stretched hands of these habitantes de la calle in a homeless shelter for adults between the ages of 18 and 59 called El Centro Día, I smiled and, in turn, was greeted heartily by the ex men and women of the streets. I seemed to be OK; my countenance was holding up, though the emotions drained me. It was as if being born and raised as myself made me culpable in some inexplicable crime that I felt overwhelming guilt for committing. And yet, I couldn’t figure out what crime it was exactly that made me feel guilty, for being raised in Southern California isn’t a crime... right? Was it the fact that I was relatively healthy and they were struggling to survive?
However, at the Hospital Mental de Antioquia, a mental hospital for homeless children that suffered from substance or sexual abuse or both, I watched a boy, named Andrés, play goalie with the help of a prosthetic leg in the hospital’s soccer tournament. The idea that he was close to my age stabbed at my heart as I watched the game: what if I had grown up like him? What if I lived on the street for the first 16 years of my life and, upon entering in the ‘civilized’ world, refused to change my clothes or shower or sleep in a bed because I had never done so? How could I legitimately rationalize the thought of preferring to sleep on the concrete rather than a bed, as some these children in this mental hospital had to rationalize without the help of their parents or family? How could I fathom going through cocaine withdrawal at eight years old or even 50? What would my mental state be if were a sex slave to a drug lord for the first seven years of my life? What would my mental state be like if I were forced to beg for money to feed myself? My heart weakened ostensibly, and I had to remind my face to smile, as if even my mind couldn’t resist gravity’s urge to force my furrowed brow. Soon, some of the children who were waiting their turn to play in the tournament came up to me. We began to talk, and the subject of my diabetes came up thanks to my “plata,” my silver medical identification necklace. When I showed them my insulin pump at the site in which it connected into my abdomen, they gave me stares as if I were bionic. And in a way, I guess I am, but to them, I was some futuristic being, something they had never seen before. One of the boys told Bailey, one of the Duke students on the trip, that he thought I was a robot. In a way, this lightened my heart. At least these kids were still kids, creative and imaginative, despite their stressful upbringings.
The last trip we took was to a nursing home for the abandoned and homeless elderly, seemingly isolated form the rest of the world. Upon visiting this nursing home, all reserve that I had mustered was obliterated. My mind melted. I saw a blind man sitting under a statue of an angel, greeting each of us as we passed him. Thinking that we had left, as soon as we stopped moving and stood silently in front of the nursing home’s chapel doors, he began mumbling prayers to himself. Then, we turned into the ward for agentless women. The screaming naked woman stuck in a contorted position of infinite torture, the toothless woman trying to eat, like Sisyphus and the boulder, and the old man incapable of walking by himself, feeding himself, shaving himself and, essentially, being himself, because of blindness: in one fell swoop, my mind snapped like toothpick being assaulted by an ax. It angered me that these presumably good people suffered so. More than angered – infuriated me. And in all this darkness, I saw this soft, glowing light: a crippled man, who could hardly walk, dancing his way up to the steps of the chapel, as we prepared ourselves to leave. He would jig, take a drag of his cigarette, the jig again to the melodious salsa music. And at this, I couldn’t help cracking a smile and experiencing a twinge of awe. It gave me comfort that not all was lost at this nursing home.
Since these visits, I have been attempting to put myself in these people’s shoes, though arguably it is impossible. I’m from Southern California, am well fed, have a gym membership (and currently have one here, in Medellín) and use a Mac computer and an iPad on occasion. Maybe I have seen crime and homelessness in Laguna Hills, maybe brutal murders and pedophilic rape cases have emerged in my city, so through these very indirect experiences I may be able to relate myself to the tragedies these people have experienced. But, is this not the way the rest of the world is? No town or city or country is exempt from hardship of every flavor; this seems to be the nature of humanity. It may be difficult to fit myself into these people’s shoes, but even if these shoes will never fit, I will continue to try because I see a cause worth fighting for here. I am starting to understand that the more comfortable that I become with myself, the more readily I will be able to begin silencing my own doubts and concerns and listening to the stories of others, for I believe this is where the real learning-about-life process begins. I don’t claim to have a perfect picture of these scenes described above. This is what I have perceived and felt, and I know that this simply cannot be the whole picture; it is far more complex than I can imagine. I think that the mission of Medellín Solidaria is to lessen the population of these aforementioned institutions, and if there is anyway that I can bring this goal to fruition, be it by documenting these stories and eliciting emotional responses, I want to do it. The world is only an unfair place when people stand by idly and watch the world burn. I will not be such a person. I want to capture the visceral nature of these people’s lives. I want these people to seem extraordinary and ordinary all at the same time. I want to make a video that these people can be proud of, and I want their stories to change the world.
Nikita
Today, our DukeEngage group visited El Centro Dia, a homeless shelter. The stench was evident even before we entered the gates due to the fact that many of these people do not have access to clean water. The shelter provides amenities such as shower stalls, beds, hot food, a basketball court, and even a small television. Even though there were plenty of clean beds to rest in, two men were curled up sleeping on the concrete floor. We were told that they were uncomfortable sleeping on the beds since they were so used to the streets. This word -- uncomfortable -- accurately describes the atmosphere. I have spent a night in a homeless shelter before, and it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable experience of my life. The unfamiliar smells, the forced proximity to strangers, the uncertainty of the day to come. Often, we are told to ignore people on the streets. Some beg, but some simply want someone to talk to. I feel that the greatest service offered at El Centro Dia is acknowledgment. By dishing out hot food, entertainment, and conversation, the shelter acknowledges that the homeless people of Medellín deserve to live, not simply survive. I am extremely thankful for these insightful, uncomfortable experiences because too many people can be complacent or willfully ignorant.
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| Graffiti Art depicting the children of the world, from Biblioteca España |
Opening us up to different settings and people of Medellín, our time at Medellín's home and rehab for homeless children with la ACI tour guide has showed me the ultimate goal of many of these social projects and a hope for my own Duke Engage experience. Of all the people in need within Medellín, these children are by far the most relatable for me. We sat in a conference room as a video of the home's success stories played. One of the children from the video, Andrés, assisted the home's psychiatrist, illustrating in his limp how he has grown from his leg amputation to become a fundamental and productive part of his new home. This full circle transformation recounted only half the story. While the video delineated the home's crucial role in these children's lives, outside, the greater picture dawned on me. Through the bars of the window, we heard chants for "esperanza" or hope. Just a team name for them, esperanza reminded me of the perspective I must take into account when researching Medellín and simply listening to interviewees, as hope relates to an entirely different struggle for those children. After being introduced to the school, I got the chance to speak to a number of kids, the 11-year old hugging his girlfriend, a 16 year old in 4th grade, a boy who ran past their fence just to get a chance to speak to us again. In stark contrast to their faces while in the street, they now explode with vivacity and joy, traits that can't be simply bought by the mayor and given as a gift. With each persona encountered, my goal of hope and success for these children and the city of Medellín grows.
