The other Colombia
This is the Colombia that nobody hears about in the news. Normal people doing normal things. A bustling downtown complete with coffee shops, every kind of restaurant imaginable, high-rises, businessmen, students, beggars, and everything in between. A rich northern district with a Luis Vuitton shop and bling on every fashion-conscious Colombian, male and female. There is a store near our house bigger than any Superstore or Wal-Mart I have ever seen. It sells everything from motorbikes to computers to produce to make-up. There are many different universities, beautiful libraries, and astonishing museums.
The first sign that not everything is totally normal is the police presence on nearly every corner, clad in military fatigues and often armed with semi-automatic weapons. A closer inspection reveals that many of them cannot be much older than 18. There are signs on the buses with a gun and red circle with line through it: "no armas." No guns on the bus, please. On streets where rich Colombians flash their name-brand jeans and newly acquired jewels, an entire family sleeps on the street and begs for change. The youngest is probably not even one year old. People step over them. Some people drop change in the cup. I do. What difference can that possibly make?
We went to a big festival today where young Colombian kids are racing BMX bikes and motorbikes and chowing down on cotton candy and homemade treats sold by sidewalk vendors. This could be Vancouver, except that everyone is Latino (besides us). We are very conspicuous foreigners. Small children trip over each other as they stare at us. Teenage girls point and giggle. Young men nearly crash their bikes as they crane their necks - are we really THAT blonde and THAT tall? Yes, we are. We do not blend in. But we have fun nonetheless.
Perhaps this is the Colombia that no one ever hears about in the news, but that is because this is only Bogota. I am beginning to see why the displaced people flock here. There is a normalcy here - if you have money and want to be oblivious to the war going on in the rural areas and the extreme poverty affecting over half the population, you probably can. People are living their lives just as they would in any other major city, with perhaps a bit more security than most.
I have started talking to locals about how safe they feel - so far the response has been unanimous - they all feel safer than they did four years ago. Uribe's crackdown on crime has worked for them - and I must admit I am grateful that we could walk home from the grocery store at9pmm and not feel like we would be mugged. But I am living in the North ofBogota, where the wealthier people live and where it is certainly safer than downtown. I have not been to the southern area yet, where the majority of the poor and displaced people live in slums and poor neighborhoods. I am told I cannot go there wihout an escort, and I am not about to argue. I am conspicuous enough here as it is.
The first sign that not everything is totally normal is the police presence on nearly every corner, clad in military fatigues and often armed with semi-automatic weapons. A closer inspection reveals that many of them cannot be much older than 18. There are signs on the buses with a gun and red circle with line through it: "no armas." No guns on the bus, please. On streets where rich Colombians flash their name-brand jeans and newly acquired jewels, an entire family sleeps on the street and begs for change. The youngest is probably not even one year old. People step over them. Some people drop change in the cup. I do. What difference can that possibly make?
We went to a big festival today where young Colombian kids are racing BMX bikes and motorbikes and chowing down on cotton candy and homemade treats sold by sidewalk vendors. This could be Vancouver, except that everyone is Latino (besides us). We are very conspicuous foreigners. Small children trip over each other as they stare at us. Teenage girls point and giggle. Young men nearly crash their bikes as they crane their necks - are we really THAT blonde and THAT tall? Yes, we are. We do not blend in. But we have fun nonetheless.
Perhaps this is the Colombia that no one ever hears about in the news, but that is because this is only Bogota. I am beginning to see why the displaced people flock here. There is a normalcy here - if you have money and want to be oblivious to the war going on in the rural areas and the extreme poverty affecting over half the population, you probably can. People are living their lives just as they would in any other major city, with perhaps a bit more security than most.
I have started talking to locals about how safe they feel - so far the response has been unanimous - they all feel safer than they did four years ago. Uribe's crackdown on crime has worked for them - and I must admit I am grateful that we could walk home from the grocery store at9pmm and not feel like we would be mugged. But I am living in the North ofBogota, where the wealthier people live and where it is certainly safer than downtown. I have not been to the southern area yet, where the majority of the poor and displaced people live in slums and poor neighborhoods. I am told I cannot go there wihout an escort, and I am not about to argue. I am conspicuous enough here as it is.
posted by Rachel at 5:31 PM
1 Comments:
I hear you, Rach. I think the clash of classes (or whatever you want to call it) and division of the poor/rich by neighbourhood is present in almost every large Latin American city. And yet, it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
There are young girls (one about 5 and the other about 7) in our (farily well-off) Mexico City neighbourhood who spend their days playing the accordion and selling gum for money. I want to hold someone accountable for the potential that is being lost there - parents, the government, who knows who - it just doesn't seem fair.
I will always remember the reaction I got from my 2nd year Spanish teacher (from Monterrey, Mexico) when I told her that the security guards that are armed with semi-automatics that you find at banks or supermarkets in Mexico make me nervous. She laughed and said: "funny, they make me feel safe".
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