Julie in Barrancabermeja, Colombia
One of my
favorite activities here is my evening walk. Please join me as I step out
into the street around 8 PM. The small
grocery owned by the family across the street is still buzzing with local customers.
The parents sit outside greeting customers and helping as needed.
As I step over
the horse droppings and assorted trash, I move to the side of the road to avoid
the motorcycles whizzing by - often with families of four squeezed
aboard. Next, I dodge some small nipping dogs running loose in the
street. I greet families and young couples as they pass-by flirting with
each other.
On the right is Dona
Lucia’s house, front door open to the street. I greet her as she visits
with two of her neighbors. A few houses down is a retirement home for
about 20 elderly without family caregivers - a rarity in Colombia. They
lounge on the patio in their rocking chairs or watch television on a big screen
TV.
On the left, I
approach the bright red home and grocery of Consuelo and Marcos, the in-laws of
one of our long-time Canadian CPT members. Consuelo is my age and joins me in
my exercise rounds a few evenings a week. We chat about our day and local
news like the fact that there was an attempted robbery across the street a few
days ago. Luckily, the neighborhood alarm system was activated, scaring the
armed robbers away. Neighbors take pride in watching out for each other
and want to avoid hiring armed guards, a common sight here.
Soon I am facing
the local Catholic Parish of Miracles with their preschool and colorful murals.
The large open sanctuary draws about 30 men on Monday evenings for a pep talk
by a parish leader. Outside, they have neatly parked about 20
motorcycles. Across the street, at a small baby blue cafe, a few couples
and families are enjoying a late dinner or ice cream with Latin music spilling
into the street. At this point, I’ve only gone about one-eighth of a
mile.
I take a right at
the parish rectory to find folks on benches in the park. As I pick up my
pace, more motorcycles speed by but only a few cars and sometimes a small
yellow taxi. Two Nuns live next to the church but are rarely out in the
evening. When they are, we usually stop to greet them.
At the next
corner, I ogle the pastries in the large bakery showcase. Next a sharp
right at the busy street ahead and I am soon weaving through dozens of parked
motorcycles outside an open soccer bar. The rowdy young men are cheering
on their favorite teams and enjoying some beer.
Next, on the left
I pass a carpentry shop that is open even at night. I hear the buzz of
the circular saw and inhale heavy sawdust in the air. On the right is a
tiny motorcycle repair shop with engine parts strewn around the floor and men
discussing the problem.
At the next
corner, there is bright green family grocery and across the street, a small
yellow family restaurant still doing brisk business. I take a right and
enter a more residential area with multiple families on their front porches
playing cards or watching their kids play in the street. Some watch me
curiously as I am moving faster than alll those simply strolling home or to
visit a friend.
On the left, I
see a large crowd spilling into the street outside a small orange house.
Peering inside the open doors and windows, I witness a birthday party for a
young boy. The cake is about to be cut. Balloons and crepe paper
provide a festive atmosphere. A dozen 5-10 year olds are excitedly awaiting a
piece of cake as they sing the Colombian version of happy birthday.
As I head up the
street, I pass a handful of young boys riding bikes while balancing their
friends on the handlebars, laughing and fooling around the whole way. Five
young men stroll by on my left wearing coordinated soccer uniforms and eagerly
discussing their game at the new soccer court with artificial turf where
neighborhood teams compete. The older outdoor blacktop court further down the
street now attracts younger kids and a women’s Salsa Dance class one night a
week. Although I considered it, I decide to stick with my brisk walking
routine. The temperature is still about 85 degrees and the women look
like they are working up more of a sweat than I can handle.
As I turn the
final corner home, I slow down for a handful of young boys and girls playing
soccer in the street. The courageous ones yell, “what is your name?” in
accented English. My friend Consuelo kisses me on the cheek and heads off to
her house. After eight sweaty rounds, I head home smiling and invigorated
for a much-needed cold shower and a good book. Life here is both very
hard and very full. Thanks for joining me. Julie
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