As A Little Girl Growing Up In Colombia ((full))

If you grow up in the , like in Medellín or Bogotá, your world is one of eternal spring or misty mountains. You wear wool ruanas over your school uniform and spend weekends at a finca (farm), surrounded by the intoxicating smell of wet earth and coffee beans.

The backyard held a guayabo (guava) tree that sagged under the weight of fruit. My cousins and I would climb it to spy on the neighbor’s rooster, whispering about which one of us would move to “the city” first. We believed Medellín was a fairy tale kingdom and Cartagena was underwater. We weren’t far off.

The kitchen is the heartbeat of the home. You learn quickly that food is the ultimate love language. There is the Sunday sancocho , a hearty stew that simmers for hours, and the daily ritual of the arepa —flat, round corn cakes that are buttered and salted with a precision that borders on the sacred. As a child, you are often given the task of patting the dough into circles, your small hands learning the texture of tradition. A Landscape of Infinite Variety

: Unlike many cultures focused on Santa Claus, Colombian girls traditionally wait for "Baby Jesus" to bring gifts at midnight on December 24th. Cultural Milestones

Colombia is a country where reality regularly mimics the literature of Gabriel García Márquez. For a young girl, the geography itself felt enchanted. One weekend might be spent running through the emerald-green hills of the Eje Cafetero (the Coffee Triangle), chasing butterflies that looked exactly like the yellow ones in One Hundred Years of Solitude . The next might find us navigating the cobblestone streets of Cartagena, imagining the pirates and princesses that once walked the same fortresses. as a little girl growing up in colombia

Silence was suspicious. Silence meant someone was sick, or the power was out, or—worst of all—that the coffee had run out.

: This memoir by Maria Luisa Morales follows her life from a five-year-old in Santa Teresa, Boyaca, through the trauma of being displaced by war and eventually forging a new life in the United States. Personal Narrative: My Experience in Colombia

Perhaps the most defining aspect of growing up as a girl in Colombia is the influence of the women. Colombian society is deeply rooted in the strength of its matriarchs.

At thirteen, I discovered the third altitude: desire. If you grow up in the , like

If I close my eyes, I can still taste the geography:

The scent of roasting coffee beans, the rhythmic thump of cumbia echoing from a neighbor’s radio, and the brilliant splash of bougainvillea against whitewashed walls—these are the sensory anchors of my childhood. To say you grew up as a little girl in Colombia is to say you were raised by a village of fierce matriarchs, baptized in the warmth of a tropical sun, and taught to dance before you could properly walk. It is a childhood defined by a unique blend of magical realism, profound family loyalty, and an early understanding of resilience. The Rhythm of the Household

: In times of trouble, neighborhoods function as extended families. If a family faces hardship, neighbors step in to share food, watch children, and offer support, teaching young girls the vital importance of solidarity and community care. The Legacy of a Colombian Childhood

Should we focus more on a specific region, like ? My cousins and I would climb it to

Food is the ultimate love language in Colombia. A little girl growing up in a Colombian household often spends time in the kitchen alongside her mother, abuela (grandmother), or tías (aunts), passing down secret recipes for empanadas, buñuelos , and hot chocolate served with a slice of cheese.

As a little girl, you grow up under a protective canopy. Neighbors look out for you, cousins feel like siblings, and every adult in your apartment building or street is an honorary "tio" or "tia" (uncle or aunt). You learn to greet everyone with a kiss on the right cheek and a polite " buenos días ," absorbing the cultural value of warmth and respect from the moment you can speak. Rhythms in the Blood: Music and Celebration

This is where I learned the secret language of Colombian women. It was a language of looks. A single raised eyebrow over a steaming pot of sancocho meant "That man is a fool." A sharp inhale while slicing cilantro meant "Don't you dare repeat what I just said."

Colombia is a land of striking geographical contrasts. Depending on where a little girl’s story unfolds, her playground might be the towering, snow-capped peaks of the Andes, the humid, mysterious depths of the Amazon rainforest, or the sun-kissed, palm-fringed Caribbean and Pacific coasts.