As A Little Girl Growing Up In Colombia
You learn never to leave your purse on the floor unless you want your money to run away. You know that a sweep of a broom over your feet means you might never get married. December is a month of pure enchantment, kicked off by the Día de las Velitas (Day of the Little Candles), where you join your family on the sidewalk to light hundreds of colorful candles, making wishes that drift into the warm night air. The entire month is a blur of novenas, late-night dancing, and the sweet taste of natilla and buñuelos. The Modern Colombian Girl
my social currency was fín —a slang word for a favor or an errand. I was constantly being sent to la tienda de la esquina to buy a single egg, or a packet of refresco powder, or a cigarrillo suelto for my uncle. “ Hija, hágame el favor y lleva esta carta a la casa de la señora Rosa. ”
As a little girl growing up in Colombia, I also faced challenges that shaped me into the person I am today. During my childhood, Colombia was going through a period of turmoil, with high levels of violence and crime. There were times when my family and I had to be careful about where we went and when, and we had to be mindful of the news and current events.
Growing up as a little girl in Colombia is a formative experience that instills a deep love for culture, family, and community—a foundation that shapes a vibrant, resilient, and loving perspective on the world. If you’d like to explore this topic further, I can share: Specific played in Colombian neighborhoods.
As a little girl growing up in Colombia, life is painted in the vibrant colors of tropical fruits, scored by the rhythms of cumbia and vallenato, and anchored by the unbreakable bonds of family. To spend your childhood in this corner of South America is to experience a world where magic and reality blur perfectly together. It is a childhood of sensory overload, deep traditions, and a resilient spirit that shapes the woman you eventually become. as a little girl growing up in colombia
I did eventually go El Norte . I left when I was eighteen, clutching a student visa and a single suitcase. I now live in a city with predictable weather, silent streets at night, and supermarkets with twenty kinds of cereal. I am safe.
Colombian households are famously centered around the mother and grandmother. From a young age, girls watch the women in their family manage the home, cook, and often work full-time jobs, all while emphasizing immaculate personal presentation. The Extended Network:
I remember waking up to the smell of arepas on the grill and the rhythmic clack-clack of my grandmother’s dominoes on the patio. My childhood was a blur of chasing the raspado cart on humid afternoons, the icy blackberry syrup staining my tongue purple, and learning to dance salsa in the living room before I could even properly tie my shoes.
Being a girl in Colombia meant living in the rhythm of the afternoon downpour. At 3:00 PM, the sky would bruise purple, and suddenly, the corrugated tin roofs would begin their frantic drumming. We didn’t run inside; we stood under the eaves, watching the street turn into a brown river, launching paper boats that would inevitably drown by the corner. You learn never to leave your purse on
Growing up in Colombia means growing up with stories of magic,, influenced by the country’s literary tradition. From tales of La Llorona to the vibrant, surreal beauty of the Amazon or the colorful streets of Cartagena, imagination is always active.
For the large Catholic majority, the First Holy Communion (usually around age 8 or 9) is a massive event. Little girls wear miniature white wedding-like dresses and veils, followed by large family parties. 🍲 3. Sensory Memories: Food and Sunday Rituals Paseo de Olla (The Pot Gathering):
Today, when I make bandeja paisa for my own children—who were born in a cold, quiet country where silence is normal—I teach them the lessons of the kitchen. I teach them that a red bean takes three hours to soften. I teach them that a woman’s voice is as powerful as a man’s machete .
While childhood in Colombia is filled with joy, it is also shaped by an awareness of the country's complex history. To grow up in Colombia is to witness the incredible resilience of its people. Girls learn early on the value of solidarity, community support, and optimism in the face of adversity. The entire month is a blur of novenas,
I learned that my body was a weapon of joy. In a country where women’s bodies are often treated as spoils of war or objects of the male gaze, dancing was an act of reclamation. When I moved my hips to the beat of the tambora , I was not a little girl from a dangerous neighborhood. I was the ocean. I was the river. I was Colombia.
Whether in a bustling city like Bogotá or Medellín, or in a rural town ( pueblo ), nature is never far away.
Our house in a small pueblo outside Bogotá had no central heating. It didn’t need it. The cold came straight from the páramo , biting my ears as I walked to school in a navy blue skirt and wool tights. But the cold was a friend. It meant my mother would make chocolate santafereño —thick, with cheese melted at the bottom of the mug and a chunk of almojábana floating like a treasure.
You learn never to leave your purse on the floor unless you want your money to run away. You know that a sweep of a broom over your feet means you might never get married. December is a month of pure enchantment, kicked off by the Día de las Velitas (Day of the Little Candles), where you join your family on the sidewalk to light hundreds of colorful candles, making wishes that drift into the warm night air. The entire month is a blur of novenas, late-night dancing, and the sweet taste of natilla and buñuelos. The Modern Colombian Girl
my social currency was fín —a slang word for a favor or an errand. I was constantly being sent to la tienda de la esquina to buy a single egg, or a packet of refresco powder, or a cigarrillo suelto for my uncle. “ Hija, hágame el favor y lleva esta carta a la casa de la señora Rosa. ”
As a little girl growing up in Colombia, I also faced challenges that shaped me into the person I am today. During my childhood, Colombia was going through a period of turmoil, with high levels of violence and crime. There were times when my family and I had to be careful about where we went and when, and we had to be mindful of the news and current events.
Growing up as a little girl in Colombia is a formative experience that instills a deep love for culture, family, and community—a foundation that shapes a vibrant, resilient, and loving perspective on the world. If you’d like to explore this topic further, I can share: Specific played in Colombian neighborhoods.
As a little girl growing up in Colombia, life is painted in the vibrant colors of tropical fruits, scored by the rhythms of cumbia and vallenato, and anchored by the unbreakable bonds of family. To spend your childhood in this corner of South America is to experience a world where magic and reality blur perfectly together. It is a childhood of sensory overload, deep traditions, and a resilient spirit that shapes the woman you eventually become.
I did eventually go El Norte . I left when I was eighteen, clutching a student visa and a single suitcase. I now live in a city with predictable weather, silent streets at night, and supermarkets with twenty kinds of cereal. I am safe.
Colombian households are famously centered around the mother and grandmother. From a young age, girls watch the women in their family manage the home, cook, and often work full-time jobs, all while emphasizing immaculate personal presentation. The Extended Network:
I remember waking up to the smell of arepas on the grill and the rhythmic clack-clack of my grandmother’s dominoes on the patio. My childhood was a blur of chasing the raspado cart on humid afternoons, the icy blackberry syrup staining my tongue purple, and learning to dance salsa in the living room before I could even properly tie my shoes.
Being a girl in Colombia meant living in the rhythm of the afternoon downpour. At 3:00 PM, the sky would bruise purple, and suddenly, the corrugated tin roofs would begin their frantic drumming. We didn’t run inside; we stood under the eaves, watching the street turn into a brown river, launching paper boats that would inevitably drown by the corner.
Growing up in Colombia means growing up with stories of magic,, influenced by the country’s literary tradition. From tales of La Llorona to the vibrant, surreal beauty of the Amazon or the colorful streets of Cartagena, imagination is always active.
For the large Catholic majority, the First Holy Communion (usually around age 8 or 9) is a massive event. Little girls wear miniature white wedding-like dresses and veils, followed by large family parties. 🍲 3. Sensory Memories: Food and Sunday Rituals Paseo de Olla (The Pot Gathering):
Today, when I make bandeja paisa for my own children—who were born in a cold, quiet country where silence is normal—I teach them the lessons of the kitchen. I teach them that a red bean takes three hours to soften. I teach them that a woman’s voice is as powerful as a man’s machete .
While childhood in Colombia is filled with joy, it is also shaped by an awareness of the country's complex history. To grow up in Colombia is to witness the incredible resilience of its people. Girls learn early on the value of solidarity, community support, and optimism in the face of adversity.
I learned that my body was a weapon of joy. In a country where women’s bodies are often treated as spoils of war or objects of the male gaze, dancing was an act of reclamation. When I moved my hips to the beat of the tambora , I was not a little girl from a dangerous neighborhood. I was the ocean. I was the river. I was Colombia.
Whether in a bustling city like Bogotá or Medellín, or in a rural town ( pueblo ), nature is never far away.
Our house in a small pueblo outside Bogotá had no central heating. It didn’t need it. The cold came straight from the páramo , biting my ears as I walked to school in a navy blue skirt and wool tights. But the cold was a friend. It meant my mother would make chocolate santafereño —thick, with cheese melted at the bottom of the mug and a chunk of almojábana floating like a treasure.
