Mango Heaven

I once again find myself cradled in an Andean bowl, this third time (1. Quito, 2. Cuzco) at the very birth of the cordillera and surrounded by palm trees, orchid weeds, and tropical rain. This ‘Land of Eternal Spring’ is much larger and heavily populated than I expected; with tiled roofs packed so closely together that they overflow into the creases of encompassing mountains. As picturesque as it all sounds (and is), I did not account for the gusts of exhaust fumes sprayed into my face every morning and close encounters with mototaxis during my pre-departure ruminations. But who am I trying to kid with these semi-complaints, even after four days I have absolutely no doubt that I am anywhere but the exact place I belong.

Since arriving early Monday morning after a rather uneventful red-eye on the (somewhat) sketchy Colombian national airline—complete with heavily armored police officer— I have had a non-stop whirlwind of social and necessity-based activities. After being picked up from the airport by my friend David who came from Medellin to study at Berkley as an Ambassadorial Scholar and who I met at the scholarship orientation in February, he took me on an energetic tour through the center of the city until my legs (and energy) were completely expended. We visited the park-like Universidad de Antioquia campus, botanical gardens, Plaza de los Deseos, and a cancer clinic where I might be interning. I got to walk through the University’s teaching hospital situated in an old military compound which, contrary to what one might think, is actually one of the most peaceful and beautiful parts of the city oriented around a large fountain and garden for the patients to enjoy from the long porches of each building. Multiple people gave me a tour at the Facultad de Salud Nacional where I will be studying, and I met so many smiling faces and warm welcomes that I can barely remember more than two names of the people to whom I was introduced.

When I walked into the small, cinderblock room lined with computers that houses my specific research department, the professor and ‘chicas’ working with him started cheering “La famosa Alina ha llegada!” My incessant emails and fastidious planning has yielded me an instant family in their office where we (Alejandra, Bibiana, Crisitna, and Veronica) play with hair driers and paint our nails, discuss possible solutions to the city’s poverty, and make fun of my lack of knowledge about Colombian slang. Octavio Gomez, my research advisor and fellow Rotarian, (lawyer, doctor, medical anthropologist!!), has taken it upon himself to ensure that I have the support and local knowledge to conduct the exact research that I want, and takes me around to different classes every afternoon to understand how the social security and health systems in Colombia function.

Perhaps I should have done more research on the subject of my focus here, but it is fascinating to learn about the operation of the Colombian health system. The classes I attend are offered by my department for the community health leaders participating in our research project, and so come from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds. At first the, shall I say ‘interactive’, learning style overwhelmed me, for during the entire lesson people were yelling out questions from their own personal experience that might be considered too personal by some of the people reading this. The 88-year old woman sitting next to me told me how she had been displaced from the countryside, come to Medellin, and received multiple optical operations and recent cardiac tests for free. If only the elderly in the US could receive that sort of attention.

According to the people here in the public health department with whom I have talked, they consider their health system, on paper, to be one of the most progressive of any national program; while in reality it doesn’t function as well as it looks. Everyone in the country is required to be registered with either a contributive (the people who have the capacity to pay for services enter what to us would be the equivalent of a nationalized insurance group) and subsidiary (those who are elderly, unemployed or disabled) health ‘regimens,’ ensuring that all citizens can receive care. There is also a sliding scale that applies to all no matter what health plan they have, dictated by a survey conducted by state workers of their living situation and type of housing. Each person is assigned with a number from one to six, one being the poorest and most vulnerable segment of the population and six being the most wealthy, which is linked to the tax and health systems to see how much people pay. The only problem is that many people don’t understand the intricacies of the system nor are they aware of all the options available to them, thus the purpose of the classes I am attending. In some ways, I think it is much easier for me to understand the system without knowing anything rather than for the community leaders to adapt their previous perceptions to what is actually the reality.

The largest surprise I have faced since my arrival is how hard I have had to work at understanding the accented Spanish that the city speaks; especially women for some reason. People say that ladies speak as if they were singing, but to me it just sounds like a string of words slurred together into a lively exclamation. Despite the unquantifiable compliments I receive about how well I speak Spanish, I have enjoyed being humbled by the hard work it takes for me to successfully maneuver a simple conversation.

My four colleagues who are pretty much around my same age have finally started slowing down their questions, but I still test their patience by asking them to repeat themselves every few minutes. I guess that even though I find it difficult to understand the women here, I have to give las mujeres colombianas credit for living up to their reputation as some of the most beautiful women in the world. Everywhere I go I feel like I am surrounded by models, which is good because it means that the men are all staring at them rather than me. Although I do not feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, like my scholarship coordinator--who also happens to be Colombian-- told me as a safety tip, in order to really fit in I would have to wear much tighter jeans and revealing shirts…a step toward assimilation that I am not sure I am quite comfortable taking, at least not yet. The one thing that I have going for me is my stature. Relative to Colombian men and women, I am never short. When I wore heels to the Rotary meeting yesterday and was standing with a group of men afterwards, I suddenly realized that I was almost taller than all of them! What a strange contrast to my height experience in the US, where even when I augment my 5'3" with heels I still don't reach the eye level of the majority of the population.

By my second day here I was taking the Metro by myself, navigating the cramped cars and multiple lines to get myself around the city. I wish that MARTA in Atlanta had been so accessible because I could have saved myself gallons of gas money while working around the city! I have learned about the MetroCultura that they have fostered in Medellin, and every day I am fascinated by the cleanliness, order, and safety of this impressive public transport system.

Since the Metro runs high above the streets, I take turns standing on each side of the cars to catch the best skyline views of the different neighborhoods I pass through during my commute. Although I have yet to find the time to explore as much as I would like, the city has a very European feel to me; mixed in with poverty-stricken corners and fruit stands playing salsa music I am starting to experience somewhat of a plaza/café culture. No matter what night of the week, old and young alike flock outside to the bars or discos to socialize until hours too late to comfortably wake up for an early work morning.

David has been extremely gracious in his inclusion of me in various social plans so that I meet as many people—Rotarian and non alike. So far I have attended a movie and gone out to ‘the coolest bar in Medellin’ (according to his friends) that has a British theme, joined the Rotaract Club of Medellin where I will start participating in their activities, walked around the junglesque disco sector of town dancing salsa in the streets, and been invited to spend the weekend at a farmhouse outside the city where ‘mucha fiesta’ will ensue. As my research advisor told me, paisas—the people of Medellin—are very tropical, loving the dance and be social so much that they are known world-wide for their nightlife.

As for my connection with Rotary here, it seems like every person that would possibly be good for me to know in the city is a Rotarian. My host Rotary club is the second oldest club in the country, and has members who have been Rotarians for over 50 years! I attended my first meeting yesterday, held at the fancy international hotel where I was served a delicious lunch and sat stiffly in my suit surrounded by older men and few women who are the (professional) elite of the city. Although it was very formal, everyone was extremely welcoming and excited to have me there, and I was invited to several upcoming social events with Rotarians and their families. I am looking forward to seeing how the other 8 clubs in the city operate, and involve myself with their projects and meetings as much as possible. It is amazing how comfortable I feel showing up anywhere and meeting a roomful of Rotarians after the completion of all my presentations throughout Southern California, because I know that they we will always treat each other as family.

Now, to wrap this up, I know that one burning question people have when learning about a foreign country, (or maybe it is just my family), is about the local gastronomy. I sheepishly admit that I have been so busy I haven’t really thought much about food—except that I know I am averaging about three to four mangos per day and consuming more white rice than I have in the past two years combined. One of the most ubiquitous national dishes is the arepa, sort of like a thicker, moister Mexican tortilla, and they serve it as an accompaniment with any meal or as a sort of pizza with cheese and meat on top. I still don’t think I have tried two arepas that taste the same, and look forward to seeing how they vary across the city and country. Most of the meals are similar to other parts in Latin America, starting with soup and ending with rice, beans, some sort of cooked veggie and mystery meat. Although all of that sounds Alina-friendly, it has been more difficult than expected for me to verify that what I am eating is gluten-free. And the celiac adventures continue. (I just went out for a lunch of yucca and potato soup, chicharron with rice, maduros (fried plaintains!!), and juice which cost me less than $3).

If you haven’t been already been able to deduce my exuberance about being here from the past 1800 words, overall I feel like I am settling in very comfortably even though I still haven’t found any promising or affordable housing, could easily get lost in the center of the city, and will start my academic classes on Monday. Which makes the future all the more exciting.

The best part of it all is that I already feel like I am accomplishing what I set out to do: integrate and immerse myself into a completely new and diverse environment, sharing my own experiences and cultural outlook on life with as many different people as I can in their own language--spreading the mission of Rotary International.