Final Scholar Duties Underway

Upon my return to the US, it is time to complete my scholar responsibilities. After making four pre-departure presentations to local clubs and over 30 presentations to audiences across Colombia, I should now be pro at speaking in front of large groups of Rotarians and community members. The test is as followed on completed/scheduled presentations throughout Southern California:

August 12: Claremont Sunrise Rotary Club - breakfast meeting, Methodist Church
Upland Rotary Club - lunch meeting, Upland Hangar

August 13: Pasadena Sunrise Rotary Club - breakfast meeting, The Brit Pub

August 14: Del Mar and Solana Beach Rotary Club - breakfast meeting, Double Tree Hotel

August 18: Encinitas Coastal Rotary Club - lunch meeting

August 22: Presentation to friends and family - 3:30 pm at my home in Encinitas

September 1: La Jolla Rotary Club - lunch meeting, La Valencia hotel


...and more to come once I relocate to Atlanta!

Life is a River...

Today I sat down with Gilma to have our usual afternoon snack break and had a particularly interesting conversation. With my impending departure so near, I have been waxing nostalgic in every interaction with my friends here; today was no exception. When describing how I feel somewhat anxious that I do not have and definite plans after September, she lightly scolded me.

"Alina," Gilma said. "Life is like an inter tube ride down a river. You get in at the beginning, put your head back and relax looking up at the sky. Once in a while you hit some turbulent areas where you get swirled around among the rocks, but you just have to hang on. Paddling does not help; your path and destation are already pre-determined. When you make it through, you will have learned how to better navigate and enjoy the calm stretches. Don't fight the current, let it take you wherever you are meant to go."

Imagining my bottom stuck into a black rubber inter tube and floating through life isn't the most comfortable of visuals, but her analogy certainly was comforting. So instead of attempting to beach myself on the shore until the rainy season ends and the water ebbs, I will ride out the present turbulence, enjoying every moment as it passes. Gilma knows best.

Rotary Final Report

At the end of an Ambassadorial Scholar's year, Rotary asks us to submit a final report to our host and sponsor clubs, scholarship coordinator, and Rotarians who were especially instrumental during our term. They ask for two pages, an utterly ludicrous writing space in which to reflect on an entire year's accomplishments. Sorry if it is a bit long, but hopefully this will serve as a good summary of how I interpreted my position as an Ambassador of Goodwill.

One year is not nearly enough time to experience Colombia. A country of richly diverse regions and welcoming people, I want to know it all. My term as a Rotary Ambassadorial Research Scholar has allowed me extremely unique and special opportunities in which to accomplish this.

When I first arrived in Medellin, I could communicate well in Spanish but it took me almost three months to adapt to the different paisa accent that they speak here. Colombians are very proud of their “correct” Spanish, meaning that they believe their use of the language to be most similar to that in Spain. They think that their accent is one of the easiest to understand (contrary to my initial experience), and I do agree that it has a beautiful, sing-song nature. Now, after twelve months of practice, I am imitating their speech so well that I am sometimes mistaken as a native. This is a huge compliment to my language skills, especially because I have been working almost my entire life to learn the language. My desire to sound like them has proven my respect for my host culture and my attempts to ‘fit in’ as much as possible. And, of course, it enabled me to communicate effectively with anyone and everyone, drastically enriching my overall experience.

Instead of participating in an established academic program, I chose to conduct research at the Facultad Nacional de Salud Publica, part of the Universidad de Antioquia, because I knew that it would give me more valuable experience on how to conduct international investigations and the chance to publish an article in an international journal. Working with Gloria Molina, the head of the research department, and Gilma Stella, my research partner, has been a fantastic way to learn from experienced professionals how research in Colombia takes place. Our project is entitled “Mecanismos de mercado y competencia y su relación con el acceso y la calidad del los servicio materno, en el Contexto del Sistema General de Seguridad Social en Salud. Colombia, 2008-2009.” It looks at the effects of market competition on access to and quality of maternal health care after the health care system was restructured in 1993. This has allowed me to travel around Medellin interviewing doctors, nurses, health administrators, and the users themselves at different clinics and hospitals. I have learned more about the Colombian health care system than I know about that of the US, and feel empowered having the resources to publish suggestions to the problems we have observed.

One academic year has been too short an amount of time to design, develop, and implement such an in-depth research project, and so we will not finish completely by the time I leave Colombia. We have finished collecting all of our data, analyzing the interviews, and creating the mental maps that will help us in writing up of the article. I will finish a rough draft of the article before my departure, and then we will continue collaborating via email during the arduous process of publication. This will help me achieve my professional goals because as I start applying for PhD programs in the upcoming year, my candidacy will be much more likely to be accepted after having international research and a publication under my belt.

Overall I have been very impressed with the Facultad Nacional de Salud Publica. The dean, German Gonzales, is the past president of my host Rotary Club and has helped me get involved in activities to which I would usually not have access. I have participated in many international health conferences, met with visiting health professionals, sat in on undergraduate and graduate classes whose content is applicable to my research, and enjoyed the dynamic, collaboration among faculty and students. What has awed me most is the very horizontal relationship between professors, docents, and students; the teachers are always available to meet with students and respect their ideas as much as any other professional. At the Facultad I have given several presentations to groups of students and teachers about Rotary and my sponsor country, taught English conversation classes, and been an active member of a weekly painting workshop.

During periods when my official research was slow, I worked in shelters for displaced people as part of a supplementary research and community service project. My interest in Medical Anthropology spurred me to carry out an ethnography looking at the experience of pregnant women during displacement and how the stressful events they endure affects their health and the health of their baby. It has been fascinating becoming close with them and learning firsthand how the continued violence is ruining so many innocent people’s lives.

One of the women with whom I have worked has become an especially important friend. Katy is 39 years old and is pregnant with her first child. Her husband was kidnapped in the middle of the night by the paramilitary, leaving her to fend for herself without the support of any family or friends to support. Katy’s outlook on life is very different from most impoverished Colombian women; she is a feminist, well-educated, critical yet proud of her country, and very independent. Sharing hours talking with her has opened up a whole different perspective on Colombia than I see when with Rotarians or at school, and has been an instrumental source for my research. In return, I offer her continual friendship, an open ear to listen to her worries, and hope that her future will work out despite the hardships she has faced. This was one of the most salient ways in which I participated as an ambassador of goodwill.

When visiting the shelters I frequently conducted art therapy sessions with the children, asking them to draw pictures of their families, their fears, and their dreams. I also worked with the adults, giving them job training and preparedness talks. Because many of the displaced people leave the shelters without a way to support themselves economically, I am developing a micro-loan program for women heads of households so that they can start their own small businesses.

As part of my interest in public health and displaced communities, I visited some of the settlements of recently arrived displaced families with local institutions. Once with Profamilia, the local equivalent of Planned Parenthood, during a health brigade where they offered check-ups and antibiotics to children. Again in Popayan with a Rotarian who works for the Red Cross, going into several different settlements evaluating the efficacy of educational health programs that the Red Cross had been implementing for three years. Due to the lack of safety in these locations, it was frustrating for me not to visit them more often but necessary that I go when invited by recognized organizations. My devotion to interacting with all socioeconomic levels in Medellin, especially those people who are usually forgotten by their own government and fellow countrymen, is yet another example of my service as an ambassador of goodwill.

I lived with a former Ambassadorial Scholar who is from Medellin and rented out a room in his apartment to me during the entire year. He was a very good source of social contacts and explanations of cultural differences when I first arrived, and continues to be a close friend. It was nice to have the independence of living on my own and being able to cook for myself, as well as entertain friends and visitors.

My interactions with Rotary in Medellin were some of the richest experiences as an ambassadorial scholar. Club Rotario Medellin, my host club, is one of the largest and oldest clubs in the country, with some of the oldest members as well. I attended at least two meetings every month, enjoying my interactions with the members who all treated me as an adoptive granddaughter. Because the club has over 80 members, it gave me the opportunity to know a large variety of prominent community leaders. One of the most special friendships that I formed was with my host counselor, Waldemar Rey. He is a very kind, humble, and inspirational man who was constantly supporting me in my endeavors and encouraging me to explore different avenues than I normally would have on my own.

I visited 12 different clubs throughout the district to make presentations, becoming actively involved in the Club Medellin Nuevo, Club Medellin Nutibara, and Club Rotario Popayan. They invited me to participate in health brigades in marginalized communities, conduct eye examinations of children, attend fundraising events, and social “integrations” with their families. I attended and presented at the RYLA conference October 25 and 26, at a Rotaract Forum in Popayan April 26, and at the District 4280 Conference the first weekend of May. I visited the host club of another Ambassadorial Scholar in Cali for their end-of-year party Thanksgiving weekend of 2008, and attended my host club’s meetings with my grandparents and parents when they came to visit me in January 2009. The broad network of Rotary contacts I maintained throughout the year shows how I served as an ambassador of goodwill, since it was important for me to give back to the Rotary community that was and still is supporting me.

A very unique experience was when I was invited to travel on several occasions with the GSE group from New Mexico on their visit to my host district during April and May. It was great sharing perspectives on Colombia through the lens of Rotary with people from my own culture. They were very interested in the work I am doing in Medellin, and have encouraged me to visit their district and make presentations when I return to further cement the connections made between our two districts. I have developed a great respect for Rotary’s mission to promote all sorts of international exchange opportunities and hope to have more chances to participate in them in the future.

The thriving Rotaract and Interact clubs were one of the most pleasant Rotary surprises I found in Colombia. I participated in the three different Rotaract clubs in Medellin during the year, helping them with blood drives, soccer tournaments to raise funds, activities in old-folk’s homes, and children’s shelters in which they carry out projects. I also was involved with the Interact clubs in Medellin, marching with them in a peace demonstration on Colombian Independence Day and guiding them with fundraising ideas.

My experience as an Ambassadorial Scholar has greatly changed my outlook on Colombia because it has allowed me an insider’s view of the daily workings of the country. The Rotarians are very well educated and knowledgeable about local politics and history, always sharing with me their views and inviting me to participate in discussions on Colombia’s place in the world. They were very honest about the difficulties that Colombia has faced, and how they are working to overcome the extreme violence caused by drug trafficking—an almost impossible task. I appreciated how they looked to me for outside opinions that could help them get a different perspective that they have viewed from within for so many years. Their familiarity with the US was always disconcerting; it showed me how aware the rest of the world is of my home country and yet we as (North) Americans in general are so oblivious to the goings-on of the rest of the world. It made me sad at how ignorant the majority of my fellow countrymen and women are of places as wonderful as Colombia. This has encouraged me more than anything else to return to share with them the beauty of learning intimately about other cultures that are only known through negative news headlines. To me, this dedication to dispelling internationally propagated myths about Colombia is my main contribution to Rotary’s vision to advance world understanding, goodwill, and peace.

When describing Rotary to my friends, colleagues, and family, I say that it is an international organization comprised of people from very different backgrounds and cultures who are all dedicated to creating world-wide understanding and peace through their humanitarian work mainly concentrated in health and education. They comprise a family that defies political borders and cultural differences, welcoming anyone and everyone with open arms and a heart to help. The Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship is an opportunity for culturally sensitive students dedicated to propagate peace and goodwill through service and international studies. I tell everyone that Rotary gives people, members or not, the opportunity to really understand the world through personal connections.

I do not really think that the materials or training that I received from the Foundation and my sponsor/host Rotarians really prepared me in a new way for my success as an ambassador of goodwill, since when applying for the scholarship I already had lots of international experience. What did help was the training at the orientation on public speaking, since that is a very large component of the scholarship. It was also very helpful for me to talk with previous scholars from my sponsor district and others who went to Colombia, to learn what they thought were the strengths and weaknesses of their experiences so I could build upon their suggestions to make the most of my year. I think that one of the things that should be emphasized most to incoming scholars is the patience it takes to get through the entire pre-departure process, and how important it is to really get involved and make the most of Rotary in their host community as soon as they arrive.

My advice to future scholars about living abroad as a RAS is to integrate themselves as much as possible into their host culture. The goal as an ambassador is to really get the “real” experience, with which Rotarians are more than happy to help. It is important to find a stable living situation with people around whom you are comfortable, can offer insight into the host culture, and support a scholar during difficult, homesick periods. Coming home to a good environment makes surviving alone in a foreign country much easier. In terms of representing Rotary, it is always important to explain to people upon introduction your purpose in the country and make them aware of Rotary and the possibilities the Foundation provides everywhere. Become familiar with the scholarship opportunities available in your host district and encourage local friends to participate. Representing your sponsor club can be difficult if you did not get a chance to develop a strong relationship with them before leaving, but make sure to check in on their website and stay in email touch with sponsor counselors so that you are up-to-date on their activities in case your host Rotarians ask.

I am hooked on Rotary for life. After participating in Interact, a Rotary Youth Exchange program, and the Ambassadorial Scholarship, I think my next step will be to apply for the Rotary Peace Fellowship. In the meantime, I will travel around the US presenting to clubs, schools, and anyone who will listen about the amazing opportunities that Rotary offers and teach them about how my experience as an ambassador of goodwill helped me have a fantastic year living in a country of which most people are afraid. I have formed such strong friendships and long-lasting contacts with people here that I am considering returning to carry out further work in Colombia, continuing my doctoral research here, and visiting during the upcoming District Conferences. In the future, I would consider becoming a member of a local Rotary club depending on the dynamics of the clubs near me. Each club has its own identity and feel, which is a wonderful trait of Rotary International but can be limiting if a nearby club does not match someone’s service style.

I cannot wait to continue promoting Rotary on a daily basis back in the US and know that Rotary will be an important part of my life forever.

The Demise of Wanderlust

Colombian eggs are delicious. Even your average supermarket dozen of AA eggs have enough flavor to make a free-range hen in the US jealous. The only drawback is that their shells are a bit thin. Perhaps Colombia has lenient DDT regulations.

Because eggs are such a versatile source of protein, they make a great breakfast snack when boiled for overnight bus trips. Kelsey, my college roommate and best friend, came down to accompany me during my last few weeks of travels and fun in Colombia. She had the bright idea of boiling several eggs and packing them in Tupperware containers to tide us over during the 14 hours of travel to our friend's house on the Caribbean coast near Cartagena.

Since it was the start of a three-day weekend, when we arrived at the bus terminal the place was teeming with families waiting to get on the road toward their vacation destination. Kelsey and I luckily got front-row seats with one of the best companies and wandered around, taking advantage of the last opportunity to stretch our legs for a long while. Due to her odd, atheistic fascination with Catholicism, we payed our respects to the Virgen de Carmen's alter before boarding the bus. While still on the freeway out of Medellin, I noticed that it had started to rain. I have grown accustomed to the daily showers implied by the tropical climate yet still marvel at the all-night downpours...like the one taking place outside. After watching a violent, K-rated Thai martial arts movie that takes place somewhere in barbaric Mongolia, we cuddled under a blanket and drifted off to sleep listening to the sound of wet tires carrying us toward the hopefully sunny coast.

Before I even had a chance to reach REM, I was awakened by the sound of the bus's breaks locking and within a matter of seconds, my body was jerked off of the seat, into the air, and slammed down into the aisle where I slid to a stop against the compartment door. Now high on adrenaline, I was sharply attuned to the babies crying, people rustling about in the pitch dark, and a feeling of panic settling in. While still too stunned to move, I hear Kelsey above me utter "Welcome to your worst nightmare."

After having memorized the highways out of the city from traveling so much, I am familiar with the likelihood of falling off a cliff and drowning in one of the two rivers on either side of Medellin, and so my first desire was to get out of the bus before it could start filling with water because I had no idea where we had landed. I put my hand up to the doorknob and realize that we are locked in. People start trying to push out the windows, but with no avail, the hammers usually in place for emergency situations were stolen long ago. Luckily right as our realization of trapped confinement sinks in the alternate conductor comes up from where he was sleeping at the back of the bus and unlocks the door, telling us to be careful when we get out because he doesn't know where we are.

Gingerly picking myself up off of the floor, I realize that my tailbone is throbbing and my shoulders are bruised but I can still walk fine. Kelsey complains of a huge bump forming on her shin and a twisted knee, but we quickly gather up our belongings and gingerly make our way outside. The entire front of the bus is crushed in so that we can barely squeeze through the narrow steps. Windshield completely missing, in front of us I see a body lying on the ground with a leg up in the air. It is still pouring.

Luckily there is a small house on the other side of the road and we make our way over to stand under the eaves out of the rain, the blanket wrapped around us. The rest of the passengers are surprisingly calm and come join us, some of them sporting broken noses but everyone pretty much intact, thank God. While we wait for an ambulance and another bus to arrive, us survivors try to piece together what happened.

To start out with, the driver must have been going fast for the conditions. He didn't anticipate the sharpness of the turn and tried to cut into the middle too much, slamming on the breaks which we heard locking. The back of the bus started going over the edge of the embankment, landing on a tree which is the only thing that saved us from plummeting down the 5 km drop. In a valiant effort, the driver then pulled us over the edge and back onto the highway, losing control of the bus which then slammed into the side of the mountain. Upon impact, the young boy who does all the grunt work (and doesn't get a seat/belt) was thrown out the front window and probably flew 15 feet before landing in the middle of the highway. The front tire popped, we started a slight landslide by scraping against the wall, and we eventually ended our journey. Because we were facing oncoming traffic on a curve, a truck coming up the other way did not see us and crashed into the back of the bus, thus pinning us against the mountain. Not the most ideal situation.

As passengers started trickling back into the bus to escape the cold and the rain, Kelsey and I remembered Highway Safety 101 lessons that tell you to get as far away from the accident as possible, avoiding further collisions or fires ignited from gas leaks. I luckily travel with Advil and water, so we were able to take the edge off of our pain. About twenty minutes later after the crash, several pairs of highway police showed up on motorcycles. Despite shining a flashlihgt on us and walking around the boy still lying on the street moaning, they didn't really seem to helpful or worried about our situation. It was awful to watch someone, badly injured, without having the knowledge or equipment to help. We couldn't detect a back board to move the boy off of the wet road, nobody had more than a few small plastic bags to protect him from the rain and only extra articles of clothing to wrap around his open wounds. Hypothermia anyone?? One of the passengers was a doctor, but they couldn't do anything besides comfort him despite their expertise. Hell, there weren't even flairs or a reflective triangle to put out in front of the accident to warn other cars and trucks to slow down. Someone just ran out in the direction of headlights waving, hoping they would stop. Oh, the unpreparedness of second-world countries.

Eventually the ambulance arrived and took the boy, who had stopped moaning and had probably entered immense shock, to the hospital along with the driver whose jaw bone was apparently sticking out of his skin. An empty bus came and told us they would carry us on our way; a shining, dry chariot offering salvation from more hours of damp waiting. They told us that we could not get our luggage out from underneath the bus, but they would bring it to us in Cartagena as soon as possible. And as quickly and quietly as we had arrived at our injured station at the base of the mountain, we left.

As I write this, almost 4 days later, I still do not have my luggage, which is trapped in the bus that they had to attach to a crane and somehow cart back to Medellin. Supposedly the storage compartment under the bus is controlled my the electrical system of the bus, which was shut down in the crash. But, typical Colombian bureaucracy-style, the bus is at the Fiscalia, a government department which is reviewing the case and taking ages to file paperwork because of the gravity of consequences. They have not told us if the boy survived. My back and right buttock are extremely sore, covered in bruises that defy natural bodily colors. It hurts to sit and I might have bruised my tailbone. The swelling on Kelsey's shin has gone down, and her knee hurts, but she can walk fine. We complain a lot. I like to think it is out of the jittery fear being in such an accident has caused, but it is probably because we survived an awful event and want to tell our cool story.

Despite all of this, I still have my life, my most valuable possession. Kelsey and I were able to spend a fantastic weekend with our friend on the coast relaxing in Caribbean paradise in the comfort of a family. We took a small plane home, arriving safely back to my apartment. I have taken buses around Latin America for 52 hours straight, traveling from Bolivia to the US without a slight scratch. But for some reason I think I will take busing slightly more seriously from now on. When we first started to tip over the edge that night, I thought my mangled body would have to be pulled out of the remains of the tin-can of a bus, never to see more adventures.

Every time I step into a car, bus, plane, the metro, a taxi--any mode of transportation, I am putting my life into someone else's hands. How many times each day do you entrust the Virgen de Carmen to watch over your journey and hope that she safely directs you home? Lady Carmen must have been waiting for us that night, baby in arm, to push the bus back onto the highway, a reminder that it was not yet our time to die. Perhaps she was hinting to me that I was taking my wanderlust too lightly, urging me to explore on slower terms. With only two weeks left in Colombia, I am at the perfect crossroads to slow down my speed and take time to figure out in what direction I will next travel.

The silliest part of it all is that the eggs survived better than either my our Kelsey's bodies. After a sleepless night we convinced ourselves we should eat something to keep our forces up, and cracked open the Tupperware containers while traveling through the flat cow pastures. Inside, we found the tasty hard boiled eggs perfectly intact. Maybe Colombian eggshells are stronger than I realized.


***Postscript***

Now that the traumatization (I know, I am turning English words into Spanish, but it can be so much more useful sometimes) of the bus accident has worn off, I can analyze the situation with a bit more perspective. The fact that my Rotarian and Colombian friends alike barely reacted to my experience shows a general Colombian acceptance of death. Perhaps I am over-analyzing the situation, but I would say that because paisas have lived with death at their doorstep for so long they have come to terms with the fact that at any moment life could be taken away from them. Every family tells their own tragedy, for several years at the peak of the violence ('92-'95)in Medellin people were never safe even in their own homes, and everyone has spent years traveling on the same dangerous roads. One of the main difference between a developed country and a developing country is that when there is a dangerous patch of road causing an accident, the developed country will have a road crew out on the scene the next day fixing the problem to prevent future accidents while in the developing country the government might order a sign to be put up but never really get around to changing anything. (This anecdote was told to me by several Colombian friends reflecting on their own culture, again proving how resigned they are to potential danger).

I don't know if it is better or worse to not be afraid of uncontrollable death, but one of the advantages that I see in how Colombians accept their risks without second thought is the value they in turn place on life. Paisas will go out of their way to spend an extra hour drinking with friends even if it means being tired the next day for work. Extended families will sit around all day doing nothing exciting just to be together. And, typical to Latin cultural stereotypes, I guess, nobody is hesitant to express their fleeting or deep-rooted emotions--honest with each other about anger or lust just in case they don't have another chance to express themselves.

Instead of being somewhat insulted that my friends did not feel more responsible for my near-death scare, I finally realized after the entire year one of the biggest cultural differences between myself and my host culture: an overall acceptance of death.

More on Maternal Mortality

After being caught up through my research on the causes for unnecessary maternal mortality here in Medellin (due to market forces and organization of the health care industry), it is crucial to stick my head above the beautiful Colombian clouds once in a while and learn about the larger international issues impeding pregnant women's access to health care in other countries.

Nicolas Kristof is a very illuminating Op-Ed columnist for the NYT (I might be slightly biased after hearing him speak at a foundation event in Atlanta and admiring his approach to saving Africa), and lately he has been writing a lot on the issue of maternal health care in West Africa. He takes an interesting look at the lack of medical (personnel) resources in rural clinics and how international aid plays into the picture in the article "This Mom Didn't Have to Die." Kristof delves deeper into the issue on his blog On the Ground, responding to the link between maternal mortality and female education and financial situation in the post "A 'P.S.' on Maternal Mortality and Abortion," and also looks at the larger issue of malnutrition affecting women's health in his most recent post "Malnutrition and the Economic Crisis."

I am relieved that in Medellin I have not found patients dying in childbirth on hospital tables, but knowing that there are women in so many other countries who need a voice to represent their need for improved maternal health care overwhelms me with the possibility of a life's work. As Kristof notes, a woman should not die because her life is considered less than that of a man.

Coffee Talk

Colombia is coffee territory. A cup with breakfast, at 10:00 am, after lunch, at 3:00 pm, and then maybe after dinner, Colombians drink an impressive amount of coffee. Not just because it grows in their backyards or keeps them going through long work days, but also because coffee breaks perfectly compliment their social culture. Yes, working is important, but staying up-to-date with family and friends is more important and so the excuse of going downstairs to the cafeteria for 15 minutes is the perfect way to gossip and discuss whatever is on their mind. (Larger companies even have a female employee whose job description is to carry trays of tinto around through the office at one-hour intervals so that the workers can stay sufficiently caffeinated.)

Although I don't drink much coffee because I am very sensitive to caffeine (realizing that this is a sin while living in Colombia--shouldn't I make an exception for their exceptional coffee?), I do accompany my friends for the conversations. (Or maybe it is because otherwise I would be left alone in the office... ) Either way, my two favorite coffee partners are Gilma and Felipe, who have the most interesting banter over their cups of java. I think several of the topics covered recently warrant a brief description here because they have increased my insight into politicized opinions that you can't read in the newspaper.

Colombian World Travelers: After an arduous process to get his U.S. visa, Felipe boarded a plane on Thursday for Chicago to attend a public health qualitative research conference at the University of Illinois, Champagne. About one in 22 Colombians get their visas approved by the U.S embassy in Bogota, seemingly on a random basis. Once they do get it though, it means that obtaining a visa for any other country is almost guaranteed.
Listening to people's dismay about being denied a visa to visit a sick family member abroad or frustrated that they can't take their child to Disneyworld for their birthday makes me realize how lucky I am to be a U.S. citizen. It's not just because I can easily move through international borders by flashing my passport, but because I can travel to other countries without being automatically discriminated against because of my nationality.
I have heard appalling stories from my friends of them getting mistreated in a range of countries just because of the negative international perception of Colombians. A Colombian woman traveling to the Netherlands to meet her fiance's family being detained for five days in a holding cell without bathing along with a Nigerian man (people scoff to think that anyone would consider them as disgraceful as a dirty African man). One of the most respected professors at the university being tortured and almost raped by immigration official in Panama because she brought in unprocessed coca, eventually released only because her husband was a cousin of a foreign minister in the Colombian government.
It is obvious that 'Colombian' is most often synonymous with 'drug lord,' and it frustrates me to see time and time again that the world is still so uneducated as to judge people based on stereotypes. But I almost feel guilty when I tell my hosts how easy it was for me to go to the Colombian consulate for an hour and live in the country for a year when my own natal land would reject their visit without hesitation.
But what Gilma told me is that this negative international reception of her country(wo)men means that not very many Colombians have a desire to leave their country. Why spend so much money on travel just to be treated poorly when they can be shown the respect they deserve by driving to a city a few hours away? She would prefer to avoid humiliation and miss out on life experiences than be made to feel guilty for her nationality.

Saving in Colombia: Not only is it hard for a Colombian to be approved for a foreign visa, but it is extremely difficult for an honest, educated worker to save up enough money to leave the country. Professors and doctors make just enough money to live comfortably in Medellin; paying for an apartment and take holidays to the coast with their families. The people who buy cars on finance work their entire lives to pay it off--worth it just to cruise around town and impress the ladies. I have friends who borrow money and take out loans just to find the $10,000 needed to go to English classes in the UK for a year...imagine what they would do to attend a 4-year college in the U.S!?!
And yet, many of the Rotarians and people with whom I have become friends here come from families that can afford international travel, two cars, and a house. I don't ever question the way in which they reached their economic standing (hey, old money still keeps Colombian families going), but I have heard some crazy stories of people quickly building up an economic empire based on lucrative, illegal businesses. One of Gilma's nephews worked in the shop his grandma ran out of their house along with other family members. Pretty soon they had earned enough money to buy a bus, and then a few taxis, and then an entire transportation company, and then a dairy plant in another department, and so on. When other aunts and cousins started raising eyebrows, the grandma told them that they just needed to work harder and save money. But any Colombian knows that working two honest jobs does not allow anyone to save enough to run that many businesses. If it really is so hard, imagine how appealing it would be to get involved in money laundering!

Government Exploitation: In the last post I explained the Uribe's recent abuse of power to make money off of poor Colombians. Felipe explained to me one day how all developed countries achieved success by exploiting other people; the U.S. had African slaves, the Europeans had serfdom, and the Spaniards had indigenous people. But because the indigenous population in Colombia was fairly small, and the imported African slaves only live along the coast, in order to compete in the current world markets the Colombian government has has to exploit its own people. But although most Colombians live in poverty, they are too proud to admit that they are being used by the government to complain.
Both Gilma and Felipe claimed that Colombians don't live in as dire poverty as in most other countries where people are surviving off the same meager income. They bathe once or twice a day and so always smell nice, keep their houses from looking decrepit by painting them every Christmastime, turn a one-story shack into a two-story bungalow after working a few years, hang flowers from their eves, and value education. I think that this mostly has to do with the abundance of natural resources in Colombia; they get more rain than almost any other country, can grow their own food in a small plot next to their lean-to, and look at beautiful landscapes to ease their pain. But cultural pride could play a small part...
Anyway, as in a lot of countries that suffer from corruption, the people grow poorer as the politicians and people with power grow richer. In Colombia it has dangerous to consider how the government has abused the people's rights because of the precarious and polarized nature of Colombian politics. Anyone who starts questioning their situation and becomes a humanitarian sides with the liberal leftist cause, which is then automatically considered to be equivalent to a guerrilla sympathizer, which is then considered anti-Uribista and thus puts the person's life in danger. Although the country has become more democratic than it was at the height of the civil war, those who do not subscribe to dominant politics are still considered to be a social risk. Understandably, the country is still combating against various armed forces controlling the drug war, but when will Colombia guarantee its citizens their deserved human rights?

City Recyclers

Do you ever throw something out that could still be useful to someone else and think about where it ends up? In any Colombian city you can find people called recicladores, or recyclers, whose profession is to sift through trash piles collecting anything that could possibly be recycled or reused. They are seen pulling heavy wooden carts piled high with their findings through the busy streets, often skinny older men who do not look to be in adequate physical condition for the strenuous nature of the job.

Contrary to what I first thought when arriving--that these people were unorganized individuals trying to make a few pesos off of everyone's old junk, the recicladores first created their own union/association in 1962 in Antioquia, now called the National Association of Recyclers, that monitors price controls for recyclable materials such as metal or glass, and also represents the rights of the workers. They even have their own website! It says that after WWII when the Colombia encountered a lack of containers, metal, and paper, people started looking through the trash, reusing what they found to make up for the deficiency. Some would specialize in glass bottle collection, others in pieces of scrap metal, selling their 'wares' to recycling companies that then turn trash into something new and useful. (Since there are also recycling companies in Medellin that pick up the recyclables that people separate in their houses, I wonder what sort of competition there is between these services and the recicladores). At first there was a stigmatization of these workers as being crazy or street beggars, and so the creation of the association gave them the national recognition necessary to dumpster dive without being hassled. Recycling is thus a legitimate profession falling somewhere in-between the formal and informal economies, and the income earned offers an attractive alternative to selling candies on buses. I have even met women in the displaced communities who come from a family that has been working in recycling for generations, and she goes out every morning with her sons to collect what they can.

In the past week these reclicladores have made national news: Uribe is trying to pass a national law to consolidate the companies that buy recycled material, thus creating a monopoly that sets a price cap on what the recicladores can earn. The Colombian president has realized how profitable this business is, and, like with many other industries, wants to (ab)use his power to buy his (large) share and make a few hundred million pesos off of the poor people. There have been fierce debates in the Senate where members question Uribe's interests in the new bill, but he has enough supporters (who probably also have a financial stake in the issue) that it looks like he will get the outcome he wants. As my Colombian friends say, this is just another example of how the government works hard to make the poor people poorer so that politicians and their friends can get richer. Do I smell corruption?

So sorry recicladores, it looks like your Colombian trash will not be worth as much as it used to.

The Perfect Sunday: Fincas and Relativity

Since arriving in Colombia I have been waiting for a certain invitation. As you have read before, a typical weekend past-time for middle/upper-class Colombians is to spend time at their or a friend's finca. Luckily I know many such friends, who invite me for a relaxing weekend get-a-way out in the countryside. But until last Sunday, there was one finca I had never visited but had heard a lot about: that of my Rotarian counselor Waldemar and his wife, Lyda. Waldemar was always telling me about his love for his ganado (cattle), riding horses through the open pastures, and spending holidays with his family at his modest finca. But because of the prolonged rainy season, bad road conditions, and some health problems, they he and Lyda were not going to their finca as often as other parts during their lives.
Sunday was different. The GSE group is now in Medellin and my host club, Club Rotario Medellin, was in charge of their activities for the day. Being the director of the entire program for the district, Waldemar was also responsible for entertaining the four of them and so decided that a trip out to the finca was the perfect option of typical Colombian hospitality. And he invited me!
We met at 8:30 in the morning at Waldemar and Lyda's apartment, and then piled into rented luxurious SUVs with hired drivers to comfortably transport us the 2 hours past Fredonia into Colombian paradise. Despite being a successful orthodontist and community figure, Waldemar is one of the most humble people I have ever met. Thus I was not surprised when we pulled up to a modest house situated on perhaps the most beautiful 100 acres of land in Antioquia. He has over 100 heads of cattle, and planned a "cultural experience" for us to watch three young calves be branded and their horns cauterized. Despite the bad smell and guttural sounds the calves made, it was actually quite a fascinating experience, much less traumatizing than I expected. The ranch-hands had horses ready for us to ride, so before lunch we took an exciting (to put the horses' lack of guidability nicely) romp through streams and high grass out to a gorgeous lookout point where one can see beyond 30 km of the Cauca Valley, Cauca river, and parcelled land below. We returned somewhat muddy but in high spirits to spend the rest of the afternoon lounging in the pool, eating the beautiful spread Lyda had prepared (she is a published chef) involving over 10 different dishes, and sitting in rocking chairs on the porch discussing politics and human evolution. I was even able to paint for an hour! By the time we lazily made the return journey back to Medellin everyone was slightly sunburnt, full, and successfully relaxed.

(The most interesting lunchtime conversation topics involved how one of my good friends in the club is so wealthy that she asked her husband for a helicopter to transport an elephant to one of their 13 fincas, how her multi-million dollar jewelry collection was stolen by a mafioso who threatened her husband's life after he sent out a private detective to find them, and then how her husband was kidnapped by the guerrilla and played mind tricks on them to get whatever he wanted--like making them hunt down and eat an anaconda. Speaking of kidnappings, I learned that at least two Rotarians from my club had been kidnapped by the guerrillas and lived to tell about it...I always wondered if their riches and public positions ever endangered them.)

But as wonderful as these luxurious country events were, I came home that night with an insurmountable respect for my Rotarian hosts. After spending over four hours in the car with Lyda and another Rotarian, Carlos, (a jolly old man who is never once been quiet for more than three seconds when in anyone's presence), I felt like I had just read an entire Encyclopedia Britannica set. They discussed the history of British monarchy personalities, the Pope's recent visit to the Middle East (did he end up taking his shoes off when visiting the mosque in Jordan?), traveling to every continent, the technological advances of Brazilian telecommunications, the perks of being a Rotarian when in other countries (special treatment in airports, accidentally walking in on a meeting in Switzerland, sightseeing with Canadian Rotarians throughout Spain), the theory of Relativity, egg and dairy processing plants in Germany, and, of course, the usual catch-up on old acquaintances and family gossip.

Now these Colombians have access to many more privileges and opportunities than most of their fellow country(wo)men, but to me represent the definitive Colombian trait that differs them from other Latin Americans I have known: the thirst for knowledge of the world that transcends their existence beyond their national bubble. My admiration of their conversational skill, storytelling wit, and the ease with which they moved from one intellectual subject to another makes me want to dedicate my life to studying. And like many other times since arriving in Colombia, actually makes me look forward to being old. After living for so many years my hosts have accumulated a wealth of knowledge and experience, which combined with nimble memories, makes them some of the most interesting people I have ever encountered. Anyone who considers Colombians to be uncultured, uneducated, and living in the jungle like monkeys should think again; I honestly consider them to be perfect examples for the future of humanity.

A Day in the Life of a Researcher

When do I work?

It might appear that I spend all of my time traveling around the country or walking through the city without much aim besides exploring. Admittedly I have been 'out of the office' for quite a bit of time since December. This is possible because of the flexibility that being a contracted researcher for the Facultad Nacional de Salud Publica allows; I can do my work in spurts and make my own schedule. When I am in Medellin I have been known to walk into school at 9 in the morning and leave at 7 at night after coding interviews or organizing mental maps all day. Or, I hole myself up in my apartment correcting transcribed interviews and doing supplementary reading. But, since I am still involved in the data-collecting phases for both of my research projects, I am often running around the city to hospitals or displaced shelters (my fieldwork sites) to conduct interviews.

To give you an idea of what a normal field visit day might entail, read on.

On Wednesday morning at around 9:30 I walked into the office I share with other "investigators" and sat down to check my email at one of the work stations. A few minutes later Gilma, my research partner and important friend/aunt-like figure in my life here, struts in proudly (as only a woman shorter than myself can), announcing that she has arranged five interviews for us back-to-back during the day. (After being received with skepticism every time I have tried to call offices asking for an appointment with a nurse or administrator in my foreign accent, we decided that it was better for her to arrange our interviews). Gilma walks up to our desk, starts collecting the necessary consent forms and interview questions, tests the tape recorder, asks everyone in the office if they know where new batteries are, and then pronounces us ready to go.

Gilma is about the age of my parents but does not lead the lifestyle of a typical middle-aged Colombian woman. Originally trained in nursing administration, she worked for 20+ years in quality control overseeing hundreds of government health care employees. Because of her experience, she has traveled all over the country evaluating hospital operations or giving lectures on the new privatized health care system that is still causing national confusion after it switched over 16 years ago. (My project with her looks at how the relatively new market competition is affecting quality of and access to maternal health care in Medellin, evaluating the desired efficacy of the health care system.) She literally knows everyone everywhere, has never married, dedicates her free time at school to learning Arab dance and painting, is always late, hikes with a walking group on the weekends up the mountains surrounding the city, is fiercely independent, and has four daily coffee dates with friends which makes it very hard for us to work on a tight schedule. But out of all of the Colombians I have met, she has the most expansive view of how the country operates, and I absolutely love working with her because she is determined to teach me something new during every conversation.

Anyway, so we walk out of the Faculty and up the street to the headquarters of one of the biggest insurance companies in Antioquia, Comfama. The man we interview is one of her old friends, (of course), and has the most comprehensive understanding of the health care system than any of the professors teaching Social Security at school (Gilma included). We sit in his white office for almost an hour, being served tinto (piping hot Colombian coffee) in small plastic cups, and wowed by his organized, outlined explanation of the problems he notes with maternal health care throughout the city and proposed solutions.

When done, we hurry over to the Faculty of Medicine and interview a woman in charge of NACER, an academic initiative funded by the government to reduce maternal mortality in the city. The professor is another one of Gilma's old colleagues, and has a much different perspective on the subject. She lists off new figures on hospital noncompliance, stressing how every singe maternal death in the city over the past five years has been preventable--a perverted fact heavy with socio-political implications. She is extremely helpful in offering us bibliographical references and access to their data, of which we will surely take advantage once we start writing our article.

Then we head back out the the street and catch a taxi to Alpujarra, the government center of the city housed in squat twin towers. Gilma leads the way through the security guards, into a crowded elevator, and up to the 7th floor where all of the state's health sector resides. We barely find the other old friend we are supposed to interview because every two feet we have to stop for her to greet someone. She's like a superstar walking through the ministry halls saying "Chiu belleza," "Hola reina, tiempo que no nos hemos visto," "Avemaria, mira quien he encontrado aca!" hugging and exchanging picos (the mandatory cheek-kiss hello/goodbye), catching up on gossip and making more lunch dates than she can attend in a month. The interview is somewhat inconclusive since the woman has worked in the ministry for almost 30 years and is so burned out that it seems like she does not even want to remember the problems in maternal health care she has seen during her career. It doesn't help that she is a bit microphone-shy and prefers to talk to us off-record. When we are done it takes almost as long for us to leave the building as it did to come in, and I end up finding a chair to rest on while I wait for Gilma to make her round of good-byes.

Next, we walk six blocks up to the administrative office of another insurance company, Saludcoop, and interview a woman in charge of maternal health who almost makes us fall asleep with her boring comments. She literally speaks so slow that she forgets what she is talking about mid-sentence and we have to remind her of the useless fluff she's saying. Although this might seem like a waste of a half-hour of our time, it important for us to show how little the people directing maternal health programs in the city and companies providing health care services actually know about the subject, which might be why there are so many improvements needed.

Once done, we breath a sigh of relief as we push through the throng of workers heading to lunch as we make our way back toward the other government building. This interview should be a bit more tricky to carry out since we don't actually have a set appointment, but Gilma is convinced that we can interview the Secretary of Health because of her connections. The security guards initially don't let us in, so we go to a public phone and Gilma calls a random man working in the office telling him that he has to come down and approve our entrance. Although confused, she is so convincing that a few minutes later he talks to the gruff guards and we stroll into the building, toward the elevator, and up to the Secretary of Health offices. By this time I am not surprised by the entire floor comprised of a maze of cubicals, and I wonder how these people who have some of the best jobs in the city put up with such a compartmentalized workspace.

Luckily the woman we want to interview is sitting at her desk working, but she won't let us interview her until we get permission from the Secretary since anything she says directly represents the state government. Gilma marches past the bullet-proof glass of the Secretary's office and stands waiting for a woman sitting at the reception desk to wake up, but over the course of five minutes of us staring at her she only nods through her dreams. Heading back out to the main office area, Gilma asks some other random person for the Secretary's cell phone number, and borrows my airtime minutes to call her, while at lunch, to ask permission. Gilma passes the phone over to our interviewee who just stares at us with astonished deference. As the director of the maternal health program in the city, this woman has an incredible grasp of the situation citing specific patient examples up to paraphrasing parts of the law to explain the gamut of problems she is attempting to address. Without her interview, our research would lack the scope of analysis we wish to achieve by looking at every level involved in maternal health.

Again it takes over 15 minutes for us to leave, Gilma being approached by random people who noticed her presence in the office as they trickled back in after finishing lunch. When we finally make it back to the Faculty I am so overwhelmed by the whirlwind of events that just took place that I can barely remember everything we learned. Luckily it is all 'on record' and after the girl that helps finishes transcribing the hours of interviews, I can pore over everything in more detail as the research cycle continues. Now who still wonders if I actually do work?

Where the $$ Goes

I walked out of my apartment this morning and started along La 70, one of the most important commercial streets in the city only four perpendicular blocks from my doorstep. Instead of the usual traffic and street vendor sounds competing with the birds and business bustle, jarring, hacking, less than unpleasant noises of construction accompanied my morning stroll. Today was one of the first days of the new "renewal" project that the city will carry out over the next nine months, improving the road, making the sidewalks more consumer-friendly, and planting new breeds of trees. Now, I have always been fond of La 70 because it seems much better maintained (not to mention greener) than most of Medellin's other main avenues, and would never considered it in need of a face-lift. But according to a recent newspaper article a neighbor posted to my building's message board, the alcaldia seems to think that investing $10,500 million pesos, or $4,730,000 USD, along 14 blocks is a worthy project.

As a strange coincidence, later on this afternoon I was reviewing one of my recent interviews with a displaced couple living in the barrios populares (slums) creeping up the surrounding mountainsides, and they talked for a while about the frivolity of many of the city's recent public works. The new Parque Explora, an admittedly amazing interactive science museum that's free for people of strati 1,2 and 3; the five libraries located throughout the different comunas with public computer and internet access, and renovation of buildings in the centro were all mentioned. This couple was saying that although these places are all a great way to improve the culture of the city and poor populations, they feel like the city is overlooking the more basic needs of their people. Those who don't have access to the health care they need, are suffering within the high unemployment rate, and watch their children receive mediocre education in public schools see that those billions of pesos could be put to a better use. They ask themselves what good is a new, free museum and library if they can't even pay for the bus fare to get there?

Point taken.

I do see the social and economic benefits of investing in these projects (from the city's perspective); creating jobs, cultural opportunities, and a stimulus for further spending in depressed areas that would benefit from an influx of visitors. This is all part of one of the main social campaigns in Medellin to combat the rampant violence: trying to get people to take more pride in their surroundings. It has definitely worked. The daily homicide rate has gone down in the past 5 years, and people now feel safe to leave their houses at night or visit parts of the city that were previously literal war-zones. Paisas in general are committed to solidarity, so even slight public incentives to bolster respect for their mini-metropolis easily results in larger social changes.

But after living here for ten months and getting to see behind the city's closed doors, the beautiful new facades seem like band-aids over much bigger problems that the government is not addressing. Poverty, unemployment, hunger, and homelessness are still rampant throughout Medellin and have not been solved the progressive organizations dedicated to the people affected. I have found that the people here are apt to list off the ways in which they are working to combat structural issues without admitting the low impact they have on the overall population. At first I was awed by the work being done, now I am just wary of their optimistic enthusiasm. Walking through orange cones, stepping over holes in the sidewalk, and listening to jack hammers every day for the next year assuredly will not improve my disposition.

Rotary 4280 District Conference

My year culminated the weekend of April 30-May 2 in the annual District 4280 Conference. Rotarians from all around my host district gathered in Pereira for 3 days of meetings, parties, and planning the next year's focus.

We were greeted Thursday night by a presentation of each flag from the many states of which the district is comprised, followed by typical dances from different parts of the country. This was followed by a cocktail party with live music and lots of social warm-ups reconnecting with Rotarians I had not seen for several months.

Friday was full of presentations by Interact, Rotaract, the GSE group, talks on leadership qualities, redistribution of districts in Colombia, and a pep rally talk given by the Rotary International president's representative from Merida, Mexico. In the afternoon they bussed us to a bull fight just for us and typical party complete with two live bands and a delicious buffet dinner. Several of the macho Rotarians got into the bull ring to test their abilities, and each club dressed up in matching outfits typical to the region from where they came. There was even a dance competition where the winning parter was awarded a cash prize, during which the entire party stood on top of tables to cheer--admittedly one of the most fun nights I have enjoyed while in Colombia.
Everyone arrived late on Saturday morning to listen to an inspiring speech given by the leader of the Afro-Colombian movement and candidate for Senate presidency, reflections on district-wide projects helping children with congenital heart diseases and HIV/AIDS awareness. I also had the chance to make a speech urging clubs that I don't know to invite me to visit and thanking everyone for the opportunity to participate in their Rotary family. After the closing events I went out to lunch with several conference organizers and the couple from Mexico, learning about their different opinions of spousal involvement in Rotary between the US and Latin America. That night we put on our finest for a gala dinner which lasted until 5 in the morning (the Rotarians out-partied me since I got tired and returned home at 3), during which everyone let loose and danced like teenagers.
It was great to see so many familiar faces come together from my visits to clubs around the country, and they were so appreciative that I have been completely dedicated to getting to know them throughout the year. I admired how well they mixed business with pleasure--talking about project objectives and brainstorming over shots of aguardiente (the typical way to accomplish anything in Colombia). Being an ambassador in a country with which I have completely fallen in love is easy, especially when Rotarians have shown me so much hospitality and encouragement. I love my job.

Left my Heart in Popayan

Three years ago when I was traveling by land from Bolivia to San Diego, one of the main cities I knew I had missed out on was Popayan. Known as the "White City" for its old colonial architecture with mandatory white walls, it serves as an indigenous center for Colombia. Popayan seems to have suffered more than other Colombian cities, almost completely destroyed by a huge earthquake on Holy Friday in 1983 during which the cupola of the main cathedral collapsed on the congregation praying all afternoon, then absorbed in guerrilla violence given that it is located along one of the main drug transportation routes, and now recently experiencing a bout of theft and local disruption after the fall of the pyramid schemes. Despite these deterrents, I have been determined to visit Popayan since arriving in Colombia, especially since the Club Rotario Popayan just so happens to be part of my host District 4280.

So Thursday morning I flew to Bogota, then boarded a small propeller plane landing early afternoon at the tiny airport in Popayan and waited for my host mother (for the weekend) to pick me up. Using my contacts with Rotarians in Cali, I had organized a home stay with the family of an Interact student who had recently gone to Dover, Delaware to study English. (Rubi and Gloria, his mom and aunt, were extremely hospitable for the four days I stayed with them. They would start cooking me a huge breakfast of juice, eggs, meat, an arepa, and hot chocolate as soon as they heard me get into the shower, bring me water and piece of bread in the afternoon, and trusted me with a set of keys while I romped about the city. Their incredible hospitality almost made me wish that I had chosen to live with a family the entire year.)

During the afternoon I got the whole historical, religious, architectural, cultural, etc.al tour of the city with the Global Study Exchange group. GSE is a Rotary program where two districts in different countries exchange 4 professionals and a Rotarian "team leader" for a month. The team travels around the district staying in the homes of Rotarians, learning about the different projects in which all the clubs are involved, and receiving an all-around royal/rockstar treatment. When they return to their host country and district, they present a project related to their area of work about what they learned during their trip. Guadalupe (owner of an imported shoe store), Angella (director of communications and media for a hotel chain), Thomas (accountant), and Joe (construction broker) are from various parts of New Mexico, and a superbly fun group serving as great "professional ambassadors." I enjoyed the time I spent with them because in the short days they had been in Colombia they were already starting to fall in love with the country just as I have.

After wandering through some of the 20+ churches in the city, visiting the museum of religious art, and the house of Colombian poet and father of one of 13 presidents to come from Cauca, Guillermo Valencia, with two Rotarians who served as our tour guides, we headed out to a Tepanyaki dinner with the rest of the Club Rotario Popayan. As much as I have enjoyed visiting the clubs in and around Medellin, I found something special in the Popayan Rotarians. They are mostly young, around 30-35, several are bona fied anthropologists, and many work with social health issues as their primary job. Which means that I had more in common with them that we could discuss in a weekend, and they were essential in opening up my eyes to the public health problems in the south of the country.

Now, most of you are aware that I have 'partied' with Rotarians before at cocktail parties and other such social events, but the Rotarians of Popayan know how to get down and boogie. They took us to one of the very few clubs in the city, teaching the GSE group how to salsa dance and buying us bottle after bottle of aguardiente caucana--the local drink which they insisted was part of the cultural experience. I was somewhat embarrassed arriving home at 2 in the morning without getting to know or spend time with my hosts, but what could I do, it was Rotary's fault!!

Friday we all met up, somewhat hung-over, at the Federation of Coffee Growers of Cauca, a committee of which all small and large coffee producers are a part and ensures their protection in the form of fair prices, education about coffee growing, and provides social projects for the community. Listening to the director speak about the creation of the Federation in 1939 and its growth over the years depending on the international competition, how they created the personality of Juan Valdez, and hearing the testimonies of the coffee growers themselves in a short promotional video, I was very impressed by how well the Federation has served the people. We went down into the new laboratory where Rotary has provided all of the latest technological equipment to test the quality of the coffee they are exporting, and learned about every step involved from testing the size of the bean to "tasting" coffee to see how it roasts and reacts in water. They taught us how to distinguish different kinds of coffee flavors depending on the land and region in which they were grown, smell the aroma of roasted beans verses the fragrance of the coffee once water is added, and slurp up small teaspoons of steeped coffee to engage all of the taste buds in our mouths. I never realized what a scientific and complicated process coffee production is, and now have a new appreciation for the fields of coffee I see growing all over the country and the bags of Juan Valdez coffee I see in the grocery stores. (Starbucks just so happens to buy large quantities of coffee from these exact growers).

From the laboratory we went to a beautiful lunch in an old hotel in the center, then to the Universidad de Cauca to learn about some of the HIV/TB research the Rotary club also supports through donating scientific equipment. The region of Cauca has the highest incidence of both diseases, and it was interesting to see the medical approach to curing the epidemic. Afterward, we went to the Red Cross of Colombia's Cuaca site, where we were greeted by a parade of cargo-less trucks harmonizing their horns as they advertised the gas strike enacted until Uribe lowers the gas prices more. Supposedly in Cauca the gas prices are highest in the country and so they have good reason to stop transporting goods until they can receive more profit for their services. At the Red Cross we talked with the leaders of a project supporting families affecting by the many land mines in the area, used to protect fields of illicit crops and transportation corridors of the paramilitary and guerrillas. The Rotarian working for the organization showed us a slide show of the community health projects carried out throughout the region, and I was impressed by their long-term vision of changes they know will require 3-5 years to take hold.

Later on that evening, with our heads spinning from everything we had seen throughout the day, we attended the Rotary meeting for the week. The formality of the Rotary protocol and suits was a strange juxtaposition to the casualness of our previous interactions, but it was interesting to hear in context all of the activities in which the club is involved. Both the GSE and myself presented our slide shows, which captivated the club and served their purpose of opening up the cultural exchange for them to see from where we come and our perspectives on the world.
The next day I was on my own with Rotarians and my host brother, Julian, who had arrived from Cali after finishing his law midterms. We headed out to the town of Silvia with the Rotarian who works for the Red Cross, driving about an hour along roads that 2 years ago would have been far too dangerous to travel along. The town was nothing special, a large plaza and big church with broken stained glass windows, but the real attraction was that Julian has a friend from the university who is a guambiano indian. Liliana and her husband, Jeremias, took us into the guambiano territory to fish for trout, hike through the gorgeous landscape, and tell us about the Colombian violation of indigenous rights. Training to be a lawyer, she travels all over the world presenting international projects on constitutional reform to protect indigenous cultures residing within nationalized political systems, and was impressively critical of her own background while firmly defending it. Jeremias is a journalist and has worked in Mexico, Oklahoma, Bolivia, and Peru with his "original brothers" on solidarity movements publishing articles and even running his own indigenous-focused radio show. They were truly inspirational, and opened up a whole new perspective on Colombian culture than to what I have previously been exposed. Despite indigenous groups being the focus of most of my undergraduate Latin American studies career, I have not had much opportunity to interact with indigenous communities in Colombia. After exchanging emails, I hope to go back and spend more time with the guambianos to understand their contemporary situation.

Saturday night and Sunday morning found me hanging out at a Rotaract conference coinciding with my visit in Popayan, and so I was able to meet, party with, and present to over 50 Rotaract members from the Southwest of the district. This was a great opportunity to hear about the projects in which they are invovled and establish more contacts with these young Rotarian aspirants.
After so many days (and nights) of straight activities I was exhausted by the time I arrived at the finca of my host family, and needed a day to relax on the patio enjoying the beautiful views. I know that I have talked about finca culture before, but I really think that it is one of the most healthy and enjoyable parts of Colombian lifestyle (for those who can afford it of course). Sitting around eating fruit from your personal orchard, conversing with family, reading, and hiking through countryside is to me the perfect way to spend the weekend.

Revived from fresh air, sun, and a type of granadillas that only grow in Cauca, I woke up early Monday morning to visit displaced communities to the south of Popayan with volunteers from the Colombian Red Cross. We visited the house of a community leader running the equivalent of a Boys and Girls Club, talking about how involving the youth in neighborhood decisions has decreased violence and better overall education. They told me how a river clean-up project organized by the Red Cross has greatly improved the health of the settlement, and by teaching people the benefits of pride in their living spaces has made the area a much happier environment for all. By walking around looking at people's gardens, clean drinking water projects, and knowledge of how to use a Red Cross-provided first aid kit, I saw the huge impact of long-term community health projects in action. People had assimilated what they had been taught and taken huge initiative to find ways to live more dignified lives in destitute poverty. It was so invigorating to see enacted many of my beliefs on the importance of implementing cultural sensitivity and adaptable education confirmed in real public health work, making me want to find some way to become more involved in the Colombian Red Cross.

When I again boarded the propeller plane home that afternoon, I felt overwhelmed with the inspiring people and projects I visited in Popayan, determined to return.