Niñez, 2020 

During pandemic December of 2020, I was able to go to Colombia for the fear that it would be the last time I saw my Grandmother. 

In that time, my uncle and I went to his finca in Restrepo, Valle Del Cauca. A beautiful land that once belonged to the Indigenous Calima tribes. Many houses that have been recently built have been offered to be exavated by the nieghbors who have lived on the lands for generations. Before the foundation of the house is struck into the ground, these men would do a process to search for indigenous remains. My uncle did this before the construction of his home, and he found artifacts, such as ceramic pots and vases for Ceremonial purposes, funerary vessels, or other tools for daily purpose like Stone and shells. One ceramic vessel even had teeth, perfectly preserved inside.

This land means so much to me. The air is crisp and pure, the weather is perfect, the people are home. I can sleep in a hammock outside and wake up feeling better than I ever felt. I feel a spiritual connection with the land that my ancestors once hailed from. 

Prior to arriving, my uncle and I bought christmas gifts for the nearby children who were currently living in the area. It is a sort of family tradition for my family to gift clothes, shoes, and toys for the families in poorer areas of our cities during the Christmas time as a way to uplift our communties.

The children were between the ages of 4-11 years old, and their families were occupying the nearby schoolhouse that was closed down during the pandemic time. The community of farmpeople who also fascilitated the school opened the classrooms as homes to the family in exchange for help on the farms during this time since the families emmigrated from Venezuela, traveling many days and kilometers of miles to one of the southern most sections of Colombia on foot and bus. 

Upon learning this and also spending time with these children, we bonded.
Running through the mountains and climbing trees, I felt like a child again. The inner child in me wished to live the way they did in this area, getting the red dirt under their nails, swimming in the river and eating the fresh food that this area offered.

The exposed adult in me felt pained by their situation, furious at the displacement between families during the pandemic that leaves people at risk of housing and health issues, at multiplied by the displacement of political violence and corruption. Even through a universal health crisis, we as powerful nations can’t do more for people slipping through the cracks of a broken system. More and more everyday, the refugee crisis expands in so many places and ways. 

Venezuela and Colombia has always been a sister land, with similar land backgrounds, foods and cultures, and even at one point a great commerce relationship. My family speaks to me of the bridge that Colombians and Venezuelans used to cross daily for work and day to day life. Nowadays, it is a refugee crossing with various military checkpoints checking identification and stealing what little money these families have left. During this time of health and financial crisis, a lot of Colombians were extremely hostile to Venezuelan migrees, within the same eyes as a person of color in The United States would see them, “taking my job”, “no space for you”, “making this country worse by being here” retoric that held no weight. 

During these nights, we celebrated ‘Novena’, a cultural Colombian tradition during the holidays to spend 9 days of Catholic prayer, song, and community that takes place prior to Christmas Eve. The children were all trained to play instruments. Each one took up the Accordion, a Trumpet, some Bongos, and a guitar. We sang the same songs, ate the same food. It felt like I had played with these children all my lfie. 

I also think back to the concept of immigration that is seperate in other countries versus The United States. Every other country either has passing points or limited visa acceptances, refugee centers that can often be a limbo space for ethnic groups facing mass genocide and apartheid- But the United States has private, for profit detention centers that seperate children from their families. With US Government sanctions in place and corrupt governmental history prefering dominance and power over the people, so many hundreds of thousands of Venezuelan fled their homes to find safety and work stability all over the world. 
My brain spins while walking through the forests with the kids, and maybe it is the elevation, but I am grateful that they are spending a peaceful childhood after such a trek of danger and uncertainty. 


I do know, we need to do better. 

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