Growing Up In Colombia | As A Little Girl

: Food is often described affectionately in the diminutive—like an aguardientico —reflecting a cultural warmth. 4. Educational and Social Realities

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On Saturdays, my abuela would turn on the radio to Caracol while she shelled habas (fava beans) into a chipped ceramic bowl. I would sit at her feet, my small fingers trying to mimic her speed, and listen to the vallenato accordion weep about lost loves and wayward mules. “This,” she’d say, tapping her temple, “is the map of our soul. Never forget the rhythm.”

, the world felt both impossibly vast and intimately small. Vast, because the Andes mountains stretched beyond the horizon, and the Amazon rainforest whispered secrets in a language I couldn’t yet understand. Small, because everything that mattered—family, faith, food, and the fierce rhythm of cumbia—happened within a few blocks of my grandmother’s tiled courtyard.

you didn't know you were being forged. You thought everyone lived with the tremor of tierra under their feet. You thought every child understood that a buñuelo fixes a broken heart and that rain is just an excuse to dance inside. as a little girl growing up in colombia

Music played a significant role in my life. I started taking piano lessons when I was 6 years old, and I quickly fell in love with Colombian folk music. My favorite artists were Shakira, Carlos Vives, and Andrés Calamaro. I'd spend hours listening to their songs, trying to learn the lyrics and rhythms.

: The act of eating is deeply tied to emotional nourishing; to reject a meal from a grandmother is often seen as a significant social slight. Cultural Traditions and Celebrations

The phrase carries a profound weight. It represents a childhood lived at a vibrant, sensory-rich crossroads of magic, resilience, community, and culture. To grow up female in Colombia is to be immersed in a world where the landscapes are as dramatic as the history, and where the daily rhythm of life is scored by music, fueled by coffee, and bound by unbreakable family ties.

: Colombian children quickly learn the concept of verraquera —a local term for grit, drive, and ultimate resilience. Facing economic shifts or historical social unrest, girls watch their parents navigate hardships with a smile and an unwavering determination to move forward. : Food is often described affectionately in the

Colombia in the 90s and early 2000s was a complicated quilt. , I learned early that adults spoke in two tones: one for inside the house, and one for when the news came on. I learned to read the tension in my father’s jaw when he heard a motorcycle engine too loud, too late.

: In the rural heartlands, childhood means running through rolling green hills, watching hummingbirds, and learning how coffee cherries turn from green to bright red on the bush. Festivals, Folklore, and Celebration

At age four, the world is the cool, terracotta floor of my grandmother’s kitchen in Manizales. From down here, the legs of the table are a redwood forest. My mother’s ankles are marble pillars. The women of the family float above me, their voices a tumbling river of subjunctives and diminutives: “Ven acá, mijita.” “Siéntate, gordita.” “Cuidado, mi amor.”

There was also la policía y los ladrones (cops and robbers). The boys always wanted to be the cops. We, the girls, usually played the ladrones because it meant we could run faster, hide behind the hibiscus bushes, and plot our escape. This was our first lesson in subversion. On Saturdays, my abuela would turn on the

Whether it is the Barranquilla Carnival, the Flower Festival in Medellín, or a local town pageant, girls are dressed in elaborate, ruffled traditional skirts from a young age, learning the precise hip movements of cumbia before they even know how to write.

If there is one rule for a little girl in Colombia, it is that affection is not optional—it is the currency of existence. From the moment she wakes up, she is immersed in a culture of physical touch.

I didn’t have a finca . I had a patio with a lemon tree and a dog with three legs.