We left Bogota and travelled to Medellin.
For most, (including us) when we think of Medellin we immediately think of the world’s most notorious drug lord, Palo Escobar.
After watching some of the Netflix series Narco’s we were excited to explore this crazy man’s elusive life in his hometown. To be honest, this was the whole reason for visiting Medellin. We planned on doing tours of his old mansion, his ‘museum’ and even doing a paint ball tour in his summer home. Although we knew he was a really bad dude, (in normal life I have no tolerance for drug dealers and would never glorify people who thrive on others pain) Pablo also seemed pretty cool, dangerous and glamorous. He was portrayed as a ‘Robin-hood like’ hero who stole from the rich and used his money, corruption and drugs to help the poor. Somehow this picture we had in our mind, gave permission for his awful atrocities and disgusting business to be played down in our heads.
Not going to lie, but we went to Medellin sort of cheering for Pablo, I mean, if you can’t beat ‘em, why not join him?? He is long gone, he did some bad shit, but he was part of history…. We rationalized our reasons and some how convinced ourselves we weren’t contributing to any ongoing problems or doing anything wrong by wanting to know more.
I mean how bad could he really have been?
We assumed the people of Medellin were probably proud of his story. After all he put them on the map. We thought Medellin was going to be like some of the other poor cities we’ve visited, unafraid to exploit the sad parts of themselves to please tourists. We expected to see Pablo tours everywhere, Palbo paraphernalia hawked on every street corner.
However, we never made it to paintball or his ‘museum’ or his mansion. Instead, we toured through Medellin and saw the people of this incredible, progressive city who have lived through years of hell at the hands of this monster. We saw resiliency. We saw hope. We saw kindness and we saw the core of so many people willing to expose themselves in an attempt to free their city from years of stigma and stereotypes.
Medellin, or rather the people of Medellin, changed my life.
My eyes were opened to things I didn’t even know I needed to see. I went to this city with an idea and expectation of what I was going to experience, and what I actually experienced was so far from my own expectation it blew my mind.
I will never be the same person I was before Medellin. This profound experience has forever changed me.
The first day we arrived we decided to do a free walking tour of the downtown core. We heard great things about these free tours and honestly couldn’t believe the city offered such a thing. We did some research and to our delight we found out the tours were in fact, free. The guides worked on tips but the concept started out of desperation to entice tourists to get to know the city.
We started our morning tour with a spunky and animated guide.
“Before we get started, let’s address your questions and what you hope to learn about Medellin”
Hands flew in the air and the Pablo questions were flying. We were all there for the same reason.
Our guide paused….
“Lets just start off by calling him the worst criminal in Colombian history…”
She told us how most people in the city of Medellin just wanted to move on and didn’t want him to have a name anymore. How when locals see her touring around foreigners and hear his name they assume she is exploiting a terrible time in history. She reminded us although there are many glamorous stories portraying Pablo, the truth can never be argued. Tens of thousands of people died because of him and still today, many suffer because of his desire to exploit Colombia as the worlds biggest exporter of cocaine.
Despite our questions, our guide lead the tour based on facts. She showed us the progress of the city, the things they are proud of, but she also explained the politics of the nation and how hard it has been for the city to move forward. Corruption has always plagued Medellin with obstacles.
The next day we did a coffee tour to the small town of Ciudad Bolivar. A region where 563,000 families rely on growing coffee cherries.
“This is Colombia’s second biggest export.” Our guide winked as he explained the back breaking labour people do every single day for mere pennies.
“It would be so much easier for these people to cultivate coco but they don’t” He paused “Because they have pride.”
Our guide explained the initiatives Colombia is taking to try and curb drug manufacturing by offering farmers in rural areas an opportunity to grow something other than coco.
“Basically, we can grow anything in Colombia” he said “But where there is demand, there will always be supply and growing coco is easy. Growing potatoes or coffee is hard work for less money”
He rolled his eyes in way that indicated how tied their hands really are.
“Cocaine is big business in Colombia, the Guerrillas have so much control in this country. Corruption is a problem, and sadly, I don’t think there is anything that is ever going to change that.”
We asked him about the ‘Pablo’ Era, intrigued to hear a different perspective from the previous day.
He would have grown up in Medellin around the time when shit hit the fan and we were interested to get his take about the tourism popping up since the hit series Narcos went mainstream.
He very cautiously explained his perspective of living in fear and then sarcastically asked us if we would ever consider visiting the world trade centre in NYC wearing an Osama Bin Ladin T-shirt to play paint ball at the very place where so many had lost their lives.
You could have heard a pin drop in the car the moment he finished his sentence.
All four of us felt sick and looked blankly at each other.
It was in that moment I realized one of the biggest problems with our world.
Being oblivious and being detached from a situation, having the glory of being blissfully ignorant to pain and suffering— is not always a blessing.
Sometimes it can just make you a total asshole.
We all agreed. NO PABLO
From that moment forward, we instead decided to focus on the resiliency and beauty of the people who have come through such unfathomable tragedy.
We wanted to focus on those strong enough to rebuild and reframe their adversity and those who knew how to #rollwithit
Yep, Instead of paintball at Pablo’s mansion, we rode the metro.
Imagine, but a simple metro train, something us North American urbanites take for granted, (and even despise) is the ultimate symbol of hope in this city.
Construction on the metro started in 1984 at the peak of the ‘Pablo Era’ when Medellin was considered the most dangerous city in the world. For every reason it should have never been completed but the first journey down the track took place on November 30th 1995 and since that date it is a symbol of hope for this city.
People ride the metro to feel like they are going some where.
The metro symbolizes pushing forward, it symbolizes hope and progress and to this day it remains the only metro to ever exist in Colombia.
There is one long line that runs the length of the city. From there it branches off and cable cars connect low income areas and mountain villages to the city.
The people of Medellin are so proud of the metro.
You ask a local what to do in Medellin and they will reply
“Ride the metro…”
You won’t find a single piece of garbage in any station or in any car. No one sits down while they wait for the trains, there is no graffiti, and it is considered to be the safest places in the city.
You find yourself in trouble in Medellin, you head straight to the metro.
After riding the metro, we decided hop off to jump in on another ‘free’ walking tour of a neighbourhood called Comuno 13.
Disclaimer——🙄
I am about to get deep…..
Bare with me 🤞🏻❤
I have to share my insight, because visiting this ONE neighbourhood changed my whole view of life.
It changed my entire perspective on struggle and joy and the relationship between the paradox of living both simultaneously, (and you all know I’ve been exposed to my fair share of struggle 😩)
This tour was, hands down, the whole reason I think our family needed to visit Colombia.
Comuno 13 was once considered the most notorious and dangerous neighbourhood in the world due to its insane homicide rates and forced displacement of thousands of residents. It was once controlled by Pablo. It is where he built some of the houses for the poor, while also exploiting them to a life of crime.
After ‘the worst drug lord in the world’ was taken down this poor neighbourhood was an open target and epicentre for paramilitary, guerrilla, and gang activity. It is perched at the edge of the city and it’s location is ideal for crime. Just on the other side of the mountain is direct access to the main highway providing easy transportation of guns, drugs, and money.
This neighbourhood is just isolated enough from the city to fly under the radar, yet close enough it provides easy access.
Add in- The people were poor and desperate and it was a perfect target for crime.
Comuno 13 was the perfect location to pluck children and vulnerable folk from their homes forcing them into a life of violence.
When there is no option but survival, the privilege of morality goes out the window. Drugs, guns and dirty money were traded in this community without regard.
But, all the shit aside, for our tour guide, Comuno 13 was simply home.
She teared up as she explained to us how awful it was to wake up each day afraid.
How it felt to grow up and make friends knowing you may see them one day and then never see them again.
She took us to her home. She told us about how hard it used to be to walk up the zigzag dirt trail along the hillside in the heat but how now, the new escalator system not only elevated people to their homes but also their spirits.
Twenty-five of us sat on the rooftop patio of her tiny shanty. She offered a few plastic chairs, and removed the laundry strung on the lines above our heads. She asked her children to welcome us and shake our hands, and then she started to cry….
She had only just learned English a year earlier and although her message was broken, I didn’t need to hear words to feel how shattered yet pure her heart was.
I sobbed.
She told us how tired she was of fighting.
How all she wanted was to lay down her burden, how she didn’t want to feel afraid or unable to move forward anymore.
I felt her.
She told us how hard it was to begin to believe in possibility.
How for years, every one gave up and how little hope she had.
And then she told us about the small glimmer of possibility that shaped this community.
Graffiti, art, colour, and the ability to see beauty in such awful circumstances became an expression for this neighbourhood.
This gift changed everything. The art brought with it more than just hope, it brought change and with it droves of people.
Us.
And we were welcomed.
And having us there, seeing us in her home- was about opportunity.
It was about pride.
It was about resiliency and it was about rising strong—–and knowing there can be a way through even when it feels like there is no way out.
I understood her pain. I had compassion for her on a deep level.
Her gratitude was more pure than any I’ve ever felt before. Her spirit seemed to grow stronger despite her struggle and although she was very simple, I was in total awe of her.
She didn’t need to be deep. She walked the walk. She had lived through the absolute worst and she was still willing to be open, kind, loving, truthful and hopeful and this woman’s perspective absolutely changed my life.
I couldn’t stop crying. I looked at Brody. He was stunned. He couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t stop thinking how much I wanted to be like her.
I looked at Jared. He stared out from the roof top and tried not to make eye contact for fear of falling apart. He got it. We all felt it.
And, as I panned to Loggie I saw an unspoken understanding and a deep knowing of the feeling this woman was trying to express. Loggie’s fear is different, but in some ways the same. She lives her life feeling like there is no way out and then somehow, just like this woman has had to, she finds a way to dig deep to accept and to carry on.
She went on to explain all the graffiti, and its symbolism. Street performers danced and rapped for us and we ate from food carts and drank beer in the pubs and when we left Comunu 13 that day we were all changed.
And, the message that will forever play over in my mind from our days in Medellin is these powerful words from our guide.
“People always ask me how we have been able to survive such a terrible time, all the atrocities and the fear, with no hope and so much sadness”
Her words silenced us all.
“I tell them, you have to train your brain how to forget. It is an art. You will always know the bad things happened. Your body will remind you, there will be trigger. You will ‘know’ every day all you have lost, because when you look, it isn’t there anymore, but you have to train your brain to file away the memories of how bad things were, and then you have to give permission to yourself to forget them.”
She continued. “When you do this, you don’t make any of ok but instead you open up your mind so you can remember the good things and you get stronger when can focus on those memories”
She could barely speak… “Because, I know if you don’t grasp to hold of the good things and you are weak in your thoughts and you let the bad memories and awful feelings occupy your mind, you will continue to be alive but you will never, ever be free to live again.”
My therapist might have a hay-day with this strategy but I swear to god, I know IT to be an ABSOLUTE TRUTH.
BOOM.💥
“The force is in you”
