February was a memorable month. A visit from my mom, our midyear YAV retreat, and Carnaval all landed in these last weeks and it made for an exciting (and tiring) stretch of time. I’m blessed to have had my mom visit during my time in Colombia – it was a big comfort in the early days of this experience to be able to look forward to her familiar presence and open-armed hugs in what (at the time) felt like such a new context. Somehow in the stretch of time between, though, this became my home, and as much as I was excited for my mom to experience and engage with my new context and community, I was excited for my family and friends in Colombia to meet her as well. There’s something special about meeting someone’s family – it informs a different layer of who they are as a person and where they come from -- and it's a gift that my loved ones from Michigan and from Colombia could share that meeting together.
We split our time together between the more tourist-popular coastal city of Cartagena and my home base, Barranquilla. There was sea and sun and lots of new flavors of jugo, but there was also lots of new learning and new questions planted as my mom encountered this culture just as I first encountered it 6 months ago. Anyone who has lived in a different cultural context and received a visitor will understand the fatigue of acting as translator, cultural interpreter, and tour guide while also offering introductions for every member of my community. And yet, draining as it may be to spend a week bridging the gap between my home community and my YAV community, it is important work. There's a stronger strand of understanding between my communities now that they've brushed and I'm grateful.
Around this same time, Carnaval was beginning in Barranquilla. For context -- Carnaval has been widely celebrated in Barranquilla for decades and in 2008 was recognized by UNESCO on the list of "Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity." While technically a 4 day celebration proceeding Ash Wednesday (Saturday - Tuesday), Carnaval music and decorations become the norm after New Year's, and Carnaval festivities begin early in February. The closest frame of reference we have culturally in the US may be Mardi Gras in the sense that it’s a pre-Lenten festival with its own characteristic music, costumes, and parades. And yet, Carnaval in Barranquilla is entirely unique because it captures the particular mixing of cultures that make up the (Caribbean) Coastal culture. Traditional disfraces (costumes) and bailes (dances) capture different groups of people that contributed to the particular cultural mixing of this important sea port city -- groups including but not limited Spanish Colonialists and African and Indigenous communities. These traditional disfraces are then celebrated in the widely popular Carnaval parades, yet they also transform into homemade costumes for anyone participating in the festivities. Beneath the glitz and glamor of Carnaval, it is a celebration of the mixing of cultures that have given birth to this diverse and complex corner of the world. Some of my personal favorite traditional comparsas (troupes) include: garabata, mapalé, and cumbia. Las marimondas are another famous (and generally delightful) group -- through they don't pay homage to a particular cultural group, these intentionally goofy-looking characters have come to embody Carnaval in Barranquilla. // A disclaimer: I am no expert on Carnaval and its origins in Colombia -- my intention in sharing some background on this special cultural event is to lift up its beautifully complicated history as best I can and point folks toward other resources that offer a more in-depth look into this culture and its traditions.
There are several central figures in Carnaval, but the most important is La Reina de Carnaval. Chosen yearly, the Queen serves an important role as she presides over the city's celebrations (each Reina armed with their own collection of extravagant dresses), but most neighborhoods of the city also choose their own respective Reina. As for music, Carnaval is marked by a type of traditional folk music group called Grupos de Millo, marked by a shrill flute made from natural cane, rhythmic drums, and other percussive instruments. This is not the only music heard during Carnaval, though -- my experience would suggest that any genre of music is welcome but the louder, the better! And, as with any cultural celebration, people participate in all sorts of ways. Leading up to Carnaval and throughout the official festival days, there are casual front porch family gatherings, neighborhood street parties with massive speaker systems playing at full volume, packed cultural presentations at the city's central Plaza de la Paz, and more. It’s a time of silliness and celebration, and there’s rarely a moment of quiet or stillness: it’s all maicena (cornstarch) and espuma (canned foam spray) being thrown and smeared on one another; it’s dancing feet and streets crowded shoulder-to-shoulder; it’s mismatched neon outfits thrown together with whatever accessories you find in the back of your closet. All that being said, it's fitting that a popular slogan for Carnaval roughly translates to "he who lives it is he who enjoys it" // Quien lo vive es quien lo goza. They were messy, silly, sweaty days and I will treasure these memories for a long time to come.
One moment in particular that stands out: on Friday of Carnaval weekend, I went with my host family to a graduation party for my host mom’s niece (that is, the local public university had been on strike for some months so graduation schedules were pushed back until the paro ended). Aunts, uncles, cousins, and significant others gathered together at a nearby restaurant/live music venue/special events center around 9pm and the party lingered into the early morning. There were photos and toasts and a few family members joined in with the band that was playing (incidentally, my Colombia family is just as musical as my biological family). At one moment in particular, they were playing a traditional cumbia song – patrimonial to la Costa. It’s a flirtatious dance wherein women maintain a still upper body and dance primarily with their hips, traditionally wearing long skirts that can be used to accentuate the dance's slow turns. Meanwhile, men commonly don a sombrero vueltiao for the dance and mirror their partner's slow turns. So, there I was dancing with my host sister when the band picked up a favorite cumbia tune and, all of a sudden, an employee grabbed a stack of cumbia skirts stashed in a nearby closet and passed them out to the ladies dancing. Before I realized what was happening, an aunt and uncle were slipping a skirt over my head and draping it over my jeans so I could finish out the song in ~style. It took me by surprise and left me feeling so included in the celebration -- I'm deeply conscious of the fact that this culture is not my own, and that makes it all the more humbling that I have been so extravagantly invited to participate. In the same way that my mom's visit reminded me that I'm straddling 2 worlds with 1 foot in each community, Carnaval affirmed that same positioning. At times there's a feeling of being caught between the 2, but I'm learning to let my feet find groundedness in both worlds. And, with my feet still sore and maicena still stuck in my hairline, I'm holding on to the groundedness I've been so extravangtly invited into here.
For more information about Carnaval, these resources offer much more comprehensive explanations of the different cultural strands that make up Carnaval and how the festival has evolved over time into what it is today:
Still more, seeing as music plays such a central role in Carnaval, I wanted to share a popular playlist that captures a broad spectrum of music typical to La Costa: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1XmnyGSVF78g00wF85jYlZ?si=hp7o2XXeTdig47nf5bMU-w