The shiny new year that is 2016 has been with us for what? 44 days now and already, I’m having a bit of a weird one. Today I was awarded Colombian residency. By the end of the year we’ll probably be at peace. A year of change it’s going to be then, for my adopted country and its adopted daughter.
“What are you doing in Colombia?” That’s the question they use to interrogate all immigrants seeking a permanent position. They ask it so fast you’re supposed to trip up and admit to God knows what. I told them I was writing another book. They wanted to know about the first one. I wasn’t sure I wanted them to know about the first one, in which I poured out every passion, frustration, hope, faith, fear, belief and lesson I’d learned from years of living in a country that was not then my own.
They made me a Colombian though, so the least I could do was give them a copy, which is why I’m sitting up now, in the early hours of what will no doubt be another glorious Bogotá morning, reading a book I haven’t dared to open in the two years since it’s been published. I wonder what the immigration office will make of it, this book called Colombia a comedy of errors?
The book was, in terms of commercial success, beyond anything my co-author Sergio and I could have imagined. It was picked up by the biggest media outlets in Colombia, the biggest booksellers and the biggest celebrities, snapped smiling and laughing with their noses buried in the cover. It was a bestseller when it was released and a bestseller again this Christmas, at the airport, where I guess my fellow foreigners panic-bought it as a present before they boarded the plane.
I wish my own relationship with the book was that successful. I have been blogging for years now, forgetting my words reach an audience beyond my subconscious, feeling surprised when strangers know stuff they shouldn’t, so you’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’m not. Sergio and I co-wrote that book but there is far too much of me in there. The times I’ve looked at homeless people on my street or disabled people selling biscuits, the times I’ve thought about people wrongfully in prison and politicians stealing our money, the times I’ve known there was something we can do and we don’t because we’re afraid or exhausted or resigned or selfish or whatever and I’ve felt so furious and frustrated by it all I’ve written it all down and, guess what, it ended up in that book.
I only ever really worried about accuracy. I’m a journalist and a foreigner, I could barely spell Colombia when I came so I assumed I’d get it all wrong (although now, thanks to this video, I appreciate that the harder a challenge, the better you perform) but in two years, no-one’s ever mentioned an inaccuracy. Lots of friends, hurt I think, have said things like: “Of course it’s all true. Why did you have to write it though?” One Bogotá businessman, one of the nicest people I know, told me: “Vicki, I read your book. It was hard, very hard. I was going to buy it for all my foreign clients but I don’t think I can now.” While I stood there, feeling like a child, he continued: “I bought 20 copies and sent them to the best-placed business contacts I have here. I figured if anyone needed to think about these things, it was us.”
You can understand now why I’ve been so afraid to open it. But today, with my new Colombian-ness in hand, I read the book again and I can’t believe it. What happened to that girl? The girl who knew the difference between right and wrong, politeness and passive-aggression, earning and entitlement? Who believed that if you believe it hard enough the world really will get better? When did she turn into the girl who crosses the street to avoid a homeless person, who is unashamed to scrum rather than queue for TransMilenio and who, once inside, swings around in fury having been hit on the head with a stick only to discover it’s being grasped by an old, blind man who’s just been left there, to hang?
What happened to the girl who wrote a book that, when the draft of the section on disabled Colombians was proofread by a wheelchair user he burst into tears because he was so happy, he said, that someone had finally articulated how he felt. That’s the girl they should have turned into a Colombian. The fair one, the fearless one, the ferocious one. Not the cynic who replaced her, the one who does mental maths at the supermarket checkout because she doesn’t trust the machine.
Stuff it. It’s a new year. We’re going to end it at peace with one another, whatever the cynics say. If Colombia can change its spots after 50 years of conflict, I reckon I can make myself believe again. Nice guys finish last, they say. I’m starting to wonder if that’s such a bad thing.
Like this? You’ll love Colombia a comedy of errors.
I follow your blog, and I want to tell you it inspired me to seriously create mine. I now live in France, so it is about my experience in Europe as a young Colombian writer…
It would be so nice of you to share!
Maria Isabel Zamora Yusti
Parte I. Intro…
Vivo en Nîmes, Francia. Releo la frase que acabo de escribir para ver si interiorizo que, en efecto, vivo en Nîmes, Francia. ¿Cόmo me siento? La única forma que vi de poder hacerme consciente de es…
Firstly, massive congrats on your residency! That is wonderful and exciting news and I’m so pleased for you.
Now that you look back upon the girl you were in the beginning and the girl you are now, you can see your journey. It’s hard not to change as this place rubs off in many tiny ways. But also, I think you are fair. You are far more forgiving than me, and far more prepared to get down and gritty amongst it all while I live in my small little geographic circle. Maybe it’s a bit harder to be so idealistic after so many years, but you certainly aren’t a cynic.
C’mon Stretch don’t lose that bright eyed optimism I know you have in your heart 🙂
Huge congrats on the citizenship I understand how much it must mean to you. I thouroughly enjoyed “Comedy…..” and eagerly await your next tome my friend 🙂
Stay fresh and try to stop and breath in the great outdoors at least once a week. I call it my “going to stare at the sea moments” they work for me!
Stay in touch buddy xxx
Ah, Vicki, remember that that cynicism is just part of getting older too. Once we know how the world around us works, it’s inevitable that we kind of become immune to whatever is thrown at us. I think most of us do tend to forget of the way we were, though, and that’s what makes you lucky – You have a piece of your younger self inside a book that you can look back on and remind you of the way you used to see things. And I think that’s wonderful.
Congrats on the citizenship btw. 😀 I’m a few years away but am still working on making it back over to Latin America.
Congratulations on the citizenship. I also feel the cynic in me coming out over time of being in Bogotá. I’m just worried that the day someone faints for real or really needs help, I won’t reach out because I think it’s a plot to rob me!
This definitely struck a chord with me – how we can all become jaded over time. Maybe I should spend more time fighting that tendency than fighting my wrinkles, eh? Congrats on residency!
Vicks! What a brilliant article. I find myself many 1000s of kms away from you (back in Oz) and thinking strategically about career and study etc and completely forgetting about what is actually important – hope and human relationships. Thank you xxx
Congrats on the residency! I was just looking over my old blog (Eyes on Colombia) and wanted to make sure the links in the links section were still in order.
I lived in Brazil for 3 years and got jaded myself. I’ve been in Europe for the last 3 years, unsure if I would return to S. America to live ever again, although once it’s in you, as Colombia and Brazil are within me, it’s impossible to shake…even from the other side of the world. All it took today to remind me was catching this recent NPR podcast with Sidestepper.