The heat of Cartagena welcomed us well before anyone else did. As soon as we stepped off the plane, I could feel the sweat beginning to cling to my shirt, only slightly tempered by a much-needed breeze. My large tote bag, carrying the entirety of my possessions for this trip, dug into my shoulder as I tried to steady myself on the rickety steps down to solid land. With my feet finally grounded, I could breathe a sigh of relief, we had made it!
Our journey through Colombia had already treated us nicely. The food, the people, and the adventure of journeying into the unknown had continually exceeded my expectations of what this country has to offer. I suppose it also helps to have no expectations when visiting a new place, especially when there is still so much of the world that you have yet to see.
Cartagena is distinctly Black. All over the city, we met local vendors rejoicing in the shared experience of our melanated skin. That does not happen often, at least not so explicitly. Growing accustomed to this matter-of-factness, made interacting with other Black American tourists feel almost odd. Here were these people celebrating our similarities, and then here are those we are definitively most similar to, and it feels as though there’s a barrier between us.
Navigating Cartagena was an explosion to the senses. Our time exploring the old city was characterized by navigating its winding corridors, being playfully chased by an odd mime, and reaching familiarity with certain faces. Day and night were like different worlds. The heat beating down midafternoon led us to seek out the cool refreshment of limonada de coco. As the Sunsets, the streets, or las calles, fill with people, and room on the almost nonexistent sidewalks becomes even harder to come by. While nighttime, accented by the street lights’ orange glow brought Aguardiente Antioqueño and endless dancing.
Spanish is everywhere and my mind wraps around sounds that once seemed unfamiliar. Growing up with little affinity for language acquisition, my life today is seemingly the polar opposite. I shape my day around language, as I study and try to utilize something other than my mother tongue. I can chart my interest in language directly with traveling and being introduced to Black people speaking and living in languages other than English. It was a shocking realization to think back on how whitewashed my classes in Spanish and French were. I’m fascinated by what language can mean to us, and how it shapes our identities. Seeing Black Italians, Afro-Germans, and Black Koreans has inspired me to decolonize my own ideas of race and nationality. These are populations that are often marginalized and made to feel othered in the only places they have ever called home. We live in a world where that’s changing, but the question of “where are you really from?” is something that still runs rampant.
Our time in Cartagena, though short, was filled to the brim with anecdotes and lessons about friendship, time management, and why you should not buy beer off the street from a guy with a styrofoam cooler. As I found myself staring up at the ceiling of the women’s bathroom of our hostel, there were admittedly very few thoughts running through my mind other than “will I ever feel normal again?” In short, the answer was yes and no. Yes, I have rebounded completely from whatever bioterrorism took place in my intestines. However, traveling, similar to uncontrollable bowel movements, has the power to completely shift one’s life trajectory. That can seem like an overstatement, but consider the number of things you never would have been introduced to had it not been for traveling. What about the people in your lives that you now cannot live without?
On our last night, like most nights before, we’re stopped by promoters asking us where we’re headed, and our eyes flitting to one another let on that we have no clue. This far into our trip, Spanish seems as though it was almost always on my tongue, and in reality, it has always been in my blood. For anyone, I think language can be a coming home of sorts, a journey to an untapped part of yourself. As we run off laughing into the night, I realize I’m no longer simply translating my ideas into a new language, but expressing myself in ways I was never given access to.
One need not even travel far to experience something new, but that act of reveling in uncertainty makes your next breath mean so much more than the one before it. To be Black anywhere is to feel monitored, yet alarmingly invisible at the same time. Connecting through a new language with people that look like you can be eye-opening and so affirming. We need our differences and our similarities, our ups and downs, and our good and bad to make sense of this world we live in. I’m thankful to have the privilege to travel and seek out all of these things, and to have beautiful friends to share it with.
