Lillys in Columbia, 1968
It was in the tumultuous year of 1968 that we made a commitment to go to Cali, Colombia. In February both of us went for an interview by Rockefeller Foundation officials in New York City. This was for a 15 month appointment for Percy as Special Field Staff. That spring our country had mourned the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. We were packing our suitcases when we heard that Robert Kennedy had been killed in Los Angeles.
We all tried very hard to learn Spanish. Heidelberg’s Spanish professor, Lenore Osterholm loaned us Spanish records, but we had little time to practice before we left. When we changed planes in Miami, and we were the only ones on the plane who were speaking English, we looked at each other in culture shock.
We arrived at night and we admired the lights of the city, especially one hill we passed. We were told that it didn’t look so pretty in the daylight. It was one of the worse slums in the city
Arrangements were made for us to rent the home of a Colombian doctor who was returning to the States for more study. Until they left, we stayed for three weeks in the Residencia Stein. It was an old-fashioned Spanish style pension with coconut trees in the yard and a small swimming pool. It was really great to eat meals prepared and planned by someone else. We especially liked the weekend fondue supper.
One night our daughter Catherine was awakened at 2 A.M. by voices outside her window. Three thieves were stealing the silverware and glasses! We awakened the owner and he called the police. They came right away and called to the thieves, “Come out! Come out!” When they finally entered the house, no one was there.
Percy and the children went for a hike up a mountain called Tres Cruses (three crosses). At a place where there was another path also going up, they were undecided what to do. An old woman was coming down and Percy asked her in his best Spanish which way to go. She spoke and gestured for several minutes and then looked at Percy. She said then, “El no entienda nada!” (He doesn’t understand anything.) That was often the result at first. We could form a question, but were bewildered by the answer.
The house that would be our home for the next year was in a middle class neighborhood. The side walls of all the houses in the block were joined. Each house had a four foot wide strip of grass in front and thirty feet of garden and yard in back surrounded by ten foot walls. The house came with a maid, Erenia, who had worked for Dr. Giatan and his wife. It also came with a fierce cat, Muneca. She was so aggressive that she would wait in our open doorway and jump on the back of any unwary dog that happened by and send it running down the street.
We soon learned that neighborhoods like ours were few compared to acres and acres of poor barrios. The violence in the countryside had forced many families to flee and they lived as squatters in low-lying land. Ditches served as sewers and there was no electricity. The city had put in outdoor faucets that each served hundreds of people for water. Across from our house in an unfinished building was a squatter family. The woman did ironing for us and Laurel played with their daughter.
The maid and I shopped for groceries twice a week in an open air market. We loved the pineapples, mangos, papayas and many new kinds of tropical fruits. I soon learned to take a minibus to town for a few centavos and buy clothes and other necessities.
We decided that we would like to have a card table and four chairs in the upstairs hall for playing chess or cards. Catherine and Robert were learning to play bridge. I traveled by bus to the center of town. The market there was smelly but the prices in the stores around it were cheaper. I didn’t plan to take the chairs home when the year was up, so I found four chairs for five dollars and arranged for them to be delivered to our address. The store owner assured me that they would be there that afternoon. When I opened the door at 2 P.M., there stood a toothless, barefoot man with my chairs tied to his back. He had walked at least five miles from downtown. I paid him what I had agreed for the delivery, around fifty cents, and he asked for a glass of water with sugar in it which I gladly gave him.
Many beggars stood along the street when we went downtown. This was the first time we had ever seen beggars and Colombians told us not to give them money; it would only encourage them. Cali even had a beggars war with the neighboring city, Popayan. To get ready for the sugar festival, the police rounded up all the beggars and took them to Popayan and let them out. Then a few weeks after the festival, Popayan returned the favor and brought all the beggars back. We were told that Bogata took all their beggars to a farm in the countryside when the Pope came to Colombia.
Next week I will continue with some other experiences in Colombia.
– Mary