Poverty is not an easy subject to write about. The average salary in Medellin is about $1,200 per month. There are many who make less. Colombians work hard. Food, transport, and rents are cheaper than in the US. It’s a growing economy very dependent on agriculture and oil. They are 38th in the world in terms of GDP and classed as an upper middle-income country. But ways to make a living do not come easy for many just as in the United States. In Phoenix homeless men and women panhandle at traffic lights and I noticed that the Scottsdale City Council put out notices reminding drivers that they were not obliged to pay them anything. Many of the homeless like to remain invisible since there’s an element of shame associated with it in the US.
In Medellin there are different levels of poverty where individuals eke out a living collecting waste, selling fruit, entertaining motorists at the traffic lights or selling whatever they can, newspapers, dolls, flowers. It all takes time and patience, but attitudes are different. Here working the traffic lights is an acceptable way of making a living.
I had my favorite people at our crossroads in Medellin. It’s an art, takes great timing and requires fleetness of foot. My favorite was an elderly man, probably about my age, with smartly creased black pants, a white full length shirt and a straw hat who did a little dance in front of the traffic, doffed his hat and tripped the light fandango to imaginary music. He left himself just enough time to collect offerings from the first five or six cars. One morning there were two men with a speaker system, one playing a guitar and the other percussion who sang romantic Spanish melodies. Another morning, a young man on a monocycle juggled, spun a hoop on one leg, tossed his hat in the air and caught it on his head and all within the 40 seconds it takes for the lights to change and then he did it again leaving himself just a sliver of time to collect the few donations.
One day, walking up from the little “tiendita” down the street I reached the lights, and decided to buy half a dozen bananas from a pile set out on two wooden boxes by the side of the road. A man about my age, a little worse for wear, was guarding the bananas and a pile of avocados as he sat on a box, enjoying a lunch of chicken and rice from a small plastic container. Delighted to have a customer, he put his lunch down and gathered the best of his bananas for my perusal… I think the six bananas cost 2,000 pesos, barely 50c. We were both happy with the transaction. Also, on this side of the road, shaded by the trees, was a spot where a pink hatted lady made sorties into the traffic with small bunches of bright roses. That the task was intermittent allowed her to return to her spot under the trees where her infant child was parked in a small pram. She was able to perform both the task of flower saleslady and mother and was fleet of foot and sharp eyed. There was also a soft drinks salesman who was obviously an employee or on a commission of some sort because he wore a green uniform, maybe a little worn and in need of a wash but coordinated with the colors of his cold box of drinks as he whirled his way quickly along the lines of cars and motorcycles, holding a green bottle of soda pop outstretched. It looked like hard work. He seemed friendly with the doll seller, who although confined to a wheelchair, somehow made his wares available. Positioned directly underneath the traffic light on the U-turn he could take full advantage of the proximity of the waiting cars. He had a small white sign advertising the dolls and the nature of his infirmity.
I was quite alarmed one evening after sunset to see a lady with two children, probably seven and eleven, throw herself out into the headlights of cars slowing down on red. She stretched a white sheet out in front of her. I initially assumed she was selling some sort of embroidery but learned from Juan, that it was more likely a brief biography of her troubles. I watched her as if watching a stage performance, the characters lit up in the headlights, performing the same ritual over and over again, each time slightly different according to the position of the cars and the need to be seen by as many as possible.
Colombian drivers of both cars and motorbikes may take more risks than American drivers and drive faster but the main intention is always to avoid hurting anyone. The “traffic light” sales force seem to recognize that fact and flit in and out of the moving and stationary cars. It is an acceptable way to make a living. How well they do, I have no idea.
We were having a cellphone problem, so Juan kindly agreed to help Marney with her phone (connected in Colombia) which was not working. We had previously noticed a telephone store in Premium Plaza just down the road but there were always long lines. Gratefully, Juan agreed to take Marney there and he waved his magic Spanish wand and got her to the front of the line and the problem was sorted within an hour. I must confess that having a cell phone for the first time EVER (this one is connected to the U.S.) has not been a great success…being woken up at 10.30 pm by someone from Flagstaff wanting me to renew the warranty on a car which I no longer owned seemed to go beyond the levels of futility endured even by Vladimir and Estragon in their wait for Godot’s arrival.
Every Sunday in Medellin the road beneath our apartment was turned into a walking/cycling/running track. At 7 am small trucks disgorged red plastic barriers and cones and uniformed attendants blocked off two main thoroughfares with red tape. A banner reading “Cerrado” (closed) was strung across from one set of traffic lanes to the next. Soon there were walkers, runners, cyclists, people in wheelchairs, kids on rollerblades, children in strollers, the fit and athletic, the unfit and un-athletic all enjoying a Sunday morning jaunt. “What a splendid idea !” I exclaimed to Marney. “Next week I am doing it.” And I did. What a great way to see the city and feel a break from the working week and the noise of traffic. Whole families came out on their bikes. No pressure to get around the full course. Walk or ride as long as you wanted at your own pace. Greet friends. Enjoy an ice-cold fruit drink from a stall. Listen to a young saxophonist showing off her skills or get your puncture repaired at the side of the road.
Having managed to get around a portion of the whole course, on the following Sunday I attempted to get around its entirety. Not a good idea and I ended up a casualty unsure whether to blame the virus or my own hubris. I did think the Sunday walk was a marvelous idea though and a counter to the everyday onslaught of traffic. It felt as if the inhabitants were taking back their city, if only briefly. Even the dogs seemed to be wagging their tails more forcefully. Shutting off the roads takes place on public holidays as well. One Sunday we were woken by very loud music at 5am only to discover we were also on the route of the Rock and Roll Half Marathon. These were serious runners and there were a lot of them. Unfortunately, we happened to be opposite one of the stations where the music was being played.
Being close to the center of Medellin, a city stretching along a steep sided valley, allowed us to explore some of its sights.
The Basilica of Our Lady of Candelaria,
The Cementerio Museo San Pedro
and the Museo de Arte Moderno de Medellín
were all spectacular and moving in their own ways. More of that tomorrow as well as the challenges of moving to Swiss Suites in Enviago on the outskirts of the city. And the food. Mustn’t forget the food. Some surprises!
Marney here…
Driving in Colombia truly is an art. Juan started learning to drive in the lap of his father at age 5. It is mind blowing how agile drivers here are and when you are the passenger you look constantly look out the window and wonder how on earth the car you are in or the one next to you didn’t hit each other or a motorcycle. I have driven myself in Mexico and Paris among other places and thought it was crazy but this isn’t really crazy – it is just amazing. I would trust Juan to drive anywhere – in fact we did on a winding mountain road.
I wish I could have joined in on the Sunday walks but uphill still isn’t for me. I tried to imagine the walk happening on Sundays on Camelback Road – a similar major street as the one outside our condo – but can’t comprehend the number of bodies that would be strewn around. I could see Alan from the kitchen window and took a photo but alas, it didn’t come out good enough to tell him from the others.
My phone has been a problem off and on. One thing we learned quickly is that U.S. credit cards don’t seem to be accepted except when buying in person. So, buying airtime was tricky unless you stood for hours in line to pay cash but Juan somehow managed to get us to the front of the line and bought minutes for me on his credit card and I could reimburse him. Again, he has been so good to us!!
I really enjoyed the cemetery this time and the Basilica but…as Alan intimated, this is a cliffhanger…more later this week.
In what way was it a cliff hanger?
Love this especially reference to Godot. I eagerly await your blogs. Shalem is here today and she and her crew are so thorough. I worry about the foliage in the back as well as the front yard. Many leaves are browning and falling. I might hire a botanist . I love this house more than you can imagine. Please know you always have a home to come to.
Wonderful
Travelogue!! Thank you. Loving it all!
Judy
What is to come next…anyway, a way to cover being so far behind!