Growing up as a little girl in Colombia is a sensory masterpiece, a childhood painted in the vibrant colors of tropical fruit and the rhythmic pulse of a country that breathes music. It is a world where the boundaries between family, community, and celebration blur into a single, warm embrace. My mornings often began with the smell of toasting on a clay budare and the rich, sweet aroma of chocolate santafereño
I was never just a girl. I was a keeper of stories. I was a dancer in a war zone. I was a thread in a tapestry woven from gold, blood, and coffee.
One Tuesday, Juan Pablo didn’t come to school. He sat behind me. He drew horses in the margins of his notebook. The next day, his desk was empty. The nun told us to pray for his family. She did not say why.
Lesson Two: Do not walk alone. Do not catch the bus after dark. Do not wear your hair in a ponytail (because it is easy for a man to grab you by the ponytail). Cover your shoulders. Look at the ground. Do not make eye contact with the men on the motorcycles.
: It is common to grow up surrounded by a vast network of relatives, including aunts, uncles, cousins, and godparents (padrinos) , who play an active role in a child's upbringing. Living Together as a little girl growing up in colombia
Mornings began with the guayaba scent of soap. Abuela (Grandma) believed that a clean child was a blessed child. Breakfast was a negotiation: calentado (yesterday’s rice and beans fried with a new egg on top) or arepa con queso . The arepa was the currency of childhood. You learned to shape it by age five, patting the wet maize dough between your palms until it was a perfect, thick disc.
: Despite traditional pressures, Colombian girls are often encouraged to be assertive and capable. Childhood Memories and Traditions
At thirteen, I discovered the third altitude: desire.
Leaving that childhood behind is impossible, because you carry it with you. The lessons of hospitality, the love of a good story, and the unshakable pride in your roots stay long after you’ve grown up. To have been a little girl in Colombia is to have been blessed with a heart that knows how to dance, how to love, and how to bloom anywhere. Growing up as a little girl in Colombia
Recent decades have seen significant progress for girls in Colombia, with higher rates of school attendance and a greater sense of self-assurance among younger generations.
Growing up surrounded by this extreme natural beauty fosters a deep connection to the earth. From a young age, many Colombian girls learn the names of exotic fruits and native birds. Whether it is picking fresh maracuyá (passion fruit) from the garden, smelling the sweet, heavy scent of orchids, or watching hummingbirds dart through the morning mist, the environment instills a lifelong appreciation for nature’s vibrancy. The Heartbeat of Family and Community
Juliana looked at me the way you look at a cockroach that has learned to wear a uniform. She turned to her friend and whispered, “ Qué pena .”
One of my fondest memories is of Sundays spent in the town square with my family. We would walk through the bustling streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the market, where vendors sold everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts. The smell of traditional Colombian cuisine wafted through the air, tempting my taste buds and making my stomach growl with hunger. My siblings and I would beg our parents for empanadas or arepas, and we would savor every bite of these delicious treats. I was a keeper of stories
To grow up female in Colombia in the 80s, 90s, or even the early 2000s was to live a duality that no travel brochure could capture. On one hand, there was the magical realism —the kind Gabriel García Márquez wrote about, which wasn't fantasy at all, but simply the documentation of everyday life. On the other, there was the resilience —an unspoken curriculum taught by mothers and grandmothers about how to move through a country of breathtaking beauty and heartbreaking complexity.
My family was not rich. We were decent . That word in Colombia is a loaded gun. It means you have a tablecloth, even if the soup is thin. It means your shoes are polished, even if they are two years old. It means you know which fork to use, and which last name to drop like a secret handshake.
And yet, we fought. We fought to stay in school when the walk was dangerous. We fought to play soccer when the boys said the field was theirs. We fought to wear pants when the teachers said skirts were mandatory.
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"As a little girl growing up in Colombia," your world is framed by the yellow, blue, and red of the flag, but it is colored by so much more. It is the purple of the bougainvillea spilling over white-washed walls, the deep brown of the rich soil, and the bright smiles of a people who treat everyone like family.
Mornings were for the tinto . The grownups drank it black and bitter, but I got the —mostly milk, served in a heavy ceramic mug that warmed my palms. There was always a piece of salty queso campesino tucked into the bottom, waiting to be fished out, soft and squeaky, with a spoon.