First days in Bogotá

It’s Saturday morning in Bogotá, and there’s a blue sky with white puffy clouds over the mountains to the East. That means no downpours, so it’s sure to be a good day.

Nearly two weeks ago now, we made our big move from The Woodlands, Texas to Bogotá, Colombia.  It’s been a whirlwind really, completing paperwork completed and opening accounts, getting used to horrible traffic, high altitudes and wearing sweaters in July.  

I’ve once again gotten a taste of what it’s like to be a foreigner. My blonde hair and 5’ 6” stature help me stand out in a crowd of people who tend to be shorter and have darker hair than I do.  More than once people have asked where I’m from, and they seem to be surprised when I speak Spanish. Our 9-month-old Gabriela has blonde hair too - at least  the little hair that she does have - and her blue eyes stop people on the street. Every time we take her to the store or anywhere else in public, women and men alike smile and tell us what beautiful eyes she has. Our 4-year-old, Catalina, has light brown hair and brown eyes, and she could pass for Colombian easily if she didn’t talk to everyone in English. After ordering food in English, saying “hi” and “thank you” and asking kids, “Do you want to play with me?” she’s finally starting to realize that her vocabulary won’t work well here.  Slowly, her Spanglish is starting to include more Colombian words, though she still gets frustrated that she can't communicate everything she wants to say in Spanish. “I don’t speak español,” she tells me. She’ll get it eventually, especially when we get her enrolled in preschool, hopefully sometime next week. We'll all be happier when she can get out of the house and spend time with other kids a few hours a day!

Juan Carlos, both a Colombian and US citizen, is coming to grips with readjusting to the culture he left behind 12 years ago. He’s frustrated by the way people drive on crowded streets, by the time (and number of times) it takes to go to the bank to complete simple transactions and by the slow, unforgiving pace of bureaucracy.

We had a good taste of bureaucracy this past week when we registered both girls as Colombian citizens. After four lengthly trips to the notary - being told to bring more and more documents - and presenting certified, translated versions of birth certificates and results of lab tests confirming blood type - we finally got the Registro Civil, the official documentation for Colombian children. The documents are still completed on a typewriter, and when the notary makes a mistake, she has to start again. Getting the two papers typed up took an hour, both because of the technology and because of the fact that the notary stopped to visit with everyone who stopped by the window.

My documentation was even more involved. Like in the US, foreigners can get residency in Colombia if they’re willing to pay, and to be patient and persistent.  Juan Carlos has been working on the process for months - obtaining certified copies of the marriage license from Alabama’s Secretary of State, having it translated by an approved Colombian translator, then having the document notarized, certified and registered. (I still don’t understand the difference.) We took that documentation along with my passport to the Foreign Ministry and applied for a visa for me. (US citizens can enter Colombians as tourists, but they have to get a visa within 90 days.)  We originally planned to apply for a Spousal Visa, which must be renewed annually, but a helpful lady at the Foreign Ministry told us that, since I’m married to a Colombian and have Colombian children, I automatically get a Resident Visa.  That was fantastic news. Now I can stay legally in Colombia as long as I want as long as I don’t leave for more than 23 months at a time. I can even apply for citizenship in two years if I choose to do so.

Unfortunately having a resident visa isn’t enough to function here. Anyone who wants to do anything in Colombia, must have a cédula, national identity card, which serves as a driver’s license, photo ID and form of registration for everything from supermarket discounts to gym memberships.  Apparently they don’t worry much about identity theft, because the cédula numbers are everywhere! After getting my visa, we had it “registered” at the Immigration Office. I had to give 14 sets of fingerprints, hand over three photos of myself and have another one taken in the office. After all that, I did get my cédula number, but the card itself won’t be ready for 15 business days. It will actually be closer to a month because we have two holidays in August.  Until I get the cédula, I can’t open a bank account, buy a car or have a cell phone account in my name. Fortunately, Juan Carlos and my in-laws are here to help me, but I can’t help but wonder what foreigners do when they come here without family.

Though the first couple weeks have been an adjustment for us, we’ve all had a very good time.  My in-laws Rubén and Gaby are thrilled to death to be with their granddaughters; both girls melt their hearts like butter. Thanks to Skype, we’ve been able to have face-to-face conversations with relatives in the US, including my grandmother - whose smile looks exactly like Gabriela’s - and my parents. I got a lump in my throat a few nights ago when Papa Greg told Catalina bedtime stories, and she finished his sentences for him.

I feel tremendously blessed to live in the same city as my sister Abby, who is working with churches and families in Bogotá. Last week, Juan Carlos, Catalina and I accompanied her to a feeding program in the slums outside Bogotá. I was impressed by  her servanthood and her leadership as she taught English, passed out food, and hugged the children whose eyes lit up when she walked in the room.  I also enjoyed celebrating Abby’s birthday with her. We went shopping and had fun whispering outsider observations about the people and things we saw. Our favorites included the store Solo Blusas (Only Blouses), which advertises specials on jeans, and a two Chinese import stores that have the strangest collection of fabrics and prints we’ve ever seen. When I had visa photos taken and they offered me a coffee mug, I asked Abby what one had to do with the other. She smiled and said, “Some things just go together, like the makeup samples they gave me when I bought a washing machine.”

I don’t know how long both Abby and I will be in Bogotá, but I’m grateful for the time we have together. These are once-in-a-lifetime experiences, and we’re committed to learning all we can from them.