As A Little Girl Growing Up In Colombia -

Growing up in Colombia meant my world was painted in the brightest colors and soundtracked by the constant hum of life.

I remember waking up to the smell of arepas on the grill and the rhythmic clack-clack of my grandmother’s dominoes on the patio. My childhood was a blur of chasing the raspado cart on humid afternoons, the icy blackberry syrup staining my tongue purple, and learning to dance salsa in the living room before I could even properly tie my shoes.

Sundays were for the mountains—long drives through winding roads where the air turned crisp and the green of the hills felt deep enough to drown in. We’d stop for hot chocolate with melted cheese, a salty-sweet ritual that felt like home in a cup. There was a magic in the chaos: the neighbors shouting greetings across balconies, the sudden tropical downpours that turned the streets into rivers, and the fierce, unwavering pride of a people who find a reason to celebrate in every single day.

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

. In my neighborhood, the streets weren't just for cars; they were our playgrounds. We jumped rope to the beat of distant salsa and played

(hopscotch) until the sun dipped behind the emerald green of the Andes or the shimmering horizon of the coast. There was a constant soundtrack to life—the clinking of coffee cups, the animated "¡Oiga!" of neighbors gossiping over fences, and the ever-present trill of tropical birds. as a little girl growing up in colombia

Family was the sun around which everything orbited. Sundays were sacred, reserved for the "almuerzo familiar" where three generations would squeeze around a table for bandeja paisa

. As a little girl, I learned that love was measured in extra helpings of avocado and the patient way my grandmother braided my hair while telling stories of "La Llorona" or "El Sombrerón." These myths made the mountains feel alive, as if the very earth held secrets just for us.

The holidays brought a special kind of magic. December meant the Día de las Velitas

, where we lined the sidewalks with hundreds of candles, turning our street into a river of flickering gold. We danced

at weddings and carnivals, wearing skirts that flared like flower petals. Even as a child, I felt the resilience of my people—a spirit that chose joy and dancing even when the history books spoke of harder times. Growing up in Colombia meant my world was

To grow up as a girl in Colombia is to be raised with a fierce sense of belonging. It is a childhood of "puebliando" (traveling through small towns), eating exotic fruits like guanábana

until your fingers are sticky, and realizing that no matter where you go, you carry the warmth of the Colombian sun and the rhythm of the drums in your heart. of Colombia for this essay, or perhaps add more details about a particular holiday or tradition?

It sounds like you're starting to share a personal story or experience. Growing up in Colombia must have been a unique and enriching experience, with the country's rich culture, diverse landscapes, and vibrant cities. What was it like for you growing up there? Did you have a favorite childhood memory or experience that stands out to you?

Coming of Age in a Land of Superlatives

To grow up female in Colombia is to inherit a legacy of berraquera—a word that means toughness, gumption, and the refusal to quit. You look at your mother, who can cook a feast for twenty, negotiate prices with a truck driver, and do her makeup in a five-minute taxi ride. You look at the vendedoras ambulantes (street vendors) carrying fifty pounds of fruit on their heads, walking barefoot in the rain, laughing.

As a little girl growing up in Colombia, you internalize that you are made of the same stuff as the mountains (the Andes) and the same flow as the rivers (the Amazon). You are a product of mestizaje—the mixing of Indigenous endurance, Spanish structure, and African rhythm. Coming of Age in a Land of Superlatives

4. Education and Expectations

Education is highly valued, but expectations can vary:

Festivals & religion

The Myths We Believed

We believed that El Hombre Caimán (The Alligator Man) lived in the Magdalena River and would turn you into a reptile if you bathed after 3 PM. We believed that finding a mopa-mopa (a sticky tree resin figure) in your shoe meant good luck for the harvest. We believed that if you didn’t finish your caldo de costilla, the Patasola (a one-legged forest spirit) would lick your ankles at midnight.

Were we scared? Yes. Deliciously so. But those stories were our inheritance—more precious than gold, more binding than law. They taught us to respect the jungle, the river, the mountain. They taught us that the world is alive, and hungry, and watching.

1. The Culture of "Cariño"

If there is one rule for a little girl in Colombia, it is that affection is not optional—it is the currency of existence. From the moment she wakes up, she is immersed in a culture of physical touch.

Greeting everyone in the room with a kiss on the cheek is not just a formality; it is mandatory. A Colombian girl learns early that she must greet tías, tíos, and neighbors with a warm "buenos días" and a kiss. This fosters a sense of community and belonging. She is rarely alone. She grows up surrounded by extended family, where cousins are often treated like siblings, and godparents (padrinos) play an active, authoritative role in her life.

3. The Palabras de Azúcar (Words of Sugar)

Language in Colombia is sweet. A little girl quickly learns that she is not just "pretty"; she is linda, hermosa, rica, or tesoro.

Adults speak to children with a high degree of endearment. It is common to hear a mother refer to her daughter as "mami" or "mamita," and the girl in turn calls her mother "mamá" or "mami." This verbal affection builds high self-esteem and a strong sense of being cherished. However, it also comes with expectations. She is often taught to be polite, deferential, and agreeable—traits deeply rooted in the cultural value of buena gente (being good, kind people).

На главную