Life from Canada to Latin America, one word at a time.
When I used to sit on street corners in Mampujan and drink apple flavoured pink pop with my neighbours, the conversation sometimes turned to the months and years directly after the community’s displacement in 2000. People would tell me about multiple families living together in one classroom of the Maria la Baja school, poorer than
The Parkway was glorious this morning. The sun was shining and there were people everywhere. I saw a man carrying a giant bouquet of helium balloon figures, a baby with an enormous hair ribbon eating an oblea, an elderly man pushing an even older man in a wheelchair, a tiny political rally directly across from
The Stolen Camera by Naomi Shihab Nye Since the camera was stolen everything is a photograph— pink bloom against white stucco, serious face of the potato chip man leaning over his cart. In the square, gypsies with brilliant skirts twirl among palm trees. I reach for the camera, to hand it to you, but it
Every lunch and dinner at the conference last month included a giant bowl of iceberg lettuce. There were different dressings and toppings for the lettuce at each meal. If that had been the only vegetable option, it would have been a little sad. Instead, there were generally at least two other veggie choices and I
“A society is an act of communal imagination and belonging is the outcome of that imaginative act.” Adrienne Clarkson The first time I heard the word Mennonite, it sounded like belonging. As my parents explained their ancestral history, of coming to Canada as refugees from war and revolution in Russia, I gained access to an
“Dear 1037148,” wrote one admirer to a golden elm in May. “You deserve to be known by more than a number. I love you. Always and forever.” (Atlantic Magazine) Airports are my favourite. There is nothing to do but sit, think, eat hamburgers, and spray myself with expensive perfumes. Whatever is left behind is simply
When I was growing up, Canada Day meant a giant cake in the park, face painting, and a parade featuring kids on bikes and all three of the fire trucks. Sometimes, there were even potato sack races and candy tosses. This year, I painted my face and straightened my hair. I hobbled around in stilettos,
It rained the whole three days we were in Puerto Asis, Putumayo. Instead of the blast of hot, humid, air I was expecting when I stepped of the plane, we were meet by gray skies and drizzling rain. From the weather to the alien looking pineapples currently in season, with their spiky skin, everything was
A strong woman is a woman who is straining. A strong woman is a woman standing on tiptoe and lifting a barbell while trying to sing Boris Godunov. A strong woman is a woman at work cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn’t mind crying,
During my first real brush with culture shock in Colombia, I ended up sitting on a bag of cabbages in the back of a truck and sobbing. It was the last day of the Mampujan march and the whole process had challenged my idea of organization and logistics. We had survived the planning beforehand, the
Anna L. Vogt 