Life from Canada to Latin America, one word at a time.
I was in a grocery store in a small Colombian city the other day, hoping against hoping to find the elusive holy grail of imports: cheddar cheese. While I did not find any cheese, what I did come across was even more unlikely. There, in the middle of the bakery section, were stacks of boxed
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,
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
Before coming to Colombia, I spent a summer working with an Aboriginal women’s group in the Yukon. I thought I knew things, but one of the greatest lessons I learnt was how little I actually did. As I researched and read, I learnt more deeply about the realities of missing and murdered Aboriginal women, colonialism,
#rapedneverreported has sparked important dialogue over the last month in Canada. While sexual violence remains an invisible, victim blaming crime filled with intimidation, that does not mean that victims are simply silent or do not have powerful proposals for change. As Kate McInturff points out, now that we are sorry, we need to listen and to
Last night, I introduced two of my Colombian colleagues to poutine. A new restaurant, the first of its kind in Colombia to offer deep fried potato and cheese goodness is open on Calle 13 with 5. The poutine was, including the bloated feeling afterwards, just like I remembered it. It is not often that I
I was in Canada in June for a whirlwind of wedding and family love. I was there for the longest day, the Summer Solstice. People in my Bogota office still remark with wonder whenever I mention my trip home that: “When Anna was there, day lasted all night long.” As fall begins in the north
I never felt like I fit in on the coast. My very DNA lacked the rhythm flowing through everyone´s blood, be it champeta, vallenato or the Holy Spirit. When I gazed into the mirror held up by my community I saw and became a pale, quiet Canadian, a sweaty, imination version of something I was
Español A lifetime and three years ago, I lived in Ottawa. It was wonderful, despite polar vortex conditions. They say you can never go back but last week I did. I ate a falafel, had wonderful conversations with old friends, spent too much money on books and maple syrup, and connected with the MCC Ottawa
I´m sure you are all familiar with those email alerts or posts on your Facebook newsfeed from Syria, from Palestine, from Guatemala and even from Colombia calling on you to take action about some human rights crisis somewhere. I don’t know about you, but I often feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of crisis in
The Llama Diaries 