I returned to Colombia after running programs there back in July. Sometimes when I travel, I run into customs issues, but I have been lucky in Colombia. This time I was not as fortunate. They ran my bags through the machines and the customs officer told me she was getting her supervisor. I explained to her how we had two programs set up for the kids here in Ciudad Bolívar and Barrio Egipto. All she saw was the 60 soccer balls sitting on the inspection table in front of her.

“You are only allowed to bring 10 of one item, so only 10 soccer balls,” she said.

I told her I never had this problem before and there was no intent to sell them, only to donate the soccer balls to help children’s health development. Her reply was short and gut wrenching. 

“Only 10,” she said.

I pulled out the signed document I have from our partners and foundations describing the event and the itinerary. I was met with the same reply. She said the only way to bring more than this amount is to ship it via cargo.

She showed me a photocopy of my passport and said I was okay this time, but the next time it will not be allowed. With the trip off to a rougher start than most,it was time to pay a visit to my friends over at Vahum. It was my first time going to Ciudad Bolívar without my friends, the staff members from Vahum. I called an Uber, it was 3 miles and about 15 minutes away. I hopped into the car. The driver was a musician and we talked about anything and everything until we neared la ciudad. 

As we approached the colorful, picturesque cityscape, I looked to my right, marveling at the different colored houses sitting along the mountainside.

“Look at the houses, los colores, que bella,” I said to the driver.

“Ah I hope we aren’t going there,.” he responded fearfully.

He looked at the direction on his GPS, only to see a la derecha or turn right. His head dropped, a string of expletives coming out of his mouth. We began to navigate the winding roads of Ciudad Bolívar. It was his first time ever in Ciudad Bolívar and I could tell. His forehead was sweating, but he was afraid to roll the windows down any more than just a crack.

We hooked a right and drove past a bridge, I could immediately tell we were going in the wrong direction. Then I saw a dead end and we tried to pull a u-turn, as individuals outside their houses looked onwards. One man approached the vehicle and just stood there on the driver’s side… waiting.

“Buenos dias,” my Uber driver barely squeaked out through the cracked window.

Frantically, he made a call to my contact at Vahum. She sent her exact address on WhatsApp and we were back on our way.

The new building’s view over Tres Cruces was beautiful. They toured me through, showing me all the new rooms, including study and art spaces. I walked in on a class for some of the older kids with a lecturer running a presentation about protection against sexual violence on social networks. As I returned to the main working area, kids ran up eager to greet me with hugs and high fives.

“Hola, Profe!” they exclaimed.

They were working on art and were all so excited to show off their pieces. Beyond this, they were equally as excited to practice their English! 

“Profe, ¿Cómo se dice ‘barcito’ en inglés?” a young girl questioned.

She showed me her paper, a drawing of two little boats floating in the ocean.

“How beautiful!” I said to her, “Great job!”

Another young boy I remembered from our session back in July approached me.

“Profe, ¿Que significa rappear en ingles?” he asked. 

“Es lo mismo! Se dice ‘rap’,” I said.

Finally, art time was finished and it was time to play. We broke into a familiar listening drill, giving the kids their own turns to lead it – they all wanted a chance to be the teacher. After, we did mano o cabeza until 3 winners were chosen. I had ten soccer balls, but was coming back to Vahum on Saturday, so I needed to conserve some for a full day of activities.

Then, we played a little scrimmage on Calle de Tres Cruces. Chicas contra chicos, but I was on the girls team in goal. We lost and I swear I faced at least seven penalty kicks.

Afterwards, I gave out the soccer balls, thanked all the kids, and told them I would see them on Saturday, so they should come prepared to win a soccer ball. I called an Uber and was picked up by a lovely woman from Ciudad Bolívar. I told her about my earlier experience, recalling that I never really felt in danger, but I felt stressed just being in the presence of my driver. 

“Trust me, I’ve been in Ubers where my driver had guns under their seats. I’ve been run down by taxis while trying to get into my Uber before” I told her.

She said that Ciudad Bolívar has such a bad reputation, but if you look at the streets, they are filled with good, hard working people just trying to make an honest living.  

“We try our best,” she said.

I understood. I never had a bad experience there and I really like the people. I never was fearful, but I think my driver was fearful enough for the both of us. We continued to talk about la ciudad and Colombia for the rest of our 45 minute drive.

I told her you can imagine that someone who had never been to Ciudad Bolívar would feel that way. They only know what they see on television or the news, but they’ve never seen it with their own two eyes. She nodded in agreement.

She was excited to share more about her city and was proud of where she came from, which was a completely different experience from the interaction a few hours prior. Then again, that’s kind of how perspective works, isn’t it? Finally, we arrived home and I think even my Airbnb host had been worried. 

“Gracias a Dios estás aquí en casa” she said when I walked in. 

I always love my time working with Vahum. It is in these communities we can make the most impact. Places where others fear, I run toward because I know I will make the most difference there. 

On Monday when I was working through some drills and games with the Vahum kids, they asked when I would be coming back. I am a weak and easily-convinced man, so I immediately changed my Airbnb dates and my flight so that I could drop by Vahum on Saturday morning for their biggest programming day of the week, a day full of activities from 10 a.m. to nearly 4 p.m..

On Friday I reached out to some familiar friends, Pedro and Lala, asking what time we would meet the following day in order to go to Ciudad Bolívar together. I learned my lesson from Monday and figured I’d take at least a week off from Ubering to la ciudad. Monday’s adventure was plenty enough for one trip.

As soon as I hit send, my Airbnb’s router went flashing red and shut off. It wouldn’t be a problem if I had a SIM card and data on my phone. Do you think I had either of those things? Of course not.

Nearly six hours passed and I still couldn’t figure out the wifi situation so I began to roam the streets of Bogotá in search of an open network or at least an open cafe willing to share their connection with a desperate patron. I finally found a hotspot outside of the local convention center and immediately opened my WhatsApp to two missed voice messages from Pedro.

“¡Hola Esteban! ¿A la mañana, puedes llegar a la casa de Lala a las siete?”

I quickly told him about my wifi situation and told him I’d see him bright and early the following morning.

Pre-clinic jitters are still very much a real thing so I ended up waking up at 4:30 a.m., before my 5:30 alarm. I decided trying to fall back asleep wasn’t worth it, so I jumped straight into my pre-program routine. Feeling extremely apologetic about the wifi situation that hadn’t yet been resolved, my lovely host – Gloria, offered to drive me to Lala’s house so off we went.

From there, we loaded up the car and headed towards Vahum headquarters making one very important stop for 20 empanadas to enjoy during the pre-activity meeting of Vahum’s teachers (dance, music, artes/plásticos, teatro, and more). The kids were doing a big public presentation of the arts in two weeks, so excitement was high but so were nerves.

It was great seeing the ‘Profes’ chop it up, bouncing great ideas off each other for how the children might best showcase their abilities while making sure to stay true to the neighborhood (and country) they come from. The girls were even practicing a traditional Colombian dance, where they spin with those big flowy dresses. Finally, our stomachs full of empanadas, the meeting adjourned right as the clock struck 10. Immediately, the excited steps of children running up the new Vahum steps could be heard, followed by “¡Hola profe!” to all those present.

We broke into a few different groups for stations of the aforementioned creative activities. I deployed myself to the art table, where the kids were instructed to divide their paper in half and draw on one side “things they like about their neighborhood” and on the other “things they didn’t like”.

“¡Vahum!” yelled one kid.

“¡Fútbol!” another said. 

“¡Nuestros profes!” one chimed in.

These items would all be incorporated in the set design for their theater production, showcasing the neighborhood that made them.I had been scribbling a Barcelona crest on my paper, and immediately a boy to my left, Juan Pablo copied the same onto his. Then I drew an Adidas soccer ball and a boy to my right, Darwin, doodled the same. Across from me, Alexander, who I had worked with on Monday, was scrolling through my Instagram on another girl’s phone.

He came across a picture of me with a beneficiary in Cuba and quickly tapped my shoulder, “Look profe! It’s the same soccer ball you gave me!”

We scrolled a bit farther and exclaimed, “Look, and that’s the same one you just gave Maria!” We all shared a smile at the familiarity of it all.  After, Alexander shared a story, “Profe, you know for one of my birthday’s my dad got me…(he paused dramatically)… a Nike ball!” He began scrolling through the phone rapidly trying to recall a picture with the ball so he could show it off in excitement, despite the gift being several years old. My guy was just excited. 

I had been slowly adding to my paper, writing VAHUM in big block letters, which of course the kids replicated on theirs as well.

For the cosa que no me gusta part I had drawn a representation of COVID-19, which seemed to be a shared sentiment between all the kids present. Even if it wasn’t, Darwin and JP copied it onto theirs anyway. As the kids switched stations I recognized a familiar face, albeit a newer one to the doors of Vahum. He was a little guy who participated in our session back in July and had the fortune of winning a new ball.

He reintroduced himself, Sherman and immediately began flexing his English skills, picking up ordinary objects and saying their direct translation in English. “Mira profe, manzana es ‘apple’”

“Y lapis es ‘pencil’”

He even counted up to 20 in English!

I asked him where he’d learned to speak English and he excitedly responded, at my school! It’s near the tunnel if you’re familiar, he added. 

“And do you like School?” I asked

“¡Si!” he responded. “But right now none of my friends are there…” he continued.

“Why?” I asked. “Because of el COVID… they are all at home.” 

“And me, I can go to school but I have to use my tapa boca,” he said, gesturing to the mask covering half of his face.

Sherman was a curious little guy and I was glad I got the chance to talk with him more this go-around than the last in July. He asked me about anything and everything. “Profe, what is USA like? Is it nice?”

“Profe, do you have restaurants with Chinese letters in the USA? We don’t have them here.”

“¿Profe, me gusta atún, y tu – te gusta?” No, I replied!

He even asked, “Profe, in the USA do you have the buses with the two levels?” 

“We don’t have them, but in England there are many! I even rode one from Argentina to Uruguay a few years ago!” I replied and his eyes got big.

“And on that bus, was there a tv on the seat?” he asked, curiously.

“¡No amigo, pero en los vuelos tenemos tv… with lots of películas!” I added.

I was surprised because on his paper he had drawn huevos de quinder (Kínder Eggs) for the thing he did not like.

“Sherman, my bro, you don’t like chocolate?” I asked him while in shock.

“Noooo, it’s not good for you,” he said. 

Having had my fill of arts two times over, I decided to check out a different station. I headed over to a nearby room equipped with mirrors all around and a familiar face, Joseph in the front of it. Joseph is Vahum’s dance teacher and had been there back during our first collaboration in 2020. It was fun to watch, the kids were all getting down to some bad bunny and other popular Latin hits. I remembered back in 2020 when they had all performed a number for us on the last day of our day-camp.

Every once in a while I could be seen in the back corner of the room (literally the only place I fit with the room’s low ceiling) mimicking the kids’ moves and dancing like an absolute fool, despite actually having an extensive background in dance, but the laughs were worth it.

Suddenly, Joseph retreated to a storage closet and returned with bags in his hands. The kids hushed and immediately oohed and ahed. In Joseph’s arms were those flowy skirts that I had mentioned earlier. Excitedly, the girls helped each other step into them while I helped tie them tightly around their waists. They immediately grabbed the corners of their new props and waved them around, just like traditional Colombian dancers do. Eager to show off their new costumes, I took turns spinning my little friends Daniela and Jhorindell around in circles until they were too dizzy to continue. Before that it had been “Profe more, profe faster!”

Ill-equipped without a skirt for myself, I tried to make myself useful as the girls had their arms stretched upright at perfect 90 degree angles, gripping the corners of their skirts with each hand.

“Profe, estoy cansado,” said one of them.

I stood behind her and grabbed the corners of the dress, “Here, Sofia, rest your arms, Profe Joseph won’t even notice a thing,” I replied.

She promptly accepted my offer, shaking each arm out like an Olympic swimmer’s pre-race ritual.

The room was really heating up as the sun beat down on vahum’s roof and walls. Sadly, our one fan in the corner of the arts room wasn’t doing much good.  Finally, the clock struck 1 and the girls neatly folded up their dresses before handing them back to Joseph to keep. They all departed to their respective houses while we dug into a rotisserie chicken, arepas, papas, y arroz for lunch.

They began to discuss more plans for the big presentation, and the arts teacher even went as far as to draw individual scene frames for different parts of the performance so we could really see the vision. Two o’clock hit and the older Vahum kids made their way up the steps.

This was a blast from the past as I saw even more familiar faces from 2020 who hadn’t been there back in July. One boy had participated in that 2020 program and looked at me curiously. “You remember me?” I asked him. He shook his head no. I quickly lowered my mask and told him, “Remember? I had a big beard?” “Ahhh, yes! I remember!”

Another boy immediately recognized me and dapped me up. “Man you’re getting so tall!” I told him. He was already a tall string bean back in 2020 but he was showing no signs of stopping. I told him to stand up so we could stand back to back. Thankfully I still had an inch on him but I fear this will be the last time I’ll be able to say that. It had already been such a long day and we hadn’t even played any football yet!

Every couple minutes a kid would come up to me, “Profe, are we playing fútbol?” “I don’t think we have time, but we’ll see” I said optimistically.

Profe Laura came up to me – Esteban, the kids won’t stop asking me about soccer so if you want we can play at 3:30 PM when all the activities are done. I hid my smile with my mask so as to not get the kids riled up, but I was excited to share the field with them yet again.

As expected, time flew by and 3:30 quickly arrived. The kids all darted down the steps, some already wearing their soccer shoes or their favorite jerseys.

Alexander came up to me, “Profe I have three kits – this one (Francia) and Juventus and Barcelona,” he said proudly.

I knew we likely didn’t have too much time and I still had 7 soccer balls leftover so we circled up straight away for mano o cabeza. All the kids were excited to participate or help in any way they could. Maria offered to take pictures, excited to experiment with my heavy duty Canon equipment. Another boy, a familiar face from July and back in 2020, Juan, offered to run mano o cabeza in the centre – which I did take him up on.

After a few practice rounds, we were ready for the real thing. Kids old and new were buzzing at the opportunity to leave tres cruces as a winner that day. With my job already being done by Juan, I retreated to the sidelines to chat with some of those who had been eliminated.

I talked with Jhorindell and Maria and a few others, “Profe, thank you for the cards, I love them!”

“¿Profe, regálame su firma porfa?” Jhorindell said, extending the ball she had won, then a card, then another card, then finally her hand. I signed everything but the hand because I didn’t want  to get in trouble once her family couldn’t get the permanent marker off of her skin. Maria and Daniela followed shortly after with their stacks of cards asking for an autograph. “Stephen Schirra, TKM followed by a heart,” on each of them.

As I waited around for games to end, parents came from nearby streets to give their well wishes yet again. One mother dropped by and gave me a big hug before thanking me for coming back. I noticed her son, Santiago, was missing from today’s sessions. “He’s resting,” she said. “Please give him a greeting from me,” I asked. “Of course, Profe!”

• 

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Other parents asked how my mom was doing while their children said, “Promise me you’ll give mi saludo to your mother, Profe, promise.”

Our football activity was winding down but not before Profe Angelo, the art teacher, threw down a couple around the worlds for the boys. Another familiar face, Daniel, threw down one himself, while I quickly stalled the ball on my forehead, kissed it, then dropped it onto my neck for a moment – as to not be outdone. Finally, it was time to go and a string of thank yous, fist bumps, hugs, and besitos followed. “See you soon, Profe! We wish you could be here for our big performance,” they said collectively.

We piled into the small Kia and drove down the winding Ciudad Bolívar streets before making it to the freeway.

We stopped at a light and suddenly heard a loud thud. Simultaneously, my neck jolted forward and then back. I was in a car accident. Of course. Nothing says the full “Colombian experience” like a car wreck. Adding insult to injury, we were the only car of the three car lineup with insurance.

Meanwhile, they tried to avoid involving police, but the third car, the main culprit, a 23 year old man, was not budging. 

“I don’t have money,” he said. 

“That’s okay, we’ll just get the police involved then.” 

A policeman on motorcycle arrived, as an ambulance rounded out the convoy. Next to me, Laura told me her stomach was hurting, while I was just happy her dog, Lupe, was okay. Lord knows her presence as a ‘therapy dog’ of sorts was a saving Grace in this moment. It was definitely not my favorite commute ever, but as I said to Pedro when we were finally back on the road after an hour ordeal with police, “Amigo, things can always be worse, right?” “Exactamente” he responded, echoing the sentiment.

As I reached my house, fearing my host was worrying herself sick after telling her I would be there at 2 p.m. with it now being 7 p.m., Pedro and I parted ways. 

“Thanks for all your help, Pedro, I’m always happy to be here, with you guys, with the kids. I’m just thankful to be (a small) part of the important work you do everyday.”