But it rained for most of the rest of November. The arroyos were “impressionable”, as Cecelia says, invading houses and carrying away people and belongings. Looking at any horizon at 11 am, grey clouds churned and expanded. If I wanted to go somewhere during the day (like work), I’d have to get across Calle 76 and 75 before the rain began. La Felicidad, La María...arroyos with pleasant names but fierce personalities. November was a special month, marked by weather. But it was nothing like the magical diciembre that everyone was getting so excited about.
People here have been talking about December since the soggy, humid depths of September. With every debilitating arroyo, December dreams are recounted: the quality of light changes, the wind eliminates stagnant air and mosquitos, the rain blows off to elsewhere, and, most importantly, everyone becomes happy. It’s funny how I hear these stories; the first person to say something so grand and sweeping sounded cute and idealistic. When the second person coincidentally made a similar observation I thought, “Oh, ok, another Barranquilla urban legend.” When I realized that everyone was talking about the magic of December, I couldn’t help but suspect some kind of commercial propaganda that has brainwashed the city into a favorable Christmas buying mood, something like what I saw on Friends’ and Lovers’ Day
December arrived on December 1st (haha). It rained that morning, a rain as strong and manic as usual, but with the additional quality of endurance: it down-poured for 3-hours. The city shut down. I realized how the media can manipulate a population when I rode a taxi back home from Transelca. On the radio, we listened to the local news:
“I’m reporting live from Barranquilla and it’s raining really hard here! Sandra, how is Soledad looking?”
“Well, Jorge, its raining in Soledad. There are some strong arroyos and it doesn’t look like it will stop soon.”
“Thanks, Sandra. Now, we have a taxi driver on the line. Driver, is it raining where you are?”
“Jorge, it certainly is raining cats and dogs over here in the north. The traffic is terrible!”
Etc. I started panicking, until I remembered that it rains every day and it only takes about 10 minutes for the surging currents to diminish into a trickle after the rain stops. I did worry, though, that my Aliarse students in Soledad wouldn’t show up, which would have been frustrating, since their final exam was that day. I thought my lunch date wouldn’t show up, since he was locked up in the University way to the north of my Calle 79. When it rains in Barranquilla, nothing is certain. But, around 11, the rain started to taper. The grey light started to clarify. Soon, scattered rain drops were falling through sunshine, and finally the little poofs of wind collaborated to gust away the remaining clouds. My lunch date arrived under a blue sky. The wind blew the door open for him, and we ate on the floor in a splotch of yellow light; warm light, not painful. He said, “This is December.”
Pradomar
It has been December ever since. Even though I made fun of it, I love Barranquilla’s December. The sky is blue, it never rains, and there is a strong, healthy breeze that keeps everything cool and dry. I am leaving the city in the middle of this glorious season, and I am sure I will leave with happy memories. On December 2nd, to celebrate the end of a year of teaching in Colombia, my roommates and I drank cheap champagne on the beach at Pradomar. Because of the rain, the ocean was clean(er). A bar nearby played reggae music. University students on break flirted with each other, and surfers tore up the measly little ripple waves. The sun was in full force, but the light didn’t hurt like it usually does. We ended the night in a posh bar: a lame meat market scene, but at least now I can justify preferring La Troja’s griminess.
The next day, Sandro brought me to his cumbia comparca in Barrio Bajo. The members discussed the responsibility of the Carnaval dancers, and everyone was included in the discussion: little girl dancers, called semillitas, matriarchs who have danced with the comparca their entire lives, young men who feel invigorated contributing to the maintenance of this beautiful aspect of Colombia’s cultural heritage...even me! I felt like I could have been sitting in a steel-band meeting. There are the elements of community that I crave in my life, and that I always find in Carnaval groups. People, when they weren’t talking, listened with smiles on their faces. Obviously, this isn’t something I’ve seen everywhere here, but it was notable to me, that a smile was where these people’s faces rested. I really felt so happy to be sitting there with these strangers. We spent the night with one of the leaders, first on the street and then at La Troja. I danced with everyone on my little corner in the street. Somebody bought me a red rose. I was also given potato chips and aguardiente (haha, I forget to mention the presents my students gave me! An Agatha Christy Novel in Spanish, a well loved plastic carnaval bracelet, a bocadillo with a bite taken out of it...) I think that, because it’s December, I’m starting to understand this city better. That sounds really quaint and ridiculous, but you have to believe me: December is the secret to Barranquila’s puzzle!
Cumbia
