Last Day in Colombia: Part One
Finally, Montserrate today. And it was worth the wait. It is a restored 17th-century abbey and chapel that overlooks all of Bogota from its perch in the eastern mountains.
Kelly Johanna is on edge, teetering between loving joviality and moodiness. Of course, she knows that every step she’s taken until now had been a small step—tomorrow she flies off with a still-strange American family that doesn’t speak her language, forever. It hardly seems sensible.
Her mood has made me think that Colombia is a land of beautiful contrasts. Maybe these are best characterized by the contrasts in the two cities in which we’ve spent the last two weeks, Florencia and Bogota. Florencia is vibrant and yet a little desperate, hot and muggy and full of hopeful people. Bogota’s contrasts can be seen in the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen and the most inventive use of barbed wire I’ve ever seen. Bogota feels a little like a siege city, with barbed wire and glass atop almost every gate and fence, and yet it’s also brimming with outgoing, caring people and flowers in every possible color and hue.
I could go on for a fair bit about the contrasts I see in Colombia, but that’s not what this journal is about. It’s about a twelve-year-old girl who until last week was Kelly Johanna Sapuy, but who is now Kelly Johanna Thelander. It’s about a girl doing something that seems incomprehensively brave to me, venturing into the great unknown without much of a safety net. If she knew how occasionally dysfunctional we can be as parents she would probably run screaming.
We heard a distressing story today about another 12-year-old girl who was set to be adopted. Her new American parents flew down here to pick her up, but after one week changed their minds. Amid much tears and anguish, the entire process was called off, and this 12-year-old girl remains an orphan. I’m in no position to judge her parents or guess at their motives. Our hearts break, though, for this girl. Lucia asked us yesterday if we had room for another, and we had to say no. Kelly Johanna doesn’t know anything about this story, and I’m not going to tell her. But it makes me wish I could communicate enough to say to her, We love you already, and you’re stuck with us. We promise to look after you, and to never leave you behind.
Montserrate was fun today, because it gave us all a chance to look out over the plateau that supports these 8 million people and see how far we’ve come in the last two weeks.
Kelly Johanna is on edge, teetering between loving joviality and moodiness. Of course, she knows that every step she’s taken until now had been a small step—tomorrow she flies off with a still-strange American family that doesn’t speak her language, forever. It hardly seems sensible.
Her mood has made me think that Colombia is a land of beautiful contrasts. Maybe these are best characterized by the contrasts in the two cities in which we’ve spent the last two weeks, Florencia and Bogota. Florencia is vibrant and yet a little desperate, hot and muggy and full of hopeful people. Bogota’s contrasts can be seen in the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen and the most inventive use of barbed wire I’ve ever seen. Bogota feels a little like a siege city, with barbed wire and glass atop almost every gate and fence, and yet it’s also brimming with outgoing, caring people and flowers in every possible color and hue.
I could go on for a fair bit about the contrasts I see in Colombia, but that’s not what this journal is about. It’s about a twelve-year-old girl who until last week was Kelly Johanna Sapuy, but who is now Kelly Johanna Thelander. It’s about a girl doing something that seems incomprehensively brave to me, venturing into the great unknown without much of a safety net. If she knew how occasionally dysfunctional we can be as parents she would probably run screaming.
We heard a distressing story today about another 12-year-old girl who was set to be adopted. Her new American parents flew down here to pick her up, but after one week changed their minds. Amid much tears and anguish, the entire process was called off, and this 12-year-old girl remains an orphan. I’m in no position to judge her parents or guess at their motives. Our hearts break, though, for this girl. Lucia asked us yesterday if we had room for another, and we had to say no. Kelly Johanna doesn’t know anything about this story, and I’m not going to tell her. But it makes me wish I could communicate enough to say to her, We love you already, and you’re stuck with us. We promise to look after you, and to never leave you behind.
Montserrate was fun today, because it gave us all a chance to look out over the plateau that supports these 8 million people and see how far we’ve come in the last two weeks.
posted by Michael Thelander at 7:26 PM
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