DEVELOP RELATIONSHIPS— Build trust and relationships, integrate into the community, and bring different community members together

I was talking to Francisco — a Korean language and agriculture volunteer through the Korea International Cooperation Agency. This is basically the South Korean equivalent of the Peace Corps and Francisco has been in Colombia with this program since August of 2025. Francisco and I have bonded by sitting together for many hours in the secretaries’ lounge at our school. During our conversation one Saturday, he told me that some teachers, students, and him were going to paint a mural on the outside of our school building starting the following Monday. I was invited to join and I’m thankful for this as otherwise, I would have had no idea that they were going to be painting a mural.

As we all showed up on Monday morning, I was surprised to find that there were a lot of people from La Corporacion Autonoma Regional (CAR). This organization is responsible for protecting the environment in Colombia. The art teacher explained that he had voiced his concerns about the project, and CAR offered to send some of their personnel to help us out. Little did we know that they had sent seven people from their staff to help us out, including two artists who specialized in mural design.

DISCOVER— Gather information and gain key insights by observing, learning form, and engaging community members

It wasn’t until I started talking with CAR staff that I found out exactly why they were here. CAR is the highest authority in its jurisdiction, and it is responsible for protecting and managing natural resources, ecosystems and biodiversity. It covers the rural areas of Bogotá, 98 municipalities in Cundinamarca, and six municipalities in Boyacá. Similar to the Environmental Protection Agency in the U.S., CAR is in charge of protecting natural resources, managing licenses and environmental permits, and developing environmental education projects.

Getting the mural started was actually quite easy. CAR had provided my school with a lot of money to create our environmental-entrepreneurship projects — such as the orchards in the school, the solar panels, and the hydroponics. CAR then asked my school to paint a mural in exchange for the money it has provided over the years. The principal appointed the art teacher, Carlos, as the project’s leader. Carlos provided the materials and began organizing the mural.

We were given the CAR logo on a piece of paper, instructed to study it, examine it, and then do whatever we wanted with it in the mural. The CAR logo illustrates its mission, featuring the lakes it protects, regional birds and fauna, and the Oso Andino, the designated guardian of the Andean páramos. The artists provided a big poster paper with the logo cut into it and we began tracing the logo onto the wall. Sebastián, one of the mural specialists, told us not to focus on tracing the whole sheet and focus instead on some of the individual traces. That way, we could quickly move and begin painting the whole picture. The CAR personnel talked to the principal and said our group would camp out here if we didn’t finish the logo. Soon, our team of nine finished the tracing and began painting the big CAR logo.

By the end of the day, we had finished the majority of the logo. I told Carlos I thought we would be done by midday tomorrow. He quickly responded, “I don’t think so. We are going to paint a big sky on top, a frame around it, and add more details to the painting.” He was quite the dreamer for the project.

DREAM— Make sense of observations, insights, and discoveries to generate or improve project ideas

On Tuesday, CAR staff was gone, and now, we only had half the team. As one of the tallest on the team, I was volun-told to start painting the sky in blobs of yellow while balancing on a stack of two tables. Carefully painting above students on the lower tables, I painted the yellow sky as far as I could reach. I wasn’t sure how we were planning to paint even higher if we had reached as high as we could with these tables, but then, I saw the maintenance staff begin to prop up a scaffold. The teacher said my next assignment was to get on it.

Fortunately for me, I quickly vetoed this idea and said Peace Corps does not let me on scaffolding. Two of the teachers took my spot and began drawing the rest of the sky all the way to the top of the building. We were done by around 3 p.m. that day.

DESIGN— Test, refine, and continue to improve project ideas

On Wednesday, less people were available, so we had around half the team we had on Tuesday. We were left with the Korean teacher, the art teacher, one of the secretaries, the students, and me. Though most of the mural was done, we had to focus on the not-so-fun part, the details. We were instructed by the art teacher to begin retracing letters, painting over mistakes, and adding details to every figure on the wall. This process took us hours upon hours and people began dropping one by one as work left behind began to pile up. By the end of the day, the only ones left were the three students assigned to help with the mural. I promised them I would stick around and help them clean up.

On Thursday, I found out the art teacher had a commitment with the principal and could not show up to school that day. Worried that nothing would get done, I was surprised to find that by the time I arrived at school, the students had already taken out all the materials and were finishing up the details. We finally finished that day by painting “We are environmentally sustainable” in the seven languages taught in our school and by painting the flags of countries representing each language.

Finally, on Friday, the school maintenance finished the border of the mural. and I quickly passed by the school to see how it looked. The art teacher told Francisco and I to sign it along the border, and we got on it.

DELIVER— Bring the project to life. Implement, continue to refine and build lasting sustainability

In the morning, the rector began organizing a presentation for CAR to showcase the strawberry orchards, the chicken coop, the bricks, and the potato chips made at the school. These were among some of the projects CAR helped the school fund.

At 12:30, the director of CAR showed up and the students gave him a tour of the projects they had been working on. He was left quite impressed with the results. Finally, we ended by showing the mural we had created for CAR. We had the typical PR photoshoot with all the important people present at the event. The director followed this with a speech about how special it was to see all the work they had done at my school and how it gave him hope for other schools in Cundinamarca. He finished off by telling us that our school would be given COP $300 million to implement solar panels into our campus.

The rector concluded the tour by saying how all of the projects are amazing. However, the most moving part of this event was not the actual projects themselves, but seeing how each and every student was so proud of the work they had been putting into all their projects. I couldn’t agree more.

What began as an invitation from a colleague, evolved into my first demonstration of how community-driven work takes place, despite its hurdles. From building relationships in a school lounge, to daring to get on top of tables, to having students leaders continually moving the mural along, and carefully repainting each letter, this process was not just about the mural but also the sense of pride from the students, teachers, and community for the work we are capable of doing. Looking back, the mural project didn’t just coincidentally follow the steps of the Participatory Analysis for Community Action, it led to other projects, bringing PACA to life in a way that will continue to impact the school long after the paint has dried.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

In August 2025, my cohort, CII-22, arrived in Colombia as strangers. We met for the first time in a hotel conference room in Miami the evening before our Aug. 25 flight to Barranquilla. That first afternoon of awkward small talk and somewhat forced icebreakers marked the beginning of three months of pre-service training (PST) and the long process of becoming Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs).

In late February 2026, we found ourselves back in another hotel conference room — this time in Duitama, Boyacá — but everything felt different, not just the cool climate. Rather than strangers making small talk, we were friends reuniting after three months of living independently at our sites across the Andean region. We had stories to tell, challenges to compare, and new communities, which were slowly becoming new homes, to share.

The occasion was In-Service Training (IST), a gathering that takes place roughly three months after Volunteers arrive at their permanent sites. For our cohort, it coincided with the six-month mark since we first arrived in Colombia. In many ways, IST felt like a big milestone.

The Transition from PST to Site

The reunion also offered a moment to reflect on what those first months at site had actually been like. After finishing three months of PST, I remember arriving at my site feeling woefully underprepared. During PST on the Caribbean Coast, I lived in a town within walking distance of six other trainees. Our days were packed with sessions covering nearly every imaginable topic: cultural norms, the basics of international development, security practices, Colombian history, and Peace Corps policies. A comprehensive crash course that was both intensive and structured. At the time, it felt like we were preparing for every possible situation.

But, once I arrived at my site, I realized that no amount of training can fully prepare you for actually living and integrating into your community. Literally overnight, I found myself living alone at my permanent site and with almost no structure. Days suddenly filled with uncertainty and small, disorienting unknowns: How do you show up at a school for the first time without a formal invitation? They know you’re coming… but do they really know you’re coming? How do you walk into the mayor’s office, uninvited and introduce yourself and the Peace Corps in your second language? How do you help someone cook an unfamiliar, traditional Christmas meal for 20 people? How do you make friends in a new town in a new country? I’m personally still working on that one.

This transition was something staff and other Peace Corps Volunteers had warned us about for months. But no amount of warning fully prepares you. The best analogy I can offer is this: you receive swimming lessons for months, you can cross the pool, you can stay afloat in the deep end… and then they drop you in the middle of the ocean.

That’s part of what made IST so valuable. After three months of navigating our sites independently, we finally had the chance to come back together, reflect, ask questions, and learn skills that now felt directly relevant to our work. We had a solid base to build from.

A Brief Reunion in Duitama

We arrived in Duitama on a Monday evening. More than anything, I was eager to be reunited with my fellow Andean Volunteers. After months of living separate lives across the country, our evenings were spent sharing meals, playing card games, making late-night frozen yogurt runs to the mall, and exploring the city together.

Training and Skills for the Next Phase

Like PST, our IST schedule ran from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. However, the content felt far more relevant to our daily lives. After three months at site, we had a clearer sense of the challenges Volunteers actually face.

For those of us in the Community Economic Development (CED) program, technical sessions covered problem-solving methods, applying for grants and funding, monitoring and evaluation, working with community partners, developing a Theory of Change, and organizing the Feria de Emprendimiento, which our cohort will lead later this year. The sessions were packed back-to-back; we relied heavily on the coffee in the back of the conference room. But I left IST genuinely inspired, especially after hearing about the projects other Volunteers were already working on at their sites.

Working with Counterparts

One of the most valuable parts of IST was attending alongside our counterparts, the Colombian colleagues we work with in our communities. For many Volunteers, our counterparts are teachers from the schools where we work. A few work in local organizations, including a women’s foundation and el Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje (SENA).

When our counterparts joined the training on the second day, we switched from English to Spanish. It was impressive to see how much everyone’s Spanish had improved in just the first three months at site, and it highlighted one of the many ways we have already grown through our experiences in Colombia.

Peace Corps Staff also shared an overview of the current work PCVs are doing in Colombia. Many teachers are familiar with the entrepreneurship curriculum we teach in schools, but they are less familiar with the broader work Volunteers do in their communities. As a result, this information felt new for many. Some Peace Corps highlights from 2025 were having 40 CED Volunteers in 35 municipalities across Colombia; 1,470 students participating in entrepreneurship events; 1,867 students applying basic business skills to their projects; and 609 students demonstrating improved personal money-management skills. Hearing those numbers helped put our individual work into a broader national context, particularly for our counterparts.

Presenting and Celebrating our Sites

One of the most enjoyable activities was the Feria de Sitios, where each Volunteer presented their community — highlighting local strengths, economic opportunities, and characteristic products. Tables were filled with specialties — including cheese, panela, coffee, artisan crafts, and many photos.

It was impressive to see how much everyone had learned about their communities in such a short time. It was evident that we had started to feel a genuine sense of belonging in our pueblos. Many counterparts seemed proud to watch their Volunteer colleague speak confidently about the town they both now called home.

One Last Stop: Exploring Pueblito Boyacense

On Friday morning, after our counterparts had departed, a few of us walked through the city to Pueblito Boyacense. The pueblito, a tourist enclave located in the El Rosal vereda, celebrates the art, culture, architecture, and traditions of Boyacá. The village’s streets recreate buildings from several historic towns in the department, including Villa de Leyva, Tibasosa, Tenza, El Cocuy, Sáchica, Monguí, and Ráquira. There are cafés, restaurants, artisan shops, and plenty of local products — ranging from fruit mermeladas to leather goods to traditional wool ruanas.

We didn’t stay long. Eventually, artisan shops and tinto gave way to bus rides back to our respective corners of the Andes. But there was something right about ending the week there. Walking past mini versions of Villa de Leyva, Tibasosa, and Ráquira, towns I had actually visited in my first few months, I realized how much ground we had already covered. Six months into service, there’s still plenty ahead, but now we have a better sense of where we are headed.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

As a TEFL Volunteer, the never-ending routine of going to school five days a week, in the same building and the same classrooms, is a less than subtle reminder of the monotony of our own days in school. It is easy to understand why some of our students get so restless. This monotony is exactly why exploring my colegio’s sedes has been such an unexpected and rewarding experience, something I recommend every volunteer do. Getting out into the rural, primary, and specialized campuses could be exactly what you’re looking for to switch up your workflow and serve a different population.

Initial observations from one sede at my site, in particular, have left me with valuable takeaways and still-developing feelings. The Fundación San Francisco de Asis is a special campus administered by the Instituto Colombiano de Bienestar Familiar, a government agency, and the colegio I work at. San Francisco serves principally two youth populations: School-aged children who are in the care of the State after being abandoned or removed from their homes to guarantee their rights and justice-impacted youth, sometimes with a history of substance abuse and criminal offenses.

My impressions started to form before I even visited. On one hand, the previous volunteer at my site commented about the foundation in their final report, writing, “This is the most meaningful work I have done during my service.” That seemed promising. On the other hand, teachers at my colegio warned me that I had to watch my things if I went because they could be stolen by students. Professors grabbed me by the shoulders to caution how “heavy” the environment was.

When I went for the first time, I waited until San Francisco’s English teacher picked me up to make the 10-minute drive. We arrived at a double gate fence that opened into a sprawling, verdant field and a circular cobblestone driveway. The complex was beautiful, especially the main school and dorm building headed by a palm tree-lined path and a backdrop of blue coffee hills.

The structure prompted questions, and I learned that students—all 150 of them—live on the grounds full time. They sleep, eat all three meals, study, and play within the confines of the campus, and they are never able to go into the pueblo except for medical or legal visits that require it. Students are entitled to on-site medical care from nurses available at all hours, and they receive a balanced diet with no sodas permitted. All wear plain clothes with no designs or logos. The classrooms and dorms seemed clean.

The dynamic of the class was evidently different from my main campus. Indeed, kids presented rowdier behavior, sometimes shouting in class and displaying defiance or a resistance to participate. However, they were also more inquisitive. When I did my introduction, many more students asked questions about my personal life than at the colegio, which was heartening. They were appreciative that I had visited their class and wanted to know when the next time would be.

I realized that what other professors had labeled as misbehavior was really a need for patience and sensitivity. If I was to continue visiting San Francisco, my priority wouldn’t necessarily be English fluency measured in raw ICFES scores, but being another patient support and providing them a cultural exchange they seldom have access to. This reminded me of my job before Peace Corps as a Family Resource Specialist in a youth court-diversion program, built on the tenets of restorative justice.

In another moment of reflection, it caught me by surprise when I noticed students calling my counterpart “madre” and the male professors “padre.” One staff member explained that, in some cases, the professors were the only parent-like figures in their lives, while another offered that it was instead a linguistic feature of the lower-class dialect. Whatever the reasoning, I was also being called padre by my second or third visit, a title I never thought I would be given in Colombia. Still, it surprises me and inspires curiosity.

Since San Francisco is a sort of boarding school, the State can send any children in its care to, the students represent a much greater geographical and linguistic diversity than my main colegio. I’ve met kids from Chocó, the eje cafetero, la costa, los llanos, and large cities. In one class where I introduced myself, my counterpart helpfully pointed out that somebody else brought the strength of speaking another language. A young girl explained she was from the Ēmbērā Dobidá indigenous group and showed everybody how to say “good morning” in her language.

While I had a good experience visiting the campus, I felt skeptical considering the historical reputation of similar institutions, such as American Indian boarding schools in the United States. How are students disciplined? Are there cases of abuse or neglect? What is the quality of socioemotional and physical health care available to them? On a hike with one of the professors who has become a close friend, I asked these questions and she responded honestly. She was surprised to hear that nursing homes and boarding schools are infamously riddled with abuse, and she disclosed that her understanding of the foundation was a positive one. As far as she knew, there weren’t any scandals, and the staff genuinely cares for the health and safety of students. When it comes to discipline, the coordinators have a “por unos, pagan todos” approach so that students are incentivized to behave. She explained that the school was created to ensure the rights of youth in vulnerable situations.

My experience at San Francisco has been rewarding thus far, and I am anxious to explore the primary and rural campuses in my site, which surely have their own challenges and lessons. The opportunity can be especially impactful when those students have low access to quality English instruction; professors at these schools may not be as well-equipped as the ones in your main campus. I wish that Peace Corps facilitated more opportunities and provided better information about working at these sedes. In addition to greater English exposure, there is an added social benefit because mentoring this youth population fosters positive development and empowers them to overcome social and emotional challenges, creating a healthier, safer, and more equal society in the long-term. I invite my fellow volunteers to share their own experiences they might have had with sedes, either through OÍSTE or other means, so that we can encourage more work here, explore best practices, and enjoy the diversity of these uniquely beautiful campuses.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication was generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

I knew that signing up for Peace Corps Colombia was going to be difficult, but I knew the first three months of training on the sweltering coast would be really tough. All my life, I could deal with a fair amount of heat. Growing up in tropical El Salvador made that relatively easy. When I moved to Florida, I remember going to school in sweaters even though it was 90 degrees every day. My mom would describe stepping out in Florida like stepping out into a heated oven, but for me, it felt like a warm hug.

The first time the heat felt unbearable to me was my sister’s graduation in 2021 in Florida, approximately 4 years after I had moved to Ohio. We traveled down to the Florida Keys to celebrate the first of my siblings to graduate from college. I remember stepping out into that unbearable heat of the Keys and almost crying from how hot it was. I swore then that I would never live in a place so hot in my life again.

When I realized Pre-Service Training (PST) would be on the coast, I knew I had to mentally and physically prepare for the coast’s heat. After hearing anecdotes from previous volunteers, I was scared. When PST began, my fellow PCVs would laugh along when I explained everything I did to prepare for the Peace Corps—hand washing my clothes on a random WFH Friday, or going to the butcher shop to buy chicken only to run away from the sight of a pig's head in the refrigerator. Though all very comical, many of my fellow PCVs thought the things I did to prepare for the heat were especially funny—working in my back porch during the summer to acclimate to the heat, running along the Charles river with a long-sleeve shirt on, running at 3 p.m. in my parents’ neighborhood in Florida. I felt these practices would ensure I would be able to deal with the coast.

When my fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I first stepped out of the plane in Barranquilla, I heard someone say, “Shut the door, there's no more air, only humidity.” Seeing the faces the other PCVs made as we stepped out of the plane was priceless. Many of them were already sweating through their shirts when we got on the bus. Martin kept on passing his water-splashing fan around; Jean sat next to me and said, “I’ve never experienced this type of heat before.”

Our first week felt like a ticking time bomb until reality really set in. We spent that first week in an air-conditioned hotel, letting the sweltering hours pass by. Only until 6 p.m., when we were allowed to leave the hotel, did we begin to realize what our everyday realities would feel like. PCV Adonis and I walked back from the mall, and they had fully sweated through their grey shirt by the time we made it to the hotel.

The day before leaving for our training towns, I texted the volunteer in my training town about my host family. She left me with some very wise words: “Enjoy your last day of AC.”

My fellow PCVs and I got dropped off one by one in our training towns, with many speculating whether the facade of the house meant we could have AC or not. Upon entering my new room, I was relieved to find an AC unit and quickly became disappointed when my host mom said, “It doesn’t work.” Despite wearing my lightest of clothing, just sitting on the dinner table with my host mom talking about house rules had me sweating through my shirt within 30 minutes.

The initial sweating stories continued throughout that first week—PCV Henry questionably wore a full suit to church that Sunday and was drenched by the time church was out. I accidentally broke my fan’s cable and was crying, thinking I would have to sleep one night without a fan, only for my host dad to quickly fix it since it had happened many times.

Like a diligent Peace Corps volunteer, I came prepared to deal with this heat—a solar-powered fan, cooling headbands, a cooling neck band, and a hand fan. On my first day of language and culture, and packed with all my protectors, I took out my most powerful gadget—my solar-powered fan hat found through the one and only TikTok shop. Immediately upon putting it on my head, one of the fans fell and broke in half, leaving me mercilessly hot on our first community walk in the intense heat of Atlántico.

I remember that day as the hottest day I had experienced in my life. The following lunches were completely overwhelming as we found out that typical Colombian lunches’ first dish is hot soup. Here was where my fellow PCVs and I got to gulp our hot soups while we bonded over our experiences in Colombia. Later on, I found out that soup, with its high temperature, helps you cool down from the heat.

My initial days in my town after training were spent in front of the fan in my room, incapable of doing anything but scrolling on my phone—I couldn’t do anything that required mental cognition. I recently read an interesting article that explained that when there is 100% humidity at a certain temperature, the body cannot do anything to cool itself down except to stop all physical movement. Dealing with intense heat is something many of us in the developed world will never experience.

A little less than a week into PST, I was moved from my host family for safety and security reasons to a hotel in search of a new host family and training town. Looking back, that week in the AC hotel was a much-needed break from the heat and the realities of living in rural Colombia.

After a week and a half in the hotel, I picked up my bags and met my new host family. Though sad I also didn’t have AC in my room, I was relieved to find out that my host grandma’s and sister’s room had one and I was always welcomed to sleep. There were two beds that could fit up to five people in the room if two people shared the full-size bed, two people shared the full-size mattress on the floor, and one person slept in the twin-size bed. This surplus quickly became a bonding moment with my host family as I took up this offer many times. My host grandma would invite me into the room on weekdays to watch “Desafío,” a reality TV game where people complete challenge courses in teams. While we watched, I would journal and root for Equipo Salmón, my host grandma’s favorite team. My host sister and I did movie nights in the room with her friends, my other host sister, and my host grandma. After a couple of weeks, I began to feel bad about not giving them their space and began to frequent it less often. I would only go into the AC room when I was really tired. The bond remained, however, and two weeks before my time with my host family ended, my host sister asked me if I could sleep in their room before I left.

About three weeks into PST, I decided it was time to get moving from sitting in front of my phone and fan. The PCVs in my pueblo started frequenting a gym called Nutrifitness that had AC and, therefore, was more manageable to get your body moving. Despite the 10 AC units in the gym, I would still be sweating profusely upon finishing my workout. PCV Dani and I started going on Saturdays since there was nothing better to do during the sweltering middle of the day except hang out inside an AC’d gymnasium. We then started going every other day, since my already very heat-damaged hair was too damaged to be washed every day.

Sometimes I would give myself a chill day, one where it was okay to not be productive in the gym and do some self-care at home instead. This consisted of putting on my Neutrogena face wash, a peppermint face mask, washing all the sweat from my face, and refreshing my pores. This became a ritual of mine, and I would describe this to my friends as similar to the pleasure of an afternoon cigarette. I began inviting Dani to come over and do the same, and “share a cigarette.” My host dad would joke that we were mimes and scared off the thieves from the house. Dani said she thinks he had never seen her without the face mask off.

Despite the debilitating heat, our group always seemed to have enough energy to throw a party on a sweltering Saturday afternoon. Almost every Saturday, a generous host family would offer their house to host all 45 volunteers. Because of the strict 6:30 p.m. curfew we have as volunteers, the parties would often start after lunch, the hottest hour of the day. Even the journey to the training town where the party was hosted already had us sweating profusely. Yet, we would arrive, turn up the speakers at full volume, and dance the entire afternoon away. I remember having to constantly wipe myself with paper towels from so much dancing. One thing I will never understand is how this extreme heat can make you want to dance so much.

After three months of living on the coast, my fellow PCVs and I began to mark our accomplishments of defeating the heat. Many of us would be proud if we were capable of putting on a single sheet over us at night. I began to frequent my host grandma’s and sister’s room less. Despite continuing to sweat buckets after long days of training, we somehow still managed to make it to swearing-in with no one quitting for heat-related reasons.

Looking back, my preparations for the coastal heat were warranted; the heat I experienced was no joke. Many of us Andes people were counting down the days until we made it into the mountains. I remember the day my Andes peeps and I stepped out of the airplane and realized the cozy weather we were going to live in. “Oh my god, this is perfect,” I remember PCV Gavin saying.

Now freezing in my bedroom with my hand-warming gadget on me, I remember the heat of the coast, not with defeat, but with a sense of pride. When asked back home about the Peace Corps, I cannot stop talking about how proud I am of my fellow volunteers—the long walks around our pueblos, the long sitting in sweltering offices, the hot soup lunches, the sunburns, how many of us are in even hotter sites. I explain again and again that living without AC is no easy feat and these people did it. But as I look back upon these memories, I realize I found a different way of living where we embraced warmth, community, and, of course, lots of sweaty dancing.

I decided to go to the Carnaval in Barranquilla after hearing about it so much in my childhood and throughout PST. I had a conversation with a past volunteer about her visit to Carnaval. I had mentioned how nervous I was about returning after months of living in the cold mountains. She mentioned that she felt the same way. Fortunately, it’s breezy season in Barranquilla during Carnaval, and it was not as shocking as she thought it would be.

Despite her advice, I was still very nervous about going and mentally prepared myself to experience the heat again. I brought the clothes that had helped me manage the heat the best and the gadgets I still had on me.

The poster boards outside of the airport no longer had the same advertisement as they did back in August; this time, they welcomed me to the Carnaval de Barranquilla. Thankfully, I understood what the volunteer meant by the breeze. Upon re-entering my host family’s house, we sat in the same house where I sweated profusely for months, this time catching up on my new site. Through the countless hours I sat in parades and danced through the heat, it no longer felt like a feat to get through, but the warm hug of something familiar.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication was generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

The day after the Super Bowl, I watched Bad Bunny’s half-time performance in class with my 11th graders.

My students didn’t know how controversial the performance had been in the U.S. They just saw how impactful the performance was in its representation of Latino culture. They identified many references quickly. The caña, which grows all around our town. The boy sleeping at the wedding. The shoutouts and flags of countries across the Americas, including Colombia’s. My counterpart and I asked what they thought about the performance in general and about having a Spanish-speaking artist perform at the event. “Fue increíble,” many said. Seeing the representation of their culture on a global stage was special, especially how it was celebrated and viewed as a point of pride.

It was powerful for me too, to see a positive reflection of the U.S. in my town. I have been at site for more than a year now, and I have seen a shift in how people in my town discuss the United States. Many have family members who have moved overseas, including to the U.S., for work. When they hear that I’m American, they’re excited to share about their family members, and we talk a bit about where they live and how they’ve liked the U.S. so far. Now, though, the conversations go a bit differently. People are still excited to tell me about their family members, but they also tell me about their worries. How their son, or daughter, or brother is worried about leaving their home everyday. How even if they’re documented, they don’t think that’s enough anymore, and they carry their papers everywhere. How they are trying to go through the path to get a green card or citizenship, but they’ve been waiting three years now and expect to wait three more. How they discourage other family members from migrating to the U.S. as well. It’s just too dangerous.

An overwhelming majority of Americans believe it's important for the U.S. to be respected around the world (91%, according to a Pew Research Study). The reasons for this are articulated in the article Why the World Needs America by neoconservative columnist Robert Kagan. Published in 2012, he argues that the “present world order” rests on America continuing to be a world power. He includes democracy and free markets as hallmarks of that threatened world order.

Despite this still being the view of many Americans, U.S. influence has begun to wane. Other countries have begun to view the U.S. more negatively since Trump became president in January 2025. The proportion of those who believe the U.S. is a positive global influence fell in 26 of 29 countries surveyed from October 2024 to April 2025. In Colombia, it dropped from 77% to 60%. This change comes as the U.S. has withdrawn from many multilateral organizations, such as the World Health Organization, the Human Rights Council, and UN Women. One analysis states these decisions “will only serve to harm the interests of the American people and further isolate the U.S. at a time when international cooperation is more important than ever.” China has overtaken the U.S. in being considered a global positive influence for the first time (an average of 49% surveyed believe China is a global positive influence vs. 46% who believe the U.S. is). This change in how the U.S. acts and is viewed on the global stage seems likely to remake the world order and international relations as we know them.

Colombia provides a clear example of how other countries’ relationships with the United States have come under strain. Traditionally, many Latin American countries, including Colombia, have had strong relationships with the U.S. and been very close allies. Recently, though, the relationship between the two countries has changed considerably. Left-wing Colombian President Gustavo Petro has had many conflicts with Trump. One of the first was in January 2025, soon after Trump became President again. Petro refused U.S. military aircraft that were deporting Colombians after videos emerged of migrants handcuffed while being led to departing planes. He wrote in a post on X, “A migrant is not a criminal and must be treated with the dignity that a human being deserves… if that country sends them back, it must be with dignity and respect for them and for our country.” That led to escalating sanctions from the U.S. and Colombia until a deal was reached.

Trump and Petro have improved their relationship following Petro’s visit to the White House on February 3rd, but the country still has a complicated relationship with the U.S. The U.S. has stopped processing visas from 75 countries, including Colombia. The State Department posted on X that “The State Department will pause immigrant visa processing from 75 countries whose migrants take welfare from the American people at unacceptable rates.”

The world has also watched the country crack down on immigration enforcement within the U.S., and the corresponding protests have resulted in the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. Colombian news sites report on the U.S. and the hostilities Colombian immigrants have faced. For example, Caracol, one of the most popular news sources in Colombia, shared four articles on February 11th about María Antonia Guerra through their WhatsApp. Antonia Guerra is a nine-year-old who travelled to Miami to visit her mother, who was living there. After arriving in the U.S., she was detained and questioned alone. She and her mother were then arrested and taken to a detention center in Texas, where they have been for more than four months. They were released on February 6th, but they continue to speak about the psychological impacts of the detention and the “infierno” (“hell”) they endured. Anecdotally, Colombians hearing about how their fellow citizens are being treated in the U.S. is doing nothing to help develop a positive view of the U.S. nor to improve the countries’ relationship.

Bad Bunny’s half-time performance wasn’t as universally celebrated in the U.S. as it was in my classroom. The performance instead faced a huge amount of controversy. Trump described it in a Truth Social post as “an affront to the Greatness of America, and doesn’t represent our standards of Success, Creativity, or Excellence,” and focused specifically on the performance mainly being in Spanish—saying, “Nobody understands a word this guy is saying” (English only became the official language of the United States in March 2025, when Trump signed an executive order declaring it so). Trump ally Laura Loomer reacted to the performance by posting on X, “There’s nothing American about any of this” (Bad Bunny is an American citizen).

People outside the U.S. see how their culture and people are being discussed and dismissed by powerful American political figures, which continues to affect and erode relationships with other countries and fuels worry for their loved ones who currently live in the U.S. In just the span of a year, international views of the United States have already changed considerably. It remains to be seen how those views will continue to evolve through this new era of “America-First” politics.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

Where was your site?

Angela: Valledupar, Cesar

Brieara: Fonseca, La Guajira

Gabriel: Manaure, Cesar

Jenny: San Juan del Cesar, La Guajira

Alec: Riohacha, La Guajira

Spencer: Riohacha, La Guajira

What did you do upon hearing you would be evacuated from your site? How did you feel and what was your initial reaction?

Jenny: I was shook to my core—I didn’t know what to think or do. The agency gave us a checklist of things to do in site; to say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. The same day we were told we would have to evacuate, conversations began about potential new sites—or going home. In the middle of all that, I was trying to figure out how to break the news to my community, all while responding to the agency about where I wanted to go next. Everything moved so fast, I never had time to breathe. I loved it there. I fell in love with San Juan. There’s a saying in San Juanera: “Costumbre San Juanera entrega el corazón”—and it couldn’t be more true. It’s a magical place that stole my heart.

Gabriel: Cried my eyes out. Never cried so hard as an adult. I couldn’t help but think about the people who needed me in the community—my students, counterparts, host family, friends—and how I would explain the situation to them. Moreover, I was worried about their safety, because at the time, the region seemed to be getting much more dangerous.

Angela: What did I do? I didn’t really do anything. I seriously considered ET’ing because I didn’t want to start over again. It is not easy to integrate into a community.

Brieara: Cried. Lots of crying. It was very upsetting because I was just starting to feel like part of the community, and the family treated me like one of their own, which I’m eternally grateful for. I never saw it coming, and it was very sad and shocking. My host mom was the first person I told, and from there I relayed the news to the rest of the people it would affect. Many people were confused and upset that I had to leave, but I couldn’t say anything other than the security reasons I was given.

Did you perceive any changes in the safety situation at your site?

Alec: I understood the staff’s decision. More and more worry was in the air and it was public knowledge that things were getting serious with the armed groups. People knew not to go outside after 10pm, and with their protective instinct they made sure I knew too. Luckily, I never personally experienced a safety/security incident, but I had heard enough first-hand accounts from friends and seen enough local social media content to know that they weren’t making the stuff up.

Spencer: The thing about Rioacha is that it was never a site that was safe. There were some curfews that were being put in place right before we got pulled out. Some “social cleansing” of this new group. The [Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC)] left, and the self-defense group of the Sierra Nevada came in after FARC left because FARC was going to fight a war in Catatumbo. This group took their place, and there was a perceived threat from the Embassy that there would be a fight whenever FARC came back. There was this curfew that the auto-defense of the Sierra Nevada put in place and they sent around notes saying they were going to kill anybody who was out past 10. But overall, I would say there weren’t really changes, not because it was always safe, but more because it was always super dangerous.

Angela: I did not perceive any changes in the safety situation at my site. But, there was a letter that was disseminated into the community about “limpieza social” that some friends showed me. It made me feel a little nervous, but I also knew I would not be out and about after the “limpieza” time. I was following my routine site safety precautions.

Brieara: When I first arrived at site, there was always the warning that I needed to be a little more cautious in La Guajira as a whole. However, in my site I personally never noticed a change in the safety situation.

Gabriel: At the time, yes. There was definitely some sort of armed activity going on, as a tank was seen at 3 A.M. in a neighborhood of Manaure. However, after I got evacuated, nothing really happened. Life goes on as usual to this day (thankfully for the community).

How did you say goodbye to your community?

Jenny: Saying goodbye to my community was one of the hardest moments of my service. Every time I told someone, I ended up crying. I had this long checklist of things to do—projects to close out, people to see—while also trying to say goodbye to everyone. That week, I cried more than I ever had. San Juan became my family. These people took care of me in ways I’ll never forget. How do you say goodbye to people who have become family? Every day, I was invited to a new despedida (farewell), and my emotions would get the best of me each time. Because I left so quickly, there are many people I never got the chance to say goodbye to. Since my departure, I still get messages and calls asking, “¿Dónde está mi teacher?”

Alec: I said goodbye to each of my classes face-to-face, and I took my host family out to a nice meal and wrote them a heartfelt thank-you card. I walked around the city and said bye to friends I played with in the band, the produce vendor outside the Ara who I always got into deep conversations with, and of course, gave my host family’s dogs a few extra treats. It was nothing too grand, but the goodbye moments were difficult and beautiful nonetheless.

Brieara: I had only been there for about 3 months because I was a newly sworn-in volunteer at the time, so my time saying goodbye was spent having one last hangout with my friends and a dinner with my host family.

What have you been up to since you left your site? How have things gone?

Gabriel: After evacuation, I decided to continue service and moved to the interior, where I lived and worked in Sogamoso, Boyacá for about 5 months. By being in such close proximity to Bogotá and having conversations, especially with my SENA counterparts, the idea of going to graduate school in Colombia emerged as an idea, and eventually a full-on plan. I finished my service in July, and am currently studying International Law at the Universidad de los Andes, here in Bogotá. I hope to visit Manaure sometime soon!

Alec: Once I came back [to the U.S.] in February, I started searching for jobs, and luckily I landed a sort of unexpected one! I just started teaching band, choir, and guitar at Bohemia Manor High School! I always thought I’d go into teaching middle school before leveling up to high school, but this has felt like a good fit so far. I’m just 2 weeks in, but I can definitely say that my time serving as a PCV helped prepare me for just about any level of chaos this next chapter of life can throw at me.

Spencer: Since I left my site, I went to Tunja for a second, which was fun. But I left to go on tour with Carnegie Hall with the National Youth Orchestra. So we went through Osaka, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Beijing, Shanghai, [and] Seoul, we did a tour and that was really fun. And then I left to go to Paris, so I’m in Paris right now doing a master’s degree.

Angela: I have been working on integrating in my new community. In addition, I have been trying to get acclimated at school and I have been able to begin my community language classes, which I am so excited about! Again, integrating into a new community has not been easy and in some ways it has been a bit slower than in my previous site due to the different types of communities they are.

Brieara: Since I’ve left, I’ve been relocated to Usiacurí, Atlántico. It’s quite a beautiful town and known for its touristy aspects such as the artisanal crafts, the viewpoint, the stunning church, and colorful rooftops/murals that can be seen throughout the town. It was definitely a challenge when I first got there because I was grieving what I had lost and coming to terms with having to start over again. It’s never easy to start over but with time, things have greatly improved and I’m really looking forward to what next year brings.

Jenny: Since leaving La Guajira, I’ve started over from scratch in the magical town of Mompox, Bolívar. At first, it was incredibly hard—I was in a dark place mentally. I missed my host family, my students, and my friends deeply. But then something beautiful happened. My students at the Normal in Mompox began to shower me with love. Every morning, they show up at my door just to walk me to school. Their endless affection and cariño have taken up a huge part of my heart. What started as an unexpected and painful evacuation has become a blessing in disguise. Mompox is a hidden gem my heart didn’t know it needed.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

Newly sworn-in Peace Corps Volunteers have just arrived to their sites, their homes for the next two years. Traditionally, the first three months of a PCV’s service are dedicated to observation and integration. During this time, they are expected to focus on learning more about their community and its needs. Below, we give some advice for how to approach your first months at site and what to look forward to during the Christmas season in Colombia.

What can I do to integrate at my site?

My first few days at site, I wasn’t sure what I should do. Even though I had just completed three months of training, I was alone in an entirely new town that I knew nothing about. It felt like night and day from Pre-Service Training, where every moment of my day was scheduled and I often traveled in a pack of gringos. My first few days, I pushed myself to just get out of the house and explore. That ended up being exactly what I needed to do. I walked around my town, getting to know its landmarks and layout. I spent hours in various panaderías, coffee shops, and the plaza. Other volunteers have had success with going to a gym, joining sports teams, and attending rumba classes—it depends on what is available in your site. Find out what people in your site spend their time doing, and follow suit.

Being out and about led to many spontaneous conversations with community members. I was curious about them and their town, and they were curious about me. Especially when you first get to site, feel free to ask about everything. You aren’t expected to know anything about your town yet, and in my experience, people want to share.

Early on in my time at site, I sat reading in the plaza while some kids were roller-skating. I noticed that they glanced in my direction each time they skated past. I said hi to them on their next lap, and it opened a door for us to begin talking. They were excited to learn that I was a foreigner and they showed off their English skills. I asked them questions about the town, their interests, and their experiences with English. They were very excited to share. I ended up learning about everything from their hobbies, to where kids often went to school, to the common jobs in town. Talk to everyone—you never know what you’ll learn from them.

What are some Christmas traditions in Colombia?

Christmas is a huge holiday in Colombia. By now, towns and cities are decked in Christmas decorations. As a result, it’s an exciting time to enter a community. Christmas is a very family-oriented holiday in Colombia, so it’s also a great opportunity to spend time with your host family.

The Christmas season officially starts with la Noche de las Velitas, celebrated on December 7. Last year in my town in Boyacá, families gathered in the evening and lit candles. Each candle had someone’s name or a value (like prosperity or love) written on it. The lighting of the candle represented a hope for blessings in the new year for that person.

My favorite Christmas tradition is the Novena de Aguinaldos, a nine-day period of prayer leading up to Christmas. How Novena is celebrated depends a lot on your site. In my town, it consisted of more religious, traditional celebrations. Even though I’m not religious, it was an amazing cultural experience. Every night of Novena began with a gathering at the church. Everyone then proceeded to go to someone’s house. Each night, we went to a different neighborhood. Along the way, the priest and select community members led us in prayers and hymns. We would arrive at the house, which typically had an elaborate nativity scene, and the priest would lead a short Mass. Then, neighbors distributed some light snacks. My favorite day of Novena was the first one, on December 16. It was the most elaborate. We walked in the dark on a trail that crossed over a rickety footbridge. We ended in a finca, which had a nativity scene with live animals. Novena was a great time to get to meet members of my community and explore different areas of town.

All of this leads up to Christmas Eve, or Nochebuena. Be ready to have fun, play games, and eat natilla and buñuelos, traditional Christmas foods. Christmas is the perfect time to get to know your new home, so embrace all the new Christmas traditions you’ll experience in the next month!

Disclaimer: The content of this publication was generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

Dear CII-22,

First and foremost, congratulations once again on making it through Pre-Service Training. I hope the next two years of service become some of the most rewarding, challenging, and unforgettable years of your life. I already find myself missing the small moments that made our group feel like a family. The last three months have been nothing short of an emotional rollercoaster. I want to take a moment to remember the twists and turns of that journey, and the memories that made it so special.

We first met on a Sunday afternoon in Latin America’s unofficial capital, Miami, where we all (somewhat painfully) introduced ourselves by sharing our names, hometowns, and one item from our luggage. After an early morning departure, we arrived in Barranquilla and were greeted by incredible staff who welcomed us to our new home, Colombia. I hope none of us ever forget that our very first meal in this country was, quite fittingly, Colombian Chipotle.

Our first week in Barranquilla brought us closer together, whether during training sessions, card games by the pool, food runs to the mall, or while waiting in line for what felt like an endless number of vaccines. We also celebrated two surprise birthdays for some truly amazing girls, Irene and Sofia. As the week came to an end, it was finally time for our training town reveals. I distinctly remember the anticipation of where we’d spend the next three months, what our host families would be like, and which familiar faces we’d find nearby.

The next stage of PST took place in our training towns, where adversity met determination. This was the phase that truly tested us. Maybe your host family’s diet was nothing like what you were used to. Maybe the power went out on a hot Caribbean night. Maybe your morning showers involved nothing but a bucket and a strong will. But no matter the challenge, we made it through. It was truly special to watch each of us grow, adapt, and slowly weave ourselves into the rhythm of our new communities.

And of course, we can’t forget our second home, SENA Baranoa. Who could ever forget the day we all dressed like Miguel, the moment we first met SuperMauricio, or the legendary paper plane contest? I know I’m not the only one who will miss those SENA days and the feeling of being together as one big, chaotic, family.

Villa Zunilda was the place where we received our permanent sites. We had some amazing presentations and performances by our amazing Language and Culture Facilitators, who we hopefully impressed during our own presentations at swearing-in. Allow me to also remind you of the little envelope with a colored sticker, representing our departments: Sucre, Magdalena, Bolívar, Atlántico, Cundinamarca, and Boyacá. One by one, we placed our faces on the map, and for the first time, we could truly picture what awaited us beyond PST.

By now, you’ve likely dipped your toes into your new community and started to see what life at site will look like. As you move forward, remember this: the next two years are yours to shape. There will be challenges, moments of doubt, and days that test your patience and resolve — but never forget you are the author of your own story, and how it unfolds is entirely in your hands.

As we begin this next chapter, let’s also not forget that we are guests in this country, invited here to serve. Let’s carry ourselves with humility and respect, remembering the trust our communities have placed in us. Parents are trusting us with their children, and entrepreneurs with their businesses. Let’s rise to the moment and honor that trust with our best effort.

I would also like to encourage you to believe in what you’ve already accomplished. We made it through PST together, and we now have the knowledge, the tools, and the resilience to thrive. The past three months have prepared us for what’s ahead. I have no doubt that each of you has exactly what it takes to succeed.

I hope you’ve all taken the time to truly cherish these past months we’ve shared together. I want to leave you with one final message. We are CII-22, and we will always be CII-22. Let’s continue to look out for one another — lend a helping hand, check in on each other’s well-being, stay in touch, and let bygones be bygones. At the end of the day, we are a family, maybe a slightly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

Here’s to the journey ahead, may we all make it one worth remembering.

Best,

Martin Ochoa

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Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps

I opened my eyes, excited that today was the day of the 50-mile bike ride I was planning to do with some friends. But then I realized, I had already started the ride. In fact, I was about 17 miles in last time I checked. Something wasn’t right. Why was I lying on the ground, and oh gosh, why did everything hurt? I started looking around frantically. There was a small group of people crowded around me, blankets covering my body, and my friends Ximena and Ivonne were standing off to the side. As soon as they noticed I was awake, they came running over. They must have seen the confusion on my face because they began to explain that I had been hit by a car and that an ambulance was on the way.

When I recount the story now, I tell people that I reacted calmly: assessing my vital organs, checking to make sure I wasn’t paralyzed, then asking to call my boyfriend. But the truth is, my heart dropped in that moment. I knew the fact that I was laying there on the side of the road instead of finishing the 50-mile ride and celebrating with friends meant that something had not gone as planned and that things were about to change.

To give a little context, said side of the road was in the Andes of Colombia. I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, living and working in Ubaté, Cundinamarca, where I was sent as part of the Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) program.

Despite some initial hesitations about joining the Peace Corps, I was reassured when staff consistently stressed that our objective was more than just teaching English. As Volunteers, we were encouraged to truly integrate in the community — make friends, spend time with our host families, experience the culture and connect with teachers at our schools. Arguably, this was the more important aim of the Peace Corps: fostering relationships with and cultivating understanding of people from a different culture.

I can confidently say that the biggest takeaway from my accident and the events that followed is that this aspect of the Peace Corps is the true goal of our service.

Including training, I had been in-country for fifteen months by then and I was five days shy of my one-year anniversary in Ubaté. Long enough to have made some friends and grown comfortable in my new home. I had shared Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day with my host family, as well as graduations, birthdays, and even funerals. My host grandfather, Fernando, called me hija and Joel, the nine-year-old cousin, challenged me to Go Fish every time I came over. Everyone I met, from my coworkers, to my friends, to strangers in the community, worked to make me feel at home and at ease in Ubaté and it wasn’t until after everything was over that I realized how important that was.

I was later told that we waited about an hour and a half for the ambulance to arrive. After two ambulance services refused to come get me because it was (a) Sunday and (b) too far of a drive, Fernando got on the phone and gave some people a talking to, and one was dispatched. Without his help, I don’t know how much longer I would have waited or if an ambulance would have ever come to get me.

I only remember flashes from that wait, but one thing I do remember clearly is another biker who stopped to help. I can’t really recall his face, but I can vividly picture the bike jersey he was wearing – the red, yellow and blue ones we had all received for signing up. I know there were a lot of other people crowded around me, but in my memory his brightly colored bike jersey is all that sticks out. I remember him asking me over and over again what my name was, where I was from, how old I was — all the basic questions, doing anything he could to keep me awake.

At first I couldn’t form a coherent sentence in Spanish to answer the man’s questions — luckily, Ximena speaks English. Ximena was one of my closest friends in Ubaté, always inviting me out to eat, signing us up for 10k runs, or planning crazy bike adventures. Gradually the language returned to me, but I was still clearly confused as I told the other biker I was from Connecticut when I am most definitely from Maryland, and for a period of time I thought I was at our lake house in Virginia looking for my grandmother, Mimi.

I remember alternating between calm acceptance and hysterical crying — I didn’t know what had happened. I knew that it hurt to move, that I was covered in blood, and that no one would let me look at my legs. Lying on the side of that road was the scariest experience of my life.

But when I think back to the host of people who came to my aid even in just this short hour and a half, I appreciate one thing and am left speechless. It didn’t matter where I was from or what language I spoke, I had become part of the community and Ximena, Ivonne, and countless others were by my side and would do whatever it takes.

When the ambulance finally arrived, they splinted my right leg with a good ol’ cardboard box and transferred me to a stretcher. The next hour and a half as we drove to the hospital was excruciating. I felt every bump in the road shoot through my leg (and believe me, there are many bumps on remote Colombian roads) and my left hand throbbed constantly.

Somehow through my pain, I remembered that I needed to contact the Peace Corps. Ximena took care of everything, calling the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) and explaining what had happened while also keeping my US family updated. She must have been in shock herself, as the car had almost hit her as well, yet she was able to remain calm and do what needed to be done.

Finally, we arrived at the local hospital in Ubaté. I was brought inside where my host mom Daissy was waiting, along with Ximena’s mom, Dora. They were distraught but leapt into action and got me admitted. Ximena, Daissy and Dora filled out forms, checked-in with nurses, and even convinced a doctor to come in even though he wasn’t on duty that day.They did everything in their power to make sure that I was given the best care possible.

The next couple hours were a blur. I remember being strapped to the gurney in the hallway for so long my butt started to hurt more than my leg, talking to my mom back in the U.S. on the phone for the first time since the accident, and Ximena carefully and gently removing my earrings and other jewelry so I could get my x-rays and CT scans. Nearly six hours after the accident, we finally learned that I had an open fracture of my right tibia, a large gaping wound on the same knee, several broken bones in my left hand and wrist, and severe road rash all over my body, including my face. I was lucky though: my head, back and internal organs had made it through unscathed (always wear a helmet, folks).

At some point, a Peace Corps staff member, María Paula, arrived to help coordinate my transfer to Clínica de Marly, a private hospital in the town of Chía where the U.S. Embassy has a contract to treat all Volunteers in the interior of Colombia. For some reason, the hospital in Ubaté didn’t want to discharge me. Ximena’s brother David came to the rescue, threatening to carry me out on his back if he had to. While we waited for my release, he checked on me every 30 seconds or so, asking if I needed water or a blanket, or anything at all. Eventually, the hospital relented and I was discharged.

I slept the entire way to the Clínica de Marly, exhausted from the past eight hours and on some pretty strong painkillers. Daissy rode with me in the ambulance, handled all the necessary paperwork and answered the doctors’ questions when we arrived. After another seemingly endless series of scans and tests, I was admitted to my new home for the next four days. A surgery was scheduled for the next day at 5 p.m. to put in a tibial rod and clean out the open wound on my knee. Until then there was nothing I could do except try to sleep. Daissy stayed the night with me in my hospital room, but I don’t think she slept a wink.

In the morning, the PCMO, Dr. Jose, arrived which took a huge weight off both Daissy and my chests. Having a trained professional that spoke both English and Spanish eased the burden on both of us to understand what the doctors were saying and recommending. Three of my closest Volunteer friends, Maddy, Sonya, and Adrian, also came from their sites — as far as five hours away by bus — to be by my side. They provided a much needed distraction and helped take my mind off the pain.

Lying in bed all day waiting until 5 p.m. was torturous, but the day crept by as countless doctors and nurses stopped by to check on me. Finally, it was 4:30 p.m. and I was taken to the pre-op room. However, right as I thought it was go-time, the nurses explained that my surgery had to be postponed because the tibial rod had gotten wet. In my delirious and pained state, I assumed that it had been rained on. I learned later that anytime hardware goes in your body, it must be thoroughly sterilized and Dr. Jose, seeing the rod was still wet from the sterilization process, requested that the procedure be pushed back and the rod be sterilized again.

After the rod was resterilized and approved by Dr. Jose, it was showtime. I was told that my mom was on the way from the U.S. and would be there when I woke up. This was a huge relief and I was taken into the operating room at peace, knowing I would get to see her the next time I opened my eyes.

I woke up in the post-op recovery room, alone, with both my legs, my arm and my face bandaged, looking (and feeling) truly like Frankenstein’s monster. The rod had successfully been put in and my wrist had been placed in a cast. The large wound in my knee had been cleaned out as well, but it couldn’t be closed yet to minimize the risk of infection. This second surgery was scheduled for six days later.

After quite a while in the post-op recovery room, I was taken to where my mom, Daissy, Adrian, Sonya, Maddy, Dr. Jose, and Don—the Peace Corps Country Director—were waiting. Seeing that all these people were here to support me and help in any way they could allowed me to fully relax for the first time. While I still had another surgery awaiting me in the future, that wasn’t what was on my mind. Gratitude and appreciation for this wonderful group around me filled me and I felt calm.

The next few days were filled with nurses checking my vitals, learning how to pee in a bed pan, and doctors coming to change the bandage on my face. The team of nurses helped me with everything, from towel baths to braiding my hair in perfect little french braids. Every morning they cheerfully asked how I was doing and told me that I was one tough cookie. When I was eventually discharged, one of the nurses who had been there all week with me even shed a few tears.

I had countless visitors during my four days in the hospital, including teachers from the school where I worked, the organizer of the bike ride, a girl I had met for three minutes during the ride and given Icy-Hot for her hands, my neighbors from Ubaté, and my counterpart and mentor, Juanita. Juanita gave the most beautiful and heart-wrenching speech, telling me how much I meant to her and the students in the school. She talked about our Rummi-Kub and hot chocolate nights, our planned visit to Medellin and the way her 11th grade students were more motivated to learn English because of my presence in the school – leaving me in tears but beyond grateful for the experience.

After days of negotiating with Peace Corps higher-ups and my mom calling in favors to the hospital in my hometown (where she works as a pediatrician), I was approved to be medevaced and a medical transport flight was arranged so that I could have my second surgery in the U.S. Maddy and Sonya went to my house in Ubaté to pack up my belongings, a confirmation that I had reached the end of my service. I tearfully said goodbye to everyone, knowing that it would be a long time before I was able to come back to the town I had called home for a year. But at the same time, I was relieved to be going back to the US. My dad and boyfriend would be waiting for me at the hospital; I would have my second surgery the very next morning and I could begin the recovery.

Looking back now, almost a year later, I see how everything that happened and the actions of everyone around me demonstrates the true goal of the Peace Corps. We were sent to Colombia to teach English, yes. But we were also sent there to build lasting relationships, make friends and become a part of the community. The number of people that visited me in the hospital, sent me text messages checking in, and came to my aid when I needed it most show that I did indeed succeed in that mission. Daissy, Ximena, Juanita, Dora, David, Fernando. The list of people I need to thank is long, and I am so grateful to all of them for making my time in Colombia special.

Even if I didn’t leave my students fluent in English, I can end my Peace Corps service knowing I made friends for life and have formed bonds that cannot be broken by distance. While my experience was certainly unique, and not at all what I expected, I now truly understand exactly what the Peace Corps is all about.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

That thought came Friday, April 4. I feared that by Monday I would be told I was going home. That weekend, I paced a lot. I called friends and family. I left voicemails for my congressional representative, Jeff Van Drew, imploring him to use his constitutional authority to oppose the DOGE cuts. A group chat was created to share information with volunteers who wanted to stay in Colombia.

Then, Monday came.

The Peace Corps wasn’t cut, fortunately. But, the silence that followed was debilitating. It was hard to keep working, let alone start new projects, when everything could come to a sudden halt. For nearly a month, there was no news.

Then, on April 28, an email from Allison Greene, Peace Corp’s former CEO, informed volunteers that the organization would be “adjusting agency operations, with significant restructuring efforts at Peace Corps/Washington.”

I wanted to publish an article but couldn’t focus on what to say. Should I urge people to read Erica Chenoweth, to call Republican congresspeople, or to go to a No Kings protest? Should I argue against the position that staying silent was better than creating noise?

Instead, I texted in a mass group chat of current volunteers and RPCVS, asking if any lawyers could make sense of the Trump administration’s appeal of Judge Susan Ilston’s ruling on mass government layoffs. I wanted to know if the Supreme Court could take a case on the DOGE cuts. I wanted to know whether it would bar or allow the president to usurp congressional authorization in Trump v. AFGE.

On Wednesday, September 24, the positions of two Peace Corps Colombia staff members were eliminated. Globally, host-country nationals, and Americans in Washington, also lost their jobs.

Of the foreign languages taught in Colombia, English is the preferred. Just this month, public school teachers across the Department of Atlántico took an English diagnostic exam as part of a government effort to assess and strengthen teachers’ English abilities. Colombia as a whole is also working to raise its foreign language capacities. In countries where English proficiency is high, professionals can increase their wages by up to thirty percent. The Department of Atlántico's investment in English education also suggests a continued commitment to Colombia's storied relationship with the United States, even as Russia and China work to spread their influence throughout Latin America and the rest of the world.

On September 24, the U.S. government took one step away from its soft power strategy and created an opening for others to step in. The cuts to the Peace Corps have not eliminated waste, fraud, and abuse, nor will they make the organization’s mission more effective. The administration’s appeal to justice and efficiency is a veneer for bullshit. Testimonies from people across various agencies demonstrate the senselessness and arbitrariness of these efforts. John Andrews, a former Defense Department employee, said that there was, “No planning, no consideration, no nothing. It’s not anything that I’ve ever seen in my life before.” David Shapinsky, a former FDA employee said, “It is not wrong to reorganize. But to simply eliminate positions and expertise without planning is insane.”

To be sure, if Americans want to eliminate the Peace Corps, that is a decision that would have to be accepted. That decision, however, must come from Congress, the body of elected representatives vested with that power.

Right now, the federal cost cutting initiative is being processed through the courts, to the disadvantage of civil servants. In March, the Supreme Court stayed a lower court order to reinstate 16,000 probationary employees who had been fired. On Sept. 12, Judge William H. Alsup of the Northern District of California ruled that the Office of Personnel Management’s cuts to probationary employees were illegal. Those employees have since found new jobs. The net result is that the DOGE initiative succeeded.

This news is troubling because it is indicative of a strategy to act first and deal with legality later. Yes, the cuts were ruled illegal, but those employees are not returning. If the Supreme Court hears a case on the administration’s restructuring of the federal workforce, the earliest a ruling could come is June 2026.

In my adolescence and young adulthood, there was a perception that things would always work out. See? The liberals are exaggerating. See? Trump didn’t destroy America. I dismissed these statements because they felt overblown, because I felt that my life continued normally. Things “work out” when nothing seems to change, when you are not directly affected.

If you know someone who works in civil service, they are being affected, along with at least 300,000 others. If any of your family members watch Stephen Colbert or Jimmy Kimmel, they are being affected. These steps are heterogeneous in scope and their effects will vary in degree, but they are part of an effort to amass power and weaken opposition, even criticism.

We cannot ignore infringements on others’ rights and expect to keep our own. We cannot pick and choose who deserves constitutional protections. We speak up for others because their freedom is our freedom too.

Frank “Paco” Aguilar

September 27, 2025

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Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

How did you adjust to living with a host family?

Adjusting to life with a host family was definitely a challenge at first. I had been used to living alone, and suddenly I was sharing a home with five strangers. On top of that, my host family has a large extended family who all live nearby, so there are always visitors coming and going. In the beginning, I craved alone time, but after about six months, I found myself feeling bored and even a little lonely in those rare times I was home by myself. Now, I can’t picture living alone again and I truly feel like I’m part of this family.

The food was also an adjustment. During pre-service training, our host families cooked all of our meals, so we ate a typical Colombian diet. At site, I also eat typical Colombian food but my family is very healthy. We eat a lot of soups, rice, fish and vegetables. Like a typical Midwesterner, I grew up on ultra-processed convenience foods. Suddenly I was eating only fresh, home-cooked meals in normal portions, and I was starving. For those first few months, I secretly supplemented my meals with Doritos and gummies (not my proudest moment). Now, I’ve grown to love the food here for its freshness and taste, and while I still indulge in the occasional processed, packaged treat, I can’t imagine going back to eating huge portions of processed food.

One of the biggest cultural shifts for me was experiencing the Colombian Christmas season. Christmas is a huge holiday in this highly Catholic country. My host family kicks things off in early December with Noche de las Velitas, a religious celebration marking the start of the Christmas season. From then on, there’s always something happening in the town or at least in the house. I’m not Catholic and had never experienced Novena de Aguinaldos (nine days of prayer and devotion leading up to Christmas), so it felt overwhelming and beautiful all at once. While I missed my family and friends during that season, I can’t imagine not being here for Christmas this year.

What do you wish you would have known before you got to Colombia?

How much I was going to love it — the people, the customs and culture, the language, and the scenery. During PST and my first few months at site, I was constantly thinking ahead by planning what I’d do after service and counting down how much time I had left. Looking back, I wish I had slowed down and really soaked in my surroundings and appreciated time with my host family from the start.

The good news is I still have 10 months left to do exactly that! This looks like spending time with my host family and friends I’ve made, as well as traveling around the country more.

What are some of the personal things you have had trouble finding in Colombia, or miss from the US?

The hardest thing for me to find has been peanut butter. Yes, you can get peanut butter in Colombia, but I’m talking about the giant two-pound jar of extra crunchy peanut butter that costs about $8 in the U.S. One time I found a large-ish jar of Extra Crunchy JIF at a Carulla (a fancy supermarket) in Bogotá, but I swear it was a mirage as I’ve never seen one again. Protein bars and electrolyte powders are also tricky to track down, and most imported products (like Cetaphil face wash or L’Oréal shampoo) are surprisingly pricey. I have become accustomed to the different offerings here, such as the super sweet small jars of peanut butter and finding different and natural ways to eat more protein.

What I miss the most, though, is fast food. I would love some Taco Bell or Whataburger…and a Diet Dr. Pepper. And, of course, I miss my dog.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual Volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

How have you met your closest friend(s) at site?

In addition to interviewee responses, I conducted a WhatsApp poll for this specific question. 43 volunteers (TEFL & CED, Andes & Coast) marked 2 or 3 of the top ways they've met their friends at site. Making friends “Through coworkers” is a popular response. However, extracurriculars become dominant (shown in green) when combining “Playing sports,” ”Gym,” and “Other Hobby,”. Regarding sports, soccer (my favorite) and volleyball have definitely dominated in popularity. That said, I know volunteers do everything from rock climbing to biking to boxing

As far as interview responses to this question, some key observations were that, as an outsider, you might get asked a lot of questions, and if you're open to it, sometimes this can lead to friendships at places you frequent. A piece of advice from Volunteer Maddy Skinner (CII-19, Andes) noted that her friends often had connections to English learning or teaching, and she suggests, “don't be afraid to ask your community class students if they ever want to get a coffee or something.”

Thinking broadly, all interviewed volunteers made friends in slightly different ways, and no one way is a foolproof track to building friendships. In the WhatsApp poll, people almost always marked multiple ways they made friends, so we know that experiences are variable and diverse. A general consejo from PCV James Fink (CII-21, Andes) is to “be confident, don't feel crazy pressure. It'll happen natural, I'm a decently social person, and I'm just now making friends [after 6 months at site].”

What’s your favorite thing about your friends?

Some top favorite qualities about our interviewees’ friends: genuine curiosity, welcoming, selfless, similar age range, shared interests, cross-cultural exchange, and the list could go on. PCV Maddy Skinner highlighted the sincerity of one friend at her site, that “lets her do laundry at her apartment all the time—don’t even have to ask.”

There stood to be only one big divider amongst the four interviewees: the use of English in friendships. Some volunteers view English as a great bonding opportunity, either through making friends with community students or bridging the language barrier and expanding chances for cultural exchange. That said, the flip side is that some Volunteers have felt that they can be used to learn English or that their friends don’t equally want to teach them Spanish jergas. The use of English in friendships is ideally up to each volunteer, but given the previous observations, it may be helpful to express to your more English-advanced friends that using Spanish is just as important to you.

What are some differences, if any, between your friendships at site and those in the United States?

Many volunteers agreed that their friendship dynamics in Colombia are different from those they experienced back home. The big three are (1) the language, (2) our limited two-year period in Colombia, and (3) the length of hangouts.

The language barrier is an obvious one for many volunteers. While some of us may have friends in the United States with lower-level English, it’s rare that we find ourselves on the other side of it. That said, language barriers can also make a friendship bond more genuine because it requires that extra level of patience and humor.

Another point PCV Ryan Eberman (CII-21, Andes) noted was that “knowing that we are leaving in two years kind of keeps us from wanting to put in that energy to make a lot of super close friends.” This concept is something many of us struggle with, as we know the goodbye date is coming up. Ryan and I agreed that we learned to value friendships regardless of how long we would be close.

The last difference, and my personal favorite, is the length of hangouts—being that they are often much longer, even whole days, in Colombia. A quote from PCV Maddy Skinner: “…in the U.S., things feel more planned, but here, there is almost never a plan, and it's much less defined.” Maddy and I both agreed that this sometimes happens with our closest friends Stateside, but with newer friends in the U.S., this concept of day-long hangouts is rare. However, embracing this dynamic at site is a great way to fast-track quality friends.

All of that said, the differences in friendship dynamics don’t necessarily mean there is a difference in the type of friends you make. Sometimes we only notice differences if we look for them. As from Volunteer Paco Aguilar (CII-21, Coast), “Can I say it feels like it doesn’t [differ]?”

What were the barriers to first making friends, and how did you overcome them?

As mentioned before, the language barrier was another common response to this question. Maddy Skinner expressed how being introverted, something I also relate to, often exacerbates this obstacle. The popular solution to most barriers, including this one, is just finding the right people — emphasizing patience and quality over quantity in your social life.

Another barrier was that volunteers struggled to find friends in their age group, especially those in their early to mid-20s. Many Colombians in this age range move to the bigger cities for work or are in the midst of raising children and working full-time. Many volunteers learned to make friends out of their typical age bracket—including myself, who has made friends primarily with mothers in their 30s.

Ryan Eberman also noted that, as someone who began service in independent housing, arriving at site at the start of school break, with no coworkers to rely on, meant he had to work extra hard to connect with people during those first couple of months. Paco Aguilar struggled to find someone with similar interests, especially as someone whose favorite thing is to read. From James Fink: “I feel in the interior people are more reserved, and they don’t come to me as much as when I was in training, which made it harder to make friends.”

The two big solutions to all three of these grievances: (1) frequent the same places and greet everyone when you go, and (2) pick up that hobby you always wanted to do or revisit an old one. Both Ryan and Paco mentioned that they wished they had picked up their old sports sooner at site. Paco even started going to the gym and running, something he hadn’t done much before service. James made his closest friends by frequenting the same coffee shops and making small talk at his favorite tiendas.

¿Friends of the opposite gender?

“Do you have a good friend of the opposite sex?” I decided to ask this question because of my own struggle to make male friends as a woman. The responses were almost completely echoed as a cohesive “No.” The one exception amongst interviewees was PCV Maddy Skinner, who said that she does have one good guy friend, but that she still hesitates to reach out to other men socially.

Both sexes reported that hanging out with members of the other sex, especially one-on-one, is frequently perceived or initiated as romantic. Most reported facing extra obstacles in making friends with the opposite sex at site. These perspectives are likely a result of most sites being smaller pueblos, where traditional gender roles are more commonly practiced.

That said, it’s not impossible! It may just take that extra level of bravery and cuidado to overcome the social norms. Maddy Skinner said she was initially quite cautious around her guy friend because he was more touchy than she was used to (a common culture shock reported amongst Volunteers), but after meeting his girlfriend and spending more time together, he became a steady friend.

My consejo: gender roles and norms at your site are important to observe and understand, but don’t let your fears or biases stop you from trying to make that friend.

What’s something you wish you knew before making friends at site?

Conclusion

Everything said, creating satisfying and strong friendships at site is a process that looks different for everyone. However, the big overlapping consejos are to put yourself out there, keep an open mind, and have patience. And lastly, while forming friendships is important for everyone, it is also important to be comfortable spending time with, and for, yourself. As long as you're yourself, true friends are sure to follow.

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Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

To celebrate the new cohort’s arrival, we asked OÍSTE staff to share their earliest memories from their training towns. From garbled conversations and exhausting fiestas to cramped motocarro rides and run-ins with the law, we’ve been through it all. We want the members of CII-22 and future cohorts to know that they’re not alone in their struggle to acclimate, that we were once in their shoes, and it does get better.

A gaggle of CII-21 Trainees crammed into a motocarro. The presence of jeans and long sleeves in the midday heat shows that they still had much to learn. (Photo by Ellie Richardson)

Typically, the first challenge trainees face is the language barrier. Even those who come to Colombia with high-level Spanish find themselves struggling with the fast pace, thick accent, and endless slang of costeñol. PCV Sofia (CII-22) remembers meeting her host family and immediately being bombarded with questions she could barely understand. PCV Shaleena (CII-21) struggled with her older host mom, whose Spanish she likened to a thick Southern drawl. One trainee in my cohort flubbed her attempt to bridge the language gap when she tried to describe Cool Ranch Doritos to her host family, but didn’t know the words for “ranch dressing” or how to explain the flavor “cool.”

After overcoming, or at least accepting, the language barrier, trainees start to notice the small differences from the U.S., the things that aren’t covered in training because no one would ever think they needed explanation. PCV Sidney (CII-19) recalls being shocked by all the motocarros she saw on the road when her host family took her grocery shopping. For PCV Morgan (CII-21), every meal was another adventure that might involve a long drive to another town for pizza or being served “a local delicacy” that turns out to be Chinese fried rice.

PCVs Ian (CII-19), Shaleena (CII-21), Morgan (CII-21), and Sidney (CII-19) meeting their host families for the first time. These photos are part of the dropoff ritual. (Photos by Ian Lane, Shaleena Brooke, Morgan Begin, Sidney Marr)

Soon the Trainee group chat fills up with questions so trivial and basic that they’d be absurd in any other circumstance. I even called the Volunteer who’d previously lived with my host family to ask him if they flushed their toilet paper; we’d been told that’s a no-no by Peace Corps, but I’d spotted suspiciously little toilet paper in la caneca over the previous days.

Some lessons are learned the hard way, such as when PCV Ellie (CII-21) wore jeans and a long-sleeve shirt to deliver water filters in the midday heat. Soon, a concerned host mom forced her into a motocarro ride home, straight to an abanico. Other lessons only need to be learned once, such as when PCV Ron (CII-19) took pictures of the police station for his community map assignment only to be confronted by an armed police officer with his weapon drawn. Apparently, photographing police stations is not allowed in Colombia.

The language gap makes things even harder for those Volunteers who are immediately thrust into social situations. If there’s anything worse than going to a party without knowing anybody, it’s going to a party without knowing anybody and not knowing the language. That’s exactly what happened to PCV Marcella (CII-20) when she went to a birthday party and was shocked at the size of her extended host family and all the commotion. While it was overwhelming in the moment, she says that she now looks back on that memory fondly. Likewise, PCV Patrick (CII-21) was excited to explore his neighborhood when invited to his host mom’s rumbapol dance-fitness class. But, as the new gringo in town sitting alone in the stands, he wasn’t sure where he should look, if he should look at all, as 20 women he’d never met shook what the good lord gave them mere feet away.

CII-19 trainees celebrate el Día del Amor y la Amistad with their host families and a CII-16 volunteer. Colombian parties can be a lot, whether you know the language or not, but they’re always a lot of fun (Photo/Ian Lane)

The best advice for new Trainees is to lean on each other and on the PCVs who’ve been through this experience before. PCV Paco (CII-22) was greatly reassured to find that his cohort-mate, PCV Jess, was his neighbor. I benefited from having PCV Victoria (CII-16)—who I’d initially mistaken for my host mom’s UC Davis tank-wearing, Trader Joe’s tote-carrying granddaughter—at my training town; I immediately had someone to talk to when I needed to know how things really worked in Colombia and in the Peace Corps. Plus, her karaoke nights were always something to look forward to after a long week of training.

They came to Colombia to be teachers, but first, our Trainees have to learn—from their host family, from their community, and from each other.

I am sharing a reflective piece I wrote a couple weeks ago that is addressed to the students I taught while living in Valledupar. I was inspired to write this when I rediscovered a letter written to me by those students for Teacher’s Day. Within my writing, I share a few of my reasons for becoming a TEFL volunteer, I share a bit about my family’s story, and I give you a glimpse into what our work means to me. I hope you take a second to give my piece a read, and if you feel like reaching out to talk, I welcome that. Enjoy!

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Anoche no pude evitar pensar en la manera en que todos ustedes perciben el tiempo que hemos compartido. Mientras organizaba cosas en mi apartamento, la carta que me escribieron para el Día del Profesor volvió a mis manos.

En esa carta, describen cómo yo—no solo como maestro, sino también como persona—les he ayudado a sentirse comprendidos y a tener la esperanza de que días mejores están por venir—no solo para ustedes, sino también para sus familias.

Sus palabras cuidadosamente elegidas revelaron una conciencia profunda del buen consejo que les han dado todos sus profesores, pero lo que me atribuyeron específicamente volvió a hacerme llorar.

En su reflexión sobre el tiempo compartido, hay un sincero agradecimiento por haber sido vistos, comprendidos, y valorados.

Aunque cada uno de ustedes intentó disfrazar sus inseguridades y miedos, pronto se dieron cuenta de que jamás juzgaría sus imperfecciones. Nos aceptamos tal cual éramos y crecimos juntos. Por eso, estoy inmensamente agradecido.

Al decir, “Lo agradecemos por comprendernos en nuestras penas y alegrías,” recibí la confirmación de que nuestro tiempo juntos ha fortalecido su capacidad para reconocer los dones y bendiciones que cada uno posee. Al final del año escolar, todos ustedes se irán un poco más inteligentes, fuertes, valientes, y sabios. Tengo la fortuna de decir que yo también me iré habiendo avanzado en esos aspectos.

Ustedes expresaron la creencia de que, “Los maestros son la esperanza de los niños, el ejemplo a seguir, porque pasamos más tiempo con ustedes que con nuestras familias.”

Al leer eso, la palabra “esperanza” destacó entre todas. Me dio la seguridad que tanto necesitaba; me dijo que ustedes también me entienden, me valoran, y me ven tal como soy.

Puedo decir con la mayor sinceridad que todo lo que he deseado ser para ustedes es un destello de esperanza. He aspirado a que mi trabajo despierte la curiosidad en sus mentes y sirva como catalizador que los anime a preguntarse, “¿Qué más hay allá afuera en el mundo?”

Si, de nuestro tiempo juntos, pude transformar algunas perspectivas, ampliar algunos horizontes, y restaurar algunas ambiciones, entonces me voy de Colombia sabiendo que las semillas que sembré aquí algún día florecerán en radiantes cañaguates que darán sombra a alguien más que lo necesite.

Nuestro tiempo juntos también parece haber brindado alivio a heridas desatendidas, al menos así ha sido para mí.

Para ustedes, quizás nunca se sepa, pero la persistencia que demuestran en la búsqueda de superarse y alcanzar el éxito ha reavivado, de manera incuestionable, mi creencia de que un futuro mejor y más próspero nunca está fuera del alcance cuando uno está dispuesto a trabajar por ello.

En estos dos años, nos hemos motivado mutuamente para convertirnos en mejores versiones de nosotros mismos; nos hemos enseñado valiosas lecciones de vida y nos hemos inspirado a soñar en grande porque, como se dice, solo quienes se atreven a soñar pueden cambiar el mundo.

Aunque no tengo duda de que ambos hemos ganado mucho con nuestro tiempo juntos, aún no estoy listo para decir adiós.

He decidido quedarme en Colombia con la intención de ampliar mi alcance, para enfatizar la importancia de invertir en el potencial humano, para ayudar a nivelar un terreno desigual, y para devolver algunos favores.

¿A quién le debo esos favores?

Permítanme compartir un poco sobre mí y mis razones para ser voluntario del Cuerpo de Paz.

Mis veranos de infancia los pasé en Guadalajara, Jalisco, junto a mi hermana Samantha y mi Nina. Fue allí, en nuestro hogar ancestral, donde comenzó mi camino hacia el bilingüismo y el multiculturalismo. Samantha y mi Nina fueron mis primeras maestras, pero no las únicas que tendría. Mi viaje también estuvo guiado por mi padre, primos, tías, tíos, abuelos, bisabuelos, y todos nuestros amigos de la familia.

Permanentemente ligados a las lecciones que me enseñaron están innumerables recuerdos hermosos. Pienso en las tranquilas mañanas de miércoles en el mercado local, donde descubrí que la prosperidad duradera nace de los lazos comunitarios; en los desayunos dominicales en casa de mis abuelos, donde comprendí que alimentar el cuerpo nunca será tan importante como nutrir el alma; y en las tardes que pasé como voluntario junto a mi tía, cuando entendí que el regalo más valioso que podemos ofrecer a otra persona es nuestro tiempo.

Tanta gente contribuyó a formar una parte de mi identidad que me ha abierto muchas puertas, incluyendo mi trabajo como maestro en Colombia. Puedo decir con plena confianza que sin mis maestros no sería quien soy ni estaría donde estoy hoy.

Sobre los maestros, hay otra historia que merece ser contada, la de mi madre.

Aunque mi madre nació en Estados Unidos, fue criada en esa misma casa de Jalisco donde pasé mis veranos de niño—un hogar lleno de risas, amor incondicional y un fuerte énfasis en el valor de la educación.

Llegó un día en que mi madre, sin decisión propia, tuvo que dejar atrás todo y a todos los que conocía. A los doce años llegó a un país que, aunque era técnicamente suyo, no podía sentirse más extraño.

No tenía amigos, no entendía la cultura, y no hablaba el idioma.

Calificar su transición como difícil sería quedarse corto. Sin embargo, como muchos de ustedes, mi madre estaba decidida a salir adelante.

Aprender inglés no fue tarea fácil, y tristemente, muchas veces mi madre estuvo sin voz. En ese momento, la incapacidad para expresarse en su nueva realidad fue implacable, y no hubo lugar más duro para superar sus limitaciones que la escuela. Incapaz de mostrar su inteligencia, a menudo la excluían de actividades en clase porque sus maestros la veían como incapaz.

Ella dijo, “Me sentía impotente y constantemente ignorada. Lo que lo empeoraba era que ya había aprendido el material de muchas de mis clases y sabía muchas respuestas, pero no podía juntar las palabras que mis maestros querían oír.”

Los primeros días de mi madre en el país fueron una ardua caminata, marcada por pequeños avances hacia la competencia. La frustración que debió sentir es para mí inconcebible. Sin embargo, me alegra decir que pronto su sufrimiento se alivió.

James Francisco Botana fue el maestro bilingüe de séptimo grado de mi madre, pero terminó siendo mucho más que eso.

Con veinticuatro años, recién llegado a Estados Unidos desde España, impartía clases bilingües durante el día, y asistía a la facultad de derecho por la noche. Como un hombre dedicado a mejorar la vida de otros, el señor Botana reconoció los dones de mi madre y juntos cultivaron su voz, permitiendo que su potencial se mostrara plenamente.

Fuera del aula, también hizo esfuerzos conscientes para que ella fuera vista, comprendida, y valorada. El alcance de su cuidado no conocía límites. Aunque mi madre recuerda con cariño las excursiones que el señor Botana organizaba en su tiempo libre, fue su visita de verano a Guadalajara al final del año escolar lo que lo distinguió para siempre.

No solo quiso conocer algunos de los lugares donde sus alumnos habían crecido, sino que también buscó entender las dificultades que mi madre atravesaba. El señor Botana hizo esfuerzos increíbles para conectarse e identificarse con mi madre, y por eso, al describir el impacto de su trabajo, ella dijo: “Me dio esperanza cuando no tenía ninguna. Para mí, él fue más que un maestro. Fue mi hermano mayor, mi salvador, y mi ángel guardián.”

Aunque tal vez nunca pueda devolver completamente a mis maestros ni corresponder el impacto del señor Botana, elijo intentarlo.

Ser su maestro ha sido un privilegio, y quiero agradecerles por aceptarme como parte de su camino.

Les dejo unas palabras de consejo.

Cuando los obstáculos inevitablemente aparezcan en su camino, deben recordar que cada uno de ustedes tiene algo que aportar—a sus familias, a sus comunidades, y a la humanidad.

En un futuro cercano, muchos de ustedes serán jóvenes profesionales exitosos, y cuando llegue el momento de retribuir, recuerden estas palabras:

El tiempo que se dedica a ayudar a otros nunca es tiempo perdido.

English

Last night, I couldn’t help but reflect on the time we have shared and how you all must have perceived it.

While I was organizing things around my apartment, the letter you wrote to me for Día del Profesor found its way back to me.

In that letter, you describe how I, not only as a teacher but also as a man, have helped you feel understood and hopeful that better days lie ahead, not only for yourselves but also for your families.

Your carefully chosen words revealed a heightened awareness of the good advice given to you by all your teachers, yet the support you attributed to me specifically once again brought tears to my eyes.

Embedded in your self-reflection of the time we have shared is a sincere appreciation for having been seen, understood, and valued.

Although each of you tried to disguise your insecurities and fears, you soon realized that I would never hold your imperfections against you. We accepted each other for who we were and grew alongside one another. For that, I am immensely grateful.

In saying, “We thank you for understanding us in our sorrows and joys,” I received confirmation that our time together has heightened your ability to recognize the gifts and blessings possessed by each and every one of you. At the end of the school year, you will all leave a little smarter, stronger, braver, and wiser. I’m fortunate enough to say that I too will leave having made those advances.

You expressed the belief that, “Teachers are the hope of children, the example to follow, because we spend more time with you than with our families.”

When I read that sentence, the word “hope” stood out from all the rest. It gave me the assurance I so desperately needed; it told me that you too understand me, value me, and see me for who I am.

I can say with the utmost sincerity that all I have ever wished to be in your eyes is a glimmer of hope. I have aspired for my work to spark curiosity in your minds and serve as a catalyst that encourages you to ask yourselves, “What else is out there in the world?”

If, from our time together, I was able to transform a few perspectives, broaden a couple of horizons, and restore some ambitions, then I leave Colombia knowing the seeds I sowed here will one day flourish into radiant cañaguates that will eventually provide shade to someone else in need.

Our time together also seems to have provided some relief to unattended wounds; it certainly has for me.

To you, it may never be known, but the persistence you demonstrate in your pursuit of self-improvement and success has single-handedly reignited my belief that a better, more prosperous future is never out of one’s reach when one is willing to put in the work.

Over the past two years, we have motivated each other to become better versions of ourselves; we have taught each other valuable life lessons; and we have inspired each other to dream big because, as it is said, only those who dare to dream can change the world.

While I have no doubt that we have both gained so much from our time together, I am not yet ready to say goodbye.

I am choosing to stay in Colombia with the intention to amplify my reach, to emphasize the importance of investing in human potential, to further assist in leveling a lopsided playing field, and to return a few favors.

Who do I owe these favors to?

Well, allow me to share a bit about myself and my reasons for becoming a Peace Corps volunteer.

My childhood summers were spent in Guadalajara, Jalisco, alongside my sister Samantha and my Nina. It was there, at our ancestral home, that my journey toward bilingualism and multiculturalism began. Samantha and Nina were my first teachers, but they weren’t the only ones I would come to have. My journey was also guided by my father, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, and all of our family friends.

Countless beautiful memories are permanently linked to the lessons they taught me. I think of quiet Wednesday mornings at the local market, where I discovered that lasting prosperity is born from the bonds of community; of Sunday breakfasts at my grandparents’ home, where I came to understand that feeding the body will never be as important as nourishing the soul; and of afternoons spent volunteering alongside my aunt, when I realized that the most precious gift we can offer another person is our time.

So many people contributed to a part of my identity that has opened many doors, including my work as a teacher in Colombia. I can say with the utmost confidence that without my teachers, I would not be where or who I am today.

On the topic of teachers, there is another story that needs to be told, that of my mother’s.

Although my mother was born in the U.S., she was raised in that very same Jalisco home where I spent my summers as a kid—a home teeming with resounding laughter, unconditional love, and a strong emphasis on the value of education.

There came a day when my mother, by no decision of her own, had to leave behind everything and everyone she had ever known. At the age of 12, she arrived in a country that, although technically hers, could not have felt more alien.

She had no friends, couldn’t understand the culture, and didn’t speak the language.

To label her transition as challenging would truly be an understatement. However, like many of you, my mother was determined to prevail.

Learning English was not an easy task, and sadly, my mother often felt voiceless. At that time, the inability to express herself in her new reality was relentless, and there was no tougher place to overcome her limitations than at school. Unable to showcase her intelligence, she was often excluded from classroom activities because her teachers viewed her as inept.

She said, “I felt powerless and constantly overlooked. What made it worse was that I had already learned the material being taught in many of my classes and knew many answers to questions, but I couldn’t string together the words my teachers wanted to hear.”

My mother’s early days in the country were an arduous march, marked by minuscule advances in the general direction of proficiency. The frustration she must have felt is truly inconceivable to me. Still, I’m grateful to be able to say her suffering would soon be eased.

James Francisco Botana was my mom’s seventh-grade bilingual teacher, but he would end up becoming so much more.

A 24 year-old who himself had recently arrived in the United States from Spain, he taught bilingual classes during the day and attended law school at night.

As a man dedicated to the betterment of others, Mr. Botana recognized my mother’s gifts, and together they cultivated her voice, allowing her full potential to be fully displayed.

Outside of the classroom, he also made conscious efforts for her to be seen, understood, and valued. The extent of his care knew few bounds. Though my mother fondly remembers the field trips Mr. Botana would lead in his free time, it was his summer visit to Guadalajara at the end of the school year that would forever set him apart from everyone else.

Not only did he want to familiarize himself with some of the places his students had been raised, but he also aimed to understand the hardships my mother was experiencing.

Mr. Botana went to unbelievable lengths to bond and identify with my mom, and because of this, when describing the impact of his work, she said, “He gave me hope when I had none. To me, he was more than a teacher. He was my big brother, my savior, and my guardian angel.”

Though I may never be able to fully repay my teachers or reciprocate Mr. Botana’s impact, I choose to try.

Being your teacher has been such a privilege, and I want to say thank you for accepting me as part of your journey.

I’m going to leave you all with some words of advice.

When roadblocks inevitably appear on your path forward, you must remember that each and every one of you has something to contribute—to your families, to your communities, and to humanity.

In the near future, many of you will go on to become successful young professionals, and when the time comes for you to give back, remember these words:

Time spent helping others is never wasted.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

(Photo/Paco Aguilar)

A Year Ago

A year ago, I was facing uncertainty. I was on my third assignment, having been originally set to go to Kosovo before being reassigned to Costa Rica, then to Colombia. I wasn’t sure whether I would make it to Colombia or face disappointment again. I was set to leave for staging on Sept. 7. I had recently received legal and medical clearance–only after successfully appealing a medical denial, something that happens in fewer than 10% of cases. My visa had to be sorted by Sept. 7, but I was having issues with the application. I was even given a return flight home in case it didn’t come through in time. Because of my tentative situation, I stopped telling people that I was joining the Peace Corps. Colombia was my second reassignment, and I didn’t want to have to break the bad news again.

I received my electronic visa on Sept. 6 at around 5 p.m. I booked a hotel while traveling to Philadelphia with my family, said goodbye to them later that evening, and tried to sleep before catching the shuttle to the airport. I didn’t get the opportunity to say goodbye to many people.

It was not a good time. I couldn’t celebrate the fact that I would actually be going to Colombia. I haven’t felt that level of stress since then, and I commend those who are currently in the medical process.

Last Weekend

I read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Cien Años de Soledad” nearly two years ago to familiarize myself with Latin American literature. It was the first novel that I read in Spanish. Using a dictionary, the English translation, and ChatGPT for the most obscure passages, I finished the book in a week. García Marquez inspired me to read more fiction. Seeking the enthrallment of magical realism, I found Salman Rushdie and Toni Morrison. Later, I explored the works of authors from the Latin American Boom. My favorite novels are from Isabel Allende, Mario Vargas Llosa, and Carlos Fuentes.

(Photo/Jenna Raymond)

I went to Aracataca last weekend. It is García Marquez’s hometown, and the real-life inspiration for the fictional town of Macondo, the setting of “Cien Años de Soledad.” It was Aracataca’s first Festival de Macondo; there was live music, images of Gabo everywhere, heat, butterflies, coffee, vendors, rain, and people who claimed to have ties to the story or the man.

I was preparing for Costa Rica when I first read the novel. I didn’t know then that I would end up serving in the Caribbean region of Colombia. The trip inspired me to reread the novel. The experience felt full circle. On the bus ride home, I thought about how different my life is now compared to a year ago.

The Week

Yesterday was just as good. I assisted my counterpart at the high school and observed a meditative and reflective activity for the eleventh graders who will take the ICFES, the Colombian equivalent of the SAT, on Sunday. They prayed, received life advice from their teachers, and created good luck charms. We have been doing ICFES prep for most of the school year, and I hope that they all do well on the exam. I went to the gym and hit legs in the afternoon. I spoke with a neighbor on my way to the baseball field for a run. He was filming a video for a youth group in town, and one of the crew members asked if he could join my English community class. Claro, I said. He invited me to join the youth group and their evening workouts.

I ran with one of my student’s brothers. He completed his military service in March, and to stay fit, he joins me every other run. He’s become my running partner. I got home late last night because, after the run, I spent the evening mamando gallo with friends.

On Thursday I read chapters two and three from Guy Standing’s “The Precariat.” The Political Economy and Postcolonial Book Club meets biweekly to discuss readings. Volunteers from my cohort and I started the book club in February. Thursday was a holiday, so the day was relaxed and there was no school. It downpoured as I finished my run – sabroso.

I held my English community class on Wednesday. I host them on Mondays and Wednesdays after lunch at the Casa de la Cultura. Most members are from the gym, and I’ve gotten to know them better since the classes started. That evening, I stopped my run with one kilometer to go because I saw an unleashed pit bull. The owner told me it didn’t bite. My running friend introduced me to the owner and the other people playing with the dog. We discussed opportunities to study at a university–valuable information for the students at my colegio.

I didn’t work out on Tuesday because I was preparing materials for my community class and it was the five-month anniversary of my host mom’s aunt’s passing. The mass was at five, and I went to show support. I called my family before going to sleep.

On Monday, classes on the first floor were cut early because there was no electricity powering the fans. The heat was so intense that by 10:15 a.m., most students went home. I napped and bought groceries at D1 and ARA, the two chain supermercados in town. The writers from OISTÉ had a meeting that night.

(Photo/Paco Aguilar)

Today

Today has been quite nice. It’s been raining sporadically this past week, so the heat hasn’t been as oppressive. Aproveché the light breeze brought on by the rain and napped this afternoon. Madrugué to go run at the soccer stadium because I’m training for a marathon. I’ve never run a marathon; I only started running here in Colombia, but I guess I’m gradually becoming a runner.

(Photo/Paco Aguilar)

On my way home, I ran into my friend from the gym. I started training in December to meet new people, but I’ve since developed a liking for working out. He bought a German Shepherd puppy yesterday. I wasn’t going to train today, but the gym was empty when it’s normally crowded, so I decided to stay. I talked to my friend and played with his puppy in between my sets.

Aug. 9, 2025

I have registered over 50 students, and so many more curious onlookers have stepped onto a skateboard. Participants have come and gone; some have stayed since day one, some have tried a class or two. Participation is low at the moment, so I wanted to take this time to create an advertisement. Kids are interested in the club, but don’t necessarily know when we meet or how to participate. By making this video, I hope to reach the parents of my town via Facebook and enroll their kids.

*Disclaimer: We know that these may be generalized topics; this is what we have observed in our experiences.

1. In addition to its beaches, Sucre is positioned at the tail-end of the Montes de María, a small mountain range that extends from the Andes. Historically, this region was a safe haven for runaway slaves and indigenous communities. Unfortunately, it has experienced an increase in violence, which has left an impact on these communities. Regardless of its safety status, we have heard nothing but good things about this mountainous region—specifically about Colosó, Chalán, and the ecological park Roca Madre. From its beautiful hikes and sonorous waterfalls to its diverse flora and fauna, Sucre offers an abundance of natural beauty that furthers people’s education on wildlife care.

2. Coveñas and Tolú are the two hidden gems of Sucre. Before arriving at this beautifully diverse department, we had heard that Coveñas is for the beaches and Tolú is for the nightlife. We were pleasantly surprised to find that not only were these characterizations true, they were actually an understatement of the spectacle of these beaches. Many Colombians visit Coveñas and Tolú, yet they don't have an international reach. That’s a shame, as experiencing the sun setting beyond the horizon is magical and dreamy. Truth be told, there may be some benefit for the current beachgoers as it is much less costly than a place like Cartagena and there are far fewer beach vendors. These beaches are also only one hour away from central Sincelejo, the capital of Sucre—making for an exciting day trip, which has been a luxury for us beach lovers.

3. Sincelejo is the capital of Sucre, but in reality, it is less of a city and more of a giant pueblo. Even those from Sincelejo think the city is small, but we’ve been surprised by how big it is, literally the same size as Barbados. Nonetheless, it contains hotels, two malls, a few universities, and tons of booming local businesses. The main university is the Universidad de Sucre, a public university with a successful language department, and the program CLEUS, Centro de Lenguas Extranjeras de la Universidad de Sucre, allows people within the community to access English and French classes.

1. It seems like everyone and their mother has or knows someone who has a finca —a little farm where families cultivate agricultural products, animals, and generally enjoy their free time. As a result, things are more naturally and locally sourced. Community members are very proud of their harvests, both selling and sharing them with their community. When a certain food is in season—for example, it is currently mango season!—we are gifted mountains of them due to their pure abundance.

2. Working at the local university, I, Natasha, have noticed that there is an inclusive and large LGBTQIA+ community. Which, coming from small-town sites in a fairly rural department, we found surprising. While there aren’t any known pride celebrations within Sucre, perhaps it’s more normalized or accepted as we personally haven’t witnessed any homophobia.

3. Another thing we quickly noticed was the lack of catcalling overall, especially catcalling that has the potential to become violent. The number of times that we were catcalled daily in our training towns required counting with both hands. However, in Sucre, we could count the number of times we’ve been catcalled in the past seven months all on one hand. Out of curiosity, Natasha once asked a male friend why there is less catcalling. He promptly responded, “Because women don’t like it.”

4. One of the first things we noticed was the lack of street animals. It seems that many families have adopted one or more pets. Moreover, they treat their pets like family, rather than guard dogs, walking and socializing them. After talking with Colombian friends and host families, it seems that animals are valued within the community. This kindness toward animals reflects the amiability of Sucreños.

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   Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

This was our day of physical activity for our high school in Úmbita, Boyacá. In Colombia, "Día del Desafío" (Challenge Day) is a national event which promotes physical activity. It's an initiative of the WHO aimed at encouraging people to engage in physical activity and healthy lifestyles. It's celebrated through various activities, both virtual and in-person, to engage all population groups.

Our school celebrates it yearly. The idea is to promote the health benefits of physical activity and have the students walk to some of the local rural sedes, or campuses, of the school. Our high school has about 300 students and is located in the center of my town. Altogether, all the schools in my town (including sedes) have about 470 students. We have a population of about 10,000 people in all of Úmbita.

We started with an assembly at 7:00 a.m. After that, we began our hike. Our first stop was the Jupal campus. It has one teacher and about 12 students from first to fifth grade. Jupal is about 3.6 kilometers from our main campus. We arrived there and the teacher and her students greeted us with oranges and small treats. Our school group arrived little by little and enjoyed a break of about 20 minutes before we continued to the next campus, Loma Gorda.

Loma Gorda was about another 3 kilometers away from Jupal. This campus also has one teacher and about 12 elementary students. At this point we had walked about 6.6 kilometers. The students arrived and began playing basketball, soccer, and spending time with their friends. All the teachers and students rested, ate some bananas, and drank juice.

After some time in Loma Gorda, we made our way back to the high school. On the way back people were tired. The roads were unpaved and not many had stretched properly. Students got back to the school at around 12:40 p.m. We had walked a total of about 13.2 kilometers, or 8.2 miles. Lunch was offered and the students were dismissed for the day.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

Welp, I did not keep many of those promises. The hardest one to keep was not watching sports. I grew up in Kansas City with a dad from Texas who loves sports, so I had clearly been kidding myself all along with that promise.

It started with the NFL, which I swore would be the only sport I was going to watch. Now before you judge, ask yourself this: are you a fan of the three-time Super Bowl champions, the Kansas City Chiefs? Say what you want about this last season, but has your favorite team been to the Super Bowl five times in the last six years? So, I digress… I found a “cheap” way to stream NFL games on the DAZN app.

I was originally okay with not watching baseball, but then the Kansas City Royals made it to the postseason for the first time in 10 seasons. The last time they made it this far, they won the World Series, but I’m not going to brag about that. Naturally, I found an international stream called MLB.TV for the postseason.

But I was done after that, right? Not quite.

Then March rolled around, which happens to be my favorite month. The weather was changing, baseball was starting, it’s my half-birthday, etc. So, I told myself I would just get one month of Disney+ in order to watch March Madness. Now, here I am with more streaming services than I ever had back in the U.S.!

None of the members of my host family are interested in any of these sports, but they also don’t mind when I shut myself in my room to watch, even if it’s Christmas Day! However, as time passes here in Colombia, I have found that I am willing to miss sports in order to spend time with my host family or friends. For example, this was the first year that I can remember not watching the Super Bowl, simply because I was having too much fun hanging out with my family. But since the Chiefs lost… did I really miss anything?

(Photo/Marcella Gonzalez ) Photo of my setup when the NFL and MLB overlapped.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.

It wasn’t all bad. In the first confrontation, we learned that President Petro is a big Paul Simon fan. Right on, Gustavo! Maybe after DOGE is done with us, the Peace Corps will get its own crypto currency. Who wouldn’t love to see our digitized dove spreading peace throughout the e-market?

After both incidents, the predominant feeling among volunteers was one of uncertainty. What would a U.S.-Colombia trade war mean for our neighbors, communities, and local industries? How will our jobs be affected by an increasingly negative view of Americans? Will we even have jobs tomorrow?

If someday soon, we’re told we do not, in fact, have jobs tomorrow, I don’t want to leave Colombia. After talking to other members of my cohort, I know that’s a common sentiment. So, for myself and others who plan to remain in the lively Caribbean or the scenic Andes, here’s an extremely unauthorized guide to staying in Colombia.

I would like to emphasize that this information is completely unauthorized. I am neither a lawyer nor an immigration expert. This article is a summary of several hours of scrolling through the Colombian consulate’s website. Please do your own research! Reach out to the relevant government agency or consult a lawyer if you have to. I may very well have gotten something wrong.

Leaving the Country to Stay in the Country

Famously, and often confusingly, we entered Colombia on our no-fee passports issued specifically for our service in the Peace Corps. We are in Colombia under a special visa arrangement between our two countries, tied to those passports and not our personal ones. If our no-fee passports were to be canceled, you would need Colombia to recognize your personal passport instead. To get this recognition, you will have to leave the country and return on your personal passport. Hopefully, you can do so without putting too big of a hole in your pocket. For many, the cheapest option would be to take a Peace Corps-provided flight to your home of record and then head back to Colombia. However, if you don’t want to travel all the way back to the U.S., these are the cheapest round-trip flights, according to Google Flights’ April pricing (all prices in U.S. dollars):

From Barranquilla to:

• Ciudad de Panamá, Panamá ($271.85)

• Quito, Ecuador ($283.63)

• San José, Costa Rica ($291.02)

From Bogotá to:

• San José, Costa Rica ($144.37)

• Cancún, México ($210.40)

• Lima, Perú ($222.03)

Returning to Colombia

Upon arriving in Colombia, Americans can stay in the country for 90 days without a visa. However, you must fill out this CheckMIG form before entering the country.

As your initial stay winds down, you can apply for a 90-day extension. For approval, you only need to fill out the form, upload some passport photos, and show proof of an outgoing flight. The application typically only takes a couple days to be processed. Without any visa, your time in Colombia is limited to 180 days within a 365-day period.

Acquiring a Visa

If you plan to stay longer than 180 days, you will need to apply for a visa through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This can be done while you are inside Colombia. Your application should be processed within 30 work days. While Colombia offers over a dozen types of visas, the Visa M - Worker is the most applicable for your average PCV and costs $270.

To obtain a work visa, you will need an employment contract and proof that you’re qualified for the job; for example, you might need a TEFL certificate to prove that you’re qualified to teach English. More information and paperwork is required from your contractor. As a result, you will need an employer willing to invest their time and effort into helping you with the visa process. With the work visa Visa, you may stay in Colombia for up to three years.

Although you might not currently have a Colombian job offer, you could enter the country and find a job during your 180 days in country. You might consider starting to look for an employer now.

Final Considerations

Before making this decision, please take into account your individual financial, medical, and mental health situation. Do you have the economic means to stay? Without a work visa, can you support yourself through a U.S. source of income or an unofficial Colombian income, perhaps tutoring English under the table? How would your health fare without medical insurance? Do you have the funds for an emergency hospital stay? If you are on medication, can you find that medication in Colombia? Mental health-wise, do you have a community to support you? How would you handle the uncertainty of living abroad independently, without the Peace Corps’ help and guidance? If you are set on coming back to Colombia, you can always wait until you have a more secure situation.

Disclaimer: The content of this publication is generated by individual volunteers. The opinions and thoughts expressed here do not reflect any position of the United States government or the Peace Corps.