Take Me To Church

Three times my alarm went off this morning. Not even in college did I ever have to wake up before 8am and now I have to be in the classroom by 6:30. About 15 minutes before class starts, I finally roll out of bed and stumble my way into the kitchen in search for coffee. Standing in front of the stove and cooking up a mean breakfast was my host mother Doris, who turns to me and lets out a laugh with a grin so big I couldn't help but cackle a little myself. In this moment, I must really be personifying the stereotype of American laziness.

I couldn't help but to be utterly confused over the fact that so much food was being prepared when both of us had to be standing in front of a class in less than 10 minutes. Doris handed me a plate and mug with that million dollar smile still plastered across her face. "Gracias por la comida," was the only thing I could think to say at that point as she joined me over at the dining table. Still chewing on my buttered bread with cheese, I just had to ask if she was at all concerned about being late. "¿No conoces chica?" I had officially experienced my first costeño moment of being utterly misinformed.

In Colombian culture, Thursdays are considered to be just as holy as Sundays. Doris filled me in on the whole scenario, starting with the fact that first and second period of classes would be canceled. Ignoring the lost reality that I could’ve slept longer this morning, I had a new hurdle to conquer. Apparently the teachers were to take the students to church during this time, something that I have not done in over 5 years.

"¡Vamos chica!" I followed closely behind Doris like a lost puppy. Not only had I not done this in what felt like forever, but now I had to go to a mass conducted in an entirely different language. Talk about double trouble. For lack of better words, Doris ditched me as soon as we got through the doors and found herself a seat close to the front. I sulked into the nearest pew I could find next to a group of 6th grade boys.

Absolutely everything was different from what I was used to. First of all, the organ was not a thing. There was a man in the far right front of the church jamming on the electric keyboard. Everyone started clapping their hands identical to the exaggerated heavy baseline. While there was still an element of seriousness to the mass, the level of character went far beyond the monotone version in the United States.

Although I am quite awkward when it comes to religious encounters, I found this experience to be an unforgettable one. I do not know if I will find myself in a situation like this again during my stay here in Barranquilla, but one thing I am getting accustomed to is the "take it easy" approach of the costeño.