Every afternoon, as a little girl growing up in Colombia, the street became a stage. The barrio (neighborhood) was an extension of the living room. We played escondidas (hide and seek) until the streetlights flickered on, and we jumped triple (jump rope) while singing clapping rhymes that varied from one block to the next.
The music was omnipresent. From the open windows of tiendas (corner stores), Carlos Vives or Shakira (pre-global megastardom) spilled onto the pavement. On weekends, there was la plancha—the moment when Dad pulled out the ancient vinyl record of Diomedes Díaz. As a little girl growing up in Colombia, you didn’t just listen to vallenato; you felt it in your bones. You learned to dance cumbia with your cousins, swaying your skirt in a circle to mimic the flowing river. You learned that rhythm is not a skill; it is an inheritance.
Eventually, like so many Colombian children, I grew taller than the guayabo tree. I learned English. I learned to code-switch between the warm, lyrical Spanish of the interior and the flat vowels of the north.
As a little girl growing up in Colombia, I promised myself I would leave. I did. I’ve lived in three countries since. But here is the secret no one tells you: Colombia never leaves you. It follows you in your scent for ripe plantains. It follows you in the way you gesture with both hands when you talk. It follows you in the unreasonable amount of hogao (tomato-onion sauce) you keep in your fridge.
When I feel lost in a gray city far from the equator, I close my eyes and go back. I am six years old. I am barefoot on cool ceramic tiles. My abuela is humming a bambuco. The coffee is dripping. And the whole of Colombia—wild, wounded, and wildly beautiful—fits inside my small, open heart.
To be a little girl growing up in Colombia is to live between warmth and complexity—deeply rooted in family, festivity, and flavor, yet often navigating economic and social realities with early maturity. The experience varies vastly by region and class, but common threads include a strong sense of community, pride in local traditions, and the lasting influence of la familia as a safe haven.
It sounds like you're starting to share a personal story or experience. Growing up in Colombia must have been a unique and enriching experience, with the country's rich culture, diverse landscapes, and vibrant cities. What was it like for you growing up there? Did you have a favorite childhood memory or experience that stands out to you?
The air in the patio always smelled like a battle between damp earth and frying plantains.
Being a girl in Colombia meant living in the rhythm of the afternoon downpour. At 3:00 PM, the sky would bruise purple, and suddenly, the corrugated tin roofs would begin their frantic drumming. We didn’t run inside; we stood under the eaves, watching the street turn into a brown river, launching paper boats that would inevitably drown by the corner. as a little girl growing up in colombia
Mornings were for the tinto. The grownups drank it black and bitter, but I got the café con leche—mostly milk, served in a heavy ceramic mug that warmed my palms. There was always a piece of salty queso campesino tucked into the bottom, waiting to be fished out, soft and squeaky, with a spoon.
Sunday was the heartbeat of the week. It was the sound of vallenato drifting from a neighbor’s open window, the accordion squeezing out stories of heartbreak that I was too young to understand but felt in my bones anyway. It was my grandmother’s hands, dusted in white cornmeal, shaping arepas with a rhythmic pat-pat-pat that sounded like a heartbeat.
The world felt loud and bright—the neon orange of a mamoncillo skin, the screech of the busetas weaving through traffic, and the constant, fierce reminder that family was the only anchor. We were taught to be "bien educadas," to greet every auntie with a kiss on the cheek, but our knees were always scraped from chasing shadows through the coffee trees or the dusty plazas.
It was a childhood of contrasts: the jagged peaks of the Andes against the softness of a crumbled buñuelo, and the knowledge that even if the world outside was complicated, the kitchen was always safe, always warm, and always smelled like home.
Should we focus more on the sensory details of the food and landscape, or
Recuerdos de mi Infancia en Colombia
Growing up as a little girl in Colombia was a magical experience filled with vibrant colors, rich traditions, and warm loving people. My name is Sofía, and I was born and raised in the beautiful city of Medellín, surrounded by the majestic Andes mountains.
Mi Familia y Yo
My family was very close-knit, and our home was always filled with laughter and music. My parents, Juan and María, were high school sweethearts who instilled in me and my siblings a strong sense of values, love, and respect for our culture. My mom would often tell me stories about our ancestors, who came from Spain and Italy, and how they influenced our traditions and customs.
Mis Recuerdos Favoritos
One of my favorite childhood memories was spending Sundays with my abuela (grandmother) in the town of Guatapé, a picturesque village nestled in the mountains. She would make the most delicious arepas, empanadas, and tamales, which I would devour in seconds. We'd spend hours playing games, listening to traditional Colombian music, and dancing to the rhythm of vallenato and cumbia.
La Celebración de la Navidad
Christmas was a special time in our household. We'd decorate our home with colorful lights, flowers, and a giant nativity scene. My siblings and I would help my mom prepare traditional Colombian dishes like lechona (roasted pork stuffed with rice, peas, and spices) and natilla (a creamy dessert made with milk, sugar, and cinnamon). On Christmas Eve, we'd attend midnight mass, followed by a festive dinner with our extended family.
Mi Amor por la Música
Music played a significant role in my life. I started taking piano lessons when I was 6 years old, and I quickly fell in love with Colombian folk music. My favorite artists were Shakira, Carlos Vives, and Andrés Calamaro. I'd spend hours listening to their songs, trying to learn the lyrics and rhythms.
La Fiesta de Quinceañera
In Colombia, when a girl turns 15, she celebrates her quinceañera, a grand celebration marking her transition to womanhood. I was excited to plan my own quinceañera, with a big party, a live band, and a beautiful white gown. It was a night I'll never forget, surrounded by my friends and family, dancing and singing along to our favorite songs.
Conclusión
Growing up in Colombia was an incredible experience that shaped me into the person I am today. The warmth and hospitality of my people, the richness of our culture, and the beauty of our landscapes have left an indelible mark on my heart. I feel grateful to have grown up in such a wonderful country, and I hope to share these experiences with others, inspiring them to explore and appreciate the beauty of Colombia.
¿Quieres saber más sobre mi experiencia?
Si te gustó leer sobre mi infancia en Colombia, puedo compartir contigo más historias y anécdotas sobre mi vida en este hermoso país. ¿Qué te gustaría saber? ¿Quieres saber más sobre nuestras tradiciones, nuestra música o nuestra comida? ¡Hablemos!
Today, many of those little girls are grown women scattered across Miami, Madrid, or New York. Yet, as a little girl growing up in Colombia remains a core identity, a sensory home they carry in their hand luggage. They chase that feeling in a can of Jugos Hit, in a WhatsApp voice note from abuela, or in the smell of guava paste melting on pastry.
Because to have been a little girl in Colombia is to understand that life is beautiful precisely because it is hard. It is to know that the best arepa is the one made by hand, that the best dance is the one where you stumble, and that the best song is the one that makes you cry while you smile.