Walking through the winding streets of Cartagena, Colombia, I stumbled upon a peculiar sight - women dressed in vibrant colours, their heads adorned with head wraps, carrying bowls of fruit and sweets on their heads or hands. The scene seemed almost surreal, as if they were posing for a photoshoot, only to be met by tourists snapping pictures and paying for the privilege. These women, known as "palenqueras," hailed from San Basilio de Palenque, a town over an hour away, where they made a living selling fruits and sweets.
As I delved deeper into their history, I discovered that San Basilio de Palenque was founded in the 1400s by people who escaped Spanish bondage. The town is celebrated as the first "free" town in the Americas, with its inhabitants creating their own community and language - a blend of African languages, Creole, and Spanish and Portuguese. However, I soon realized that my perception of these women was not only influenced by their bright attire but also by the centuries-long legacy of enslavement.
Standing amidst the Plaza de los Coches, once a bustling market for human beings, but now a hub for performers and street food, I found myself surrounded by the stark contrast between Cartagena's affluent tourist areas and its dark history of slavery. The palenqueras, with their radiant smiles, seemed to embody the resilience of their community in the face of oppression.
I sat down with Milena, one of these women, and asked her about her experiences. She shared that she comes from a town that is "a small Africa" - a reference to San Basilio de Palenque's origins as a haven for African people. When I asked her what it's like being part of such a community, she replied, "We have never changed the traditions; we keep our origins intact. We are protected." Her words echoed the town's determination to preserve its heritage and protect its identity.
The palenqueras' language, culture, and self-governance are all testaments to their unwavering spirit. As I struggled to reconcile the town's history with its current state, Milena offered a poignant observation: "palenqueras never have limits." This phrase resonated deeply, as it spoke to the community's unyielding determination to thrive despite the circumstances of their past.
As I continued my exploration of Cartagena, I began to understand that the palenqueras were not one-dimensional victims of history but rather living, breathing individuals who had created a new life for themselves. Their culture and language were a synthesis of their African heritage with the colonial influences that shaped them. They were neither solely defined by their past nor able to escape its consequences.
In the end, I came to realize that the palenqueras were not only familiar but also foreign - a paradox born from the complexities of human experience. They embodied the resilience and strength of a community that had been forged in the fire of adversity, yet remained deeply connected to their African roots. As I walked away from Cartagena, I felt grateful for the encounter with these women, whose stories and traditions continue to inspire me.
As I delved deeper into their history, I discovered that San Basilio de Palenque was founded in the 1400s by people who escaped Spanish bondage. The town is celebrated as the first "free" town in the Americas, with its inhabitants creating their own community and language - a blend of African languages, Creole, and Spanish and Portuguese. However, I soon realized that my perception of these women was not only influenced by their bright attire but also by the centuries-long legacy of enslavement.
Standing amidst the Plaza de los Coches, once a bustling market for human beings, but now a hub for performers and street food, I found myself surrounded by the stark contrast between Cartagena's affluent tourist areas and its dark history of slavery. The palenqueras, with their radiant smiles, seemed to embody the resilience of their community in the face of oppression.
I sat down with Milena, one of these women, and asked her about her experiences. She shared that she comes from a town that is "a small Africa" - a reference to San Basilio de Palenque's origins as a haven for African people. When I asked her what it's like being part of such a community, she replied, "We have never changed the traditions; we keep our origins intact. We are protected." Her words echoed the town's determination to preserve its heritage and protect its identity.
The palenqueras' language, culture, and self-governance are all testaments to their unwavering spirit. As I struggled to reconcile the town's history with its current state, Milena offered a poignant observation: "palenqueras never have limits." This phrase resonated deeply, as it spoke to the community's unyielding determination to thrive despite the circumstances of their past.
As I continued my exploration of Cartagena, I began to understand that the palenqueras were not one-dimensional victims of history but rather living, breathing individuals who had created a new life for themselves. Their culture and language were a synthesis of their African heritage with the colonial influences that shaped them. They were neither solely defined by their past nor able to escape its consequences.
In the end, I came to realize that the palenqueras were not only familiar but also foreign - a paradox born from the complexities of human experience. They embodied the resilience and strength of a community that had been forged in the fire of adversity, yet remained deeply connected to their African roots. As I walked away from Cartagena, I felt grateful for the encounter with these women, whose stories and traditions continue to inspire me.