OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2019 121me. “It’s 25 mil pesos for treinta minutos, y cinquenta mil pesos
for una hora. Pero, you need una hora, you have a lot of body,
like me,” she says, gripping her thighs, which are as thick and
shapely as mine.
Our eyes meet for a moment and we burst out laughing—big,
open-mouthed cackles.
“You got me, girl,” I say, lifting my arms in mock defeat.
“Brenda,” she says, extending her hand.
“Glynn,” I say.
Brenda nods toward the image of a dark-skinned black woman
with a big, juicy afro that’s printed on my tote bag. She peels
back her sun hat to reveal a puff of thick coily hair and gives
me a thumbs up.
I knew we—Black people—were here in Colombia, and
I’d been hoping that somewhere along this journey I’d have a
moment for this type of fellowship. So often when I’m traveling,
my hair, skin, and body are what set me apart. When I can con-
nect my diasporic dots in the midst of it, I feel a strengthened
sense of self; no matter where I am in the world, I’m at home.The formerly sleepy
beach town of Palomino
has become a popular
stop for visitors
discovering Colombia’s
Caribbean coast.FR
AN
CE
SC
O^ L
AS
TR
UC
CI