Photo: Mikelo

I remember that when I arrived in the United States, the first thing I missed was my music.

I remember vividly that all the Latin music I heard around me sounded old, out of style, different, and strange. I felt no connection with it, including the genre called salsa. It was 1980, I was young, and my sense of sound had been established by all those rhythms I’d heard, danced to, and left behind in Havana.

Photo: Rosino

The slow songs people listened to here seemed to be of my mother’s era, or even of my grandparents’ epoch. My generation grew up with music that was a little different from what the rest of the world was listening to at the time. The love songs were songs for an intelligent nation whose promise had been dashed time and again. They were songs that asked a lot of questions… about everything. It was as if songs were coming out of trenches during battle, floating out over a common ground.

Photo: hoyasmeg

I remember that while I danced, I wanted all those things–those preoccupations–to go away, to disappear, to finally have a resolution. I danced for life, as we all did; I’d like to think that every step is imprinted on the tiles of the dance stages of my Havana.

Outside of Cuba, I didn’t know how to dance, but I also didn’t know how not to. I had to learn how to dance again, as well as retrain my musical ear. Physically and emotionally I felt like a fish out of water.

Perhaps the Cubans who’d arrived before me didn’t suffer this sense of separation. The music of their era came with them; they listened to it on the radio and on TV programs. In fact, it was the music that filled all the dance halls from Miami to New York.

I was jealous and confused by this collision of the familiar and the strange, of these songs, which had been sung so often before by Cuban artists or other artists I hadn’t even known existed: La Lupe, Bienvenido Granda, Frankie Ruiz, Cano Estremera, Willie Chirino, Justo Betancourt, Sonora Poncena, Roberto Who?… Roberto Torres… all of them singing, inspired by Cuban music. The Cuban sound was there.

Havana danced–and still does–to a different beat, a style that’s clandestine, that’s for “exclusive national use,” all to the beats of groups like Conjunto Latino, Los Reyes 73, La Orquesta Monumental, Los Van Van of Juan Formell, and, more recently, to Bamboleo, La Charanga Habanera, NG la Banda, El Medico de la Salsa, and others.

If you visit Havana as a tourist, you’ll hear the music of Compay Segundo, Los Compadres, and Bola de Nieve, all sung by local artists for the pleasure of tourists. From these songs and rhythms, other styles are nurtured, becoming songs that circle the world again and again with their contagious melody, and marked by their undeniable Cubanness: Bebo Valdes y Cigala, Francisco Cespedes, and Oscar D’ Leon, among others, but it’s a music for exportation, for cabaret.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.” -Proverb

According to the experts, Cuban music of the 1970s was in crisis, due to the flight of composers and the absence of groups that sang and danced to the rhythm of the Revolution. Many new groups and sounds were born during this time out of necessity. Never before had there been such musical emphasis on the country man, work, and on education as there was in those years. The “New Song” appeared, nurturing itself from those sounds of the past, looking for its roots. This is how “Nueva Trova” was born, and like dust it blew across Latin America and Africa, which was burning with revolution: Nicaragua, El Salvador, Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Angola, Congo, and Cuba. Cuban songs were sung in all these places.

My “son”…where is it? Where has it gone? My worry is that it is–and that all of our sounds have been–politicized in a way, with each camp trying to claim the sounds as its own. But Batista didn’t invent it, nor did Fidel; these sounds have been with us for hundreds of years. These are songs written by the people, born out of their realities, some to tell history as it was, and some to talk about current conditions.

Soft Sounds

Twenty years later, the reality is different. The music of the past is rescued, turned again into international hits. Pablo Milanes re-records the love songs of the past, with a feeling and sound that are fresh.

This second era of my “son” is being proudly reborn, a fact reaffirmed by its worldwide popularity. It sings of love, of war, of the future, of past achievements, and hopes for what’s to come. It is truly a music for everyone. Artists of different nationalities are taking on these songs and sounds as their own, artists like Luis Miguel, Cesaria Evora, Mark Anthony, Oscar D’Leon, Polo Montanez, and Candela, to name just a few.

My “son” can be heard in the rhythm of bachata music from the Dominican Republic, from Colombia’s cumbia music, and in Mexico’s “Norteno” music.

Everyone’s dancing to “son.” Tribute is being given to Compay Segundo, who won a Grammy in his 80s, to Bebo and Cigala, who won a Grammy for their interpretation of “Lagrimas Negras.” Andy Montanez and Gilberto Santa Rosa include “son” in their repertoire. The Israeli flutist Eti Abramovitz interprets the Cuban danzon in an exquisite rendition. After 28 years abroad, my ear can finally hear the universality in all those lost rhythms of old. This is the “son”- not just of Havana, but of the world, sung with passion and melancholy, stirring the hearts and moving the feet of dancers.

Photo: ChrisGoldNY

Son and all of the elements of Cuban music haven’t died. They didn’t get stuck in past generations with Compay Segundo, Eliades Ochoa, and the others. They’re reincorporated in a new generation, this time coming to us through Camerata Romeu, with a mix of rhythms from different continents and with compositions arranged by a diverse group of composers.

Many generations will pass. Many changes will occur–here and there–but my “son” will remain, offering the opportunity to transform sadness into happiness, defeat into victory, and to bring us back together to celebrate what belongs to all of us, that which has a soul but has no borders.

[Version en espanol]

Photo: mickou

Recuerdo que cuando arrive por primera vez a los Estados Unidos, lo primero que extrane fue mi musica.

Recuerdo vivamente que toda esa musica latina que escuchaba a mi alrededor me sonaba vieja, fuera de estilo, diferente y extrana. No sentia conexion con ella, e inclusive con lo que aqui se le llama salsa. Era 1980, era joven, y en mi sentido de sonoridad estaban los ritmos que yo habia escuchado, bailado, y dejado en La Habana, Cuba.

Photo: Hector Alejandro

Los boleros que aqui escuchaban pertenecian quizas a la epoca de mi madre o mis abuelos. Mi generacion crecio con una musica un poco diferente a lo que el resto del mundo escuchaba entonces. Las canciones de amor eran los cantos a una nacion inteligente que sus promesas les habian sido rotas una y otra vez, no llevaban dudas, eran poemas cantados que preguntaban muchas cosas y todas las cosas. Era como cantar desde diferentes trincheras dentro de una batalla y un terreno comun.

Recuerdo que mientras bailaba deseaba que todas esas cosas se fueran lejos, desaparecieran, tuvieran una respuesta. Bailaba con la vida y de esa manera bailabamos todos juntos; pense que esos pasos se quedaron en las lozas y en las tarimas de baile de mi Habana, en contra de toda mi voluntad.

Fuera de Cuba no sabia que bailaba o que dejaba de bailar. Para mi fue como aprender de nuevo a bailar y a entrenar mi oido musical. Fisica y emocionalmente me sentia como un pez fuera del agua.

Los cubanos que habian llegados en decadas anteriores quizas no sufrieron esta separacion. La musica de su epoca me pude dar cuenta que se vino con ellos. Se escuchaba en la radio, en los programas de television; de hecho era la musica que llenaba los salones de bailes desde Miami hasta Nueva York. Los latinos en su mayoria tarareaban canciones completas que se le metian por dentro como hormigas bravas, dandole esa picazon contagiosa que recuerdo yo habia dejado parte en La Habana.

Celoso y perplejo por lo familiar y extrano a la vez. Estas canciones, cantadas muchas veces por artistas cubanos y otras por artistas que ni siquiera estaban en mi radar o sabia que existian: La Lupe, Bienvenido Granda, Frankie Ruiz, Cano Estremera, Willie Chirino, Justo Betancourt, Sonora Poncena, Roberto quien? Roberto Torres. Todo esto me parecia una real pesadilla. Todos y cada uno de ellos se inspiraban en la musica cubana. El son estaba presente.

La Habana bailaba y baila a un ritmo diferente. Bailabamos un producto clandestino y para “uso nacional y exclusivo”: Conjunto Latino, Los Reyes 73, La Orquesta Monumental, Los Van Van de Juan Formell, y mas reciente, Bamboleo, La Charanga Habanera, NG la Banda, El Medico de la Salsa y otros.

Si llegas hoy de turista a La Habana, oiras musica de Compay Segundo, Los Compadres, Bola de Nieve, interpretada por artistas locales para el disfrute de los visitantes. De hecho, de estas musicas y ritmos se nutren otros que las convierten en temas internacionales que le dan la vuelta al mundo una y otra vez, melodias contagiosas y cargada de cubanidad: Bebo Valdes y Cigala, Francisco Cespedes, Oscar D’ Leon, entre otros, pero esa musica es para exportacion y para noches de cabaret.

“Necesidad hace genio” -Proverbio comun

La musica cubana de los 70s estaba en crisis segun los expertos. La fuga de compositores y la ausencia de grupos que cantaran y bailaran al ritmo de la revolucion cubana estaban todavia en su infancia y otras veces ausentes de la realidad existente. Muchos de estos grupos y sones nacen de esta necesidad. Nunca antes se le habia cantado con tanto enfasis al campesino, al trabajo, y a la educacion como en estos anos. La Nueva Cancion aparece, nutriendose de los sones de antano, buscando sus raices en los trovadores libres. Asi “La Nueva Trova” nace y como polvora viaja a la America Latina y Africa que esta ardiendo con revoluciones: Nicaragua, El Salvador, Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Angola, Congo, y Cuba le canta a todos estos, llevando y extrayendo formas nueva de decir las cosas.

Mi son… donde esta? Ha donde ha ido? Mi preocupacion es y ha sido que todos nuestros ritmos se habian politizado de una manera u otra y ambas fronteras reclamaban la popularidad y bailadores. No los habian inventado Batista ni Fidel; ellos han estado con nosotros por cientos de anos. Estas son canciones escritas por el pueblo, nacidas de una realidad existente donde unos les cantan para mantenerlo como fue y otros para decir cosas nuevas. Lo Afro-Cubano es la piedra principal para la construccion de este, no importa en el lado que lo mires. Estoy desnudo antes esta realidad. Necesito mi son!

El Son Suavecito

Veinte anos mas tarde esta realidad es diferente. Con los exitos internacionales de las canciones de antano la musica da una vuelta y se esfuerza en rescatar lo perdido. Pablo Milanes graba los boleros del pasado con un sentimiento y sonoridad diferente.

Photo: Lauras512

La segunda etapa de mi son esta naciendo orgullosa, se reafirma para su conquista universal. Este se recicla una y otra vez con una voz nueva, muy familiar en sus ritmos y melodias para los jovenes y viejos. Este le canto al amor, nos habla de la guerra, del futuro, de las glorias y de las esperanzas. Ahora si ya es de todos. Se unen o se nutren de esta nueva corriente del renacimiento artistas de diferentes nacionalidades como Luis Miguel, Cesaria Evora, Mark Anthony, Oscar D’Leon, Polo Montanez, y Candela.

Mi son se canta a ritmo de bachatas de Republica Dominicana, en cumbias Colombianas y a ritmos Nortenos de Mexico. En cada uno de estos ritmos esta presente mi musica con diferentes generos y melodias, mi son de Cuba.

Photo: Francisco Collazo

Todos bailan el son. Le dan tributo a Compay Segundo, ganador de un Grammy a los 80 anos, a Bebo y Cigala ganando un Grammy con su “Lagrimas Negras.” Andy Montanez y Gilberto Santa Rosa los incluyen en sus repertorios. En Israel la flautista Eti Abramovitz lo interpreta a ritmo de danzon de una manera exquisita, y ya lo bailo al ritmo de todos, en cumbias, bachatas, boleros y danzones de una manera muy familiar. Despues de 28 anos en el exterior mi oido se entona a la universalidad de estos ritmos perdidos de antanos.

Este es el son, no solo de La Habana, sino el son de todo que con infinita pasion y melancolia llena los corazones y mueve los pies de los bailadores.

El son y todos los elementos de la musica cubana no ha muerto, no se detuvo en las generaciones pasadas en Compay Segundo, Eliades Ochoa y los demas. Este se incorpora en la nueva generacion; esta vez nos llega a traves de la Camerata Romeu con una mezcla de ritmos de otros continentes y con arreglos de composiciones de una inmensa diversidad de compositores.

Pasaran muchas generaciones, vendran muchos cambios aqui y alla, pero mi son estara alli para brindarles a muchos la oportunidad de convertir los momentos de tristeza en alegria, las derrotas en victorias, y traernos de nuevo a tierra firme para celebrar que este es de todos, que tiene alma y no tiene fronteras.

Happy 2009!

One of our big projects this year (there are so many!) is to really get Voces de Mompox/Mompox Voices up and running.

If you’re new to CollazoProjects, Voces de Mompox is an after-school program we started in Mompox, Colombia back in July during our month-long visit to this geographically isolated town. We met an incredible group of 9th graders, who began learning how to use cameras, videos, writing, and web technology to tell the world about themselves and their country.

The kids were both moved and motivated by readers’ comments, and by the outpouring of support for their writing, photos, and videos. So far, we’ve raised just over $500 for the project, and we’ll be partnering with other social entrepreneurs to get the kids a physical space and the equipment they need to continue their reporting from Colombia.

A digital camera is currently on the way to the kids, so expect to hear and see more from them soon.

In the meantime, here are a few of our own photos from Colombia, a preview of the stories we have to share with you in 2009….

A father and son continue the more than century-old tradition of hand-crafting gold and silver filigree jewelry.

Images from the Escuela de Taller, a trade school that teaches men–and women!–the craft of ironwork, simultaneously offering rehabilitation opportunities to men who were once members of paramilitary forces.

Written by: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Translated by: Francisco Collazo
[English version; vease abajo para la version en espanol]
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What strikes me–of all things–as I sit down to interview Gloria, the director of the Casa de los Recuerdos, Mompox’s only nursing home and one of just three in the state of Bolivar, is how much jewelry she’s wearing: a flowery brooch, earrings, and a pair of large rings. She’s not ostentatious, exactly, but she’s a bit out of place among the women I know here… the poor ones, definitely, but also those of the middle and upper class, and even the ones whose families sustain the century old tradition of handcrafting filigree jewelry. No one here walks around with so much glitter and flash.

It’s one of many details about the Casa de los Recuerdos that don’t make sense at first glance. Gloria is using a calendar from 1998. Her office is beyond threadbare: there’s a desk, two simple chairs, a phone/fax contraption that’s a good 15 years old, and a medicine cabinet with six boxes of Carbomazepina and a few boxes of Clotrimazol. And that’s not all: Gloria doesn’t have administrative experience and she’s not a gerontologist. Gloria, who was appointed to this position by the government in January of this year, is an orthodontist.

But like her jewelry and her office, such superficial details can be deceiving. These little facts that I take in as I glance around and listen to her introduce herself can’t yield an understanding of the complexity of La Casa de los Recuerdos… or the woman who runs it.
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Gloria takes me on a tour of the facility; the nursing home is a former colonial residence that is currently home to 97 men and women. Most bunk four to a room, and while that sounds crowded, the rooms are spacious. Men and women sit in rocking chairs, watch TV, talk quietly amongst themselves, play dominoes– all the same sorts of activities I witnessed in nursing homes when I was a young Girl Scout visiting the elderly. Their interest is piqued by a visitor and one man tries out his English on me–he lived in Chicago for 30 years.

I ask him why he came back to Mompox, and he tells me that his daughter wanted him to come home. But once here, he says, sadness and resentment creeping into his voice, she just dropped him off here and hasn’t been back since.

“His story is common,” Gloria says, to my surprise. Most of the residents have been all but abandoned by their loved ones. And most, unlike this man, are in serious mental or phsyical decline, or often both– about 80%, Gloria says.

I ask her if medical staff are on site and it’s at this moment when Gloria confesses that the nursing home has been operating without funds for eight months.

23 full time staff.
Three daily meals.
Lodging.
Utilities.
Clothing.
Activities.
Urgent medical care.

This is easily the cleanest, most hospitable, and humane nursing home I’ve ever visited. There’s no smell of death in the air. No one is languishing without attention. No one is going hungry. In fact, despite the lack of funds, Gloria has even taken in residents she’s not technically permitted to accept. She explains that the mandate of her position confines her to admitting residents who are from the state of Bolivar, but she accepts elderly people brought to the home by police who don’t have any identifying information about the lost and abandoned people they find with alarming frequency in a nearby town that’s not in Bolivar. If she doesn’t accept them, she says, who will and what will happen to them?

I’m curious how she keeps the place running and I ask her. “Credit,” she says simply. No sighs. No self-pity. No railing against the government’s infuriatingly slow bureaucratic machinery that has funding tied up til who knows when. No drama. But lots of determination.

“I didn’t have grandparents,” she said, her eyes starting to tear up for the first time. “Now I have 100! I feel a deep commitment to them and must do everything possible to keep the home open and running well.” This from a woman who hasn’t received a salary since accepting the position and leaving her apparently lucrative orthodontic practice and who doesn’t know if or when she’ll see a paycheck or be able to pay her staff.

She’s not one to wallow. She stands up, smooths her lavender blouse against her chest, and says she wants me to meet a man who is “our resident genius.” “Tell him your birthdate,” she says, “and he will tell you what day you were born without thinking about it.” We go to the dayroom and the sound of a harmonica fills the space. “September 9, 1977,” I say to the blind man playing it–and a conga. “Friday,” he says, resuming his playing. Women dance to the song, men finish their dinner of spaghetti, and kitchen staff tidy up the dining tables.

“All I ask,” Gloria says, as I look around and think about what she’s accomplished, “is that you tell people about the house of memories.”

And so I do.
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In this short video, the man who divines birthdates tells Francisco what day he was born (Sunday), tells Gloria what day her birthday falls on next year (a Monday), and then indulges Gloria’s request to play us a song “as soon as I wash my hands and brush my teeth.”

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[Version en espanol]
Lo que mas me impacto -mientras me sentaba para entrevistar a Gloria, directora de Casa de los Recuerdos, el unico hogar de envejecientes en Mompox y uno de los 3 en todo el departamento de Bolivar– fue la cantidad de joyas y alajas que ella portaba: un broche floral de oro, aretes, y una diversidad de anillos. De por si ella no es ostentosa, pero si se veia fuera de lugar entre todas las mujeres alli presentes… especialmente las pobres y de una manera u otra las de clase media y alta, incluso mas joyas que los miembros de aquella familia con siglos de tradicion en la confeccion de joyas de filigranas. Aqui en esta region nadie porta tantas alajas y joyas a la vista.

Esto fue uno de esos detalles que no tiene sentido a simple vista. En su oficina, Gloria esta usando todavia un calendario del 1998. Su oficina es mas alla de lo sencillo: un buro, dos sillas, un telefono/fax que vio sus mejores dias 15 anos atras, y un botiquin con 6 cajas de Carbomazepina y unas cuantas cajas de Clotrimazol. Eso era todo su inventario: Gloria no posee una experiencia administrativa y no es una gerontologista. A Gloria se le asigno esta posicion en Enero de este ano por sus vinculos politicos. Ella es una ortodontista de profesion.

Al igual que sus joyas y su oficina estos detalles superficiales te pueden enganar de la realidad existente. Toda esta evidencia que tome a primera vista no me ayudarian a entender la complejidad de Casa de los Recuerdos o de las mujeres que alli trabajan despues de escuchar sus historias.

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Gloria me acompana a un recorrido por la institucion; la casa de los envejecientes es una casona colonial y hogar para los 97 hombres y mujeres que alli se albergan. La mayoria se acomodan en cuartos de cuatro personas separados; aunque esto suena que no hay privacidad y puede ser muy ruidoso, los cuartos son muy grandes y amplios para albergarlos comodamente. Hombres y mujeres se sientan en sus mesedoras a disfrutar de la tele, a conversar en voz baja, y jugar domino entre ellos– Todas estas actividades que he visto cuando era parte de las Girl Scout visitando los asilos de ancianos. Sus intereses y atencion cambia por nuestra visita; uno de los residentes practica su ingles conmigo–Segun me cuenta, el vivio en Chicago por 30 anos.

Le pregunto por que volvio a Mompox y me cuenta que su hija queria que el viniera, pero una vez alli-me dijo con tristeza y amargura- que nunca mas regreso. Lo abandono.
“Su historia es comun,” Gloria me dice, para sorpresa mia. La mayoria han sido abandonados por sus familias de una manera u otra. Y la mayoria a diferencia de este hombre tienen serios problemas mentales o estan fisicamente en decline o sufren de ambas cosas– alrededor del 80%, Gloria me dice.

Le pregunto que si el personal medico se encuentra dentro de la facilidad y es cuando Gloria confiesa que el hogar de envejecientes ha estado operando sin fondos por 8 meses consecutivos.

23 trabajadores de tiempo completo.
Tres comidas diarias.
Alojamiento.
Utilidades.
Ropas.
Actividades.
Cuidado medico de urgencia.

Facilmente esta es la facilidad mas limpia, ordenada y hospitalable que he visto y visitado. No hay olor a muerte. Indudablemente no hay nadie que se le halla negado atencion cuando la necesita. No hay nadie hambriento. De hecho, a pesar de la escasez de fondos, Gloria ha aceptado nuevos residentes que tecnicamente no esta obligada a aceptar. Ella luego me explica que debido al mandato de su posicion ella estaria obligada a aceptar no solo a personas de Mompox, pero de todo el departamento de Bolivar. Sin embargo, ella acepta a todas las personas envejecientes que la policia les trae de sorpresa y con frecuencia alarmante de pueblos cercanos a las afueras de Bolivar, muchas veces sin poseer algun documentacion con que identificarlos. “Si no los accepto,” me dice, “entonces quien los va a acceptar y que les pasara a ellos?”

Mi curiosidad me lleva a preguntar como ella mantiene el lugar. “Credito,” simplemente me dice. No hay una gota de gesto de remordimiento en sus palabras. Sin lastima. Sin quejas o furia en contra del gobierno. Sin quejas de la maquinaria burocratica que detiene los pagos y los fondos operacionales hasta no se sabe cuando. Sin drama. Pero con mucha determinacion.
“Yo no tuve abuelos,” me dice, con lagrimas en los ojos por primera vez. “ Ahora tengo 100! Siento un profundo deber con ellos y tengo que hacer todo lo posible para mantener esta casa abierta y funcionando.” Estas son las palabras de una mujer que no ha recibido salario alguna desde que ocupo esta posicion, dejando una posicion lucrativa para ello. Sin saber como ni cuando podra ver su pago o el de su personal.

Ella no es una persona que se autoderrota. Ella se levanta, se acomoda su blusa violeta y nos deja saber que quiere que nosotros conoscamos “nuestro residente genio.” “Dile tu fecha de cumpleanos,” me dice, “y el te dira que dia de la semana tu nacistes sin pensarlo.” En la sala de recreos la musica de una harmonica llena el espacio vacio. “Septiembre 9, 1977,” le digo al anciano ciego que esta tocando esta-y una conga. “Viernes,” me dice, terminando de tocar. Las mujeres bailan al compas de la cancion, los hombres terminan su cena de espagueti, y el personal de la cocina esta haciendo los ultimos detalles de limpieza en la cocina y el comedor.

“Todo lo que yo pido,” Gloria nos dice, mientras yo recorro la mirada pensando en todo lo que ella ha logrado, “es que tu les digas a todas las gentes tu experiencias en la casa de las memorias.”

Y es esto precisamente, lo que estoy haciendo.

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Photo: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Video: Francisco Collazo

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The House of Memories would be grateful for donations of gently used medical equipment and art supplies. Donations can be sent to:

La Casa de los Recuerdos aceptara con agradecimiento donativos de equipo medico y materiales artisticos. Si Ud. le gustara enviar un donativo, aqui se encuentra la direccion:

Asilo Casa del Recuerdo
Carretera 2a No. 16-31
Mompox, Bolivar
COLOMBIA

Below is a video Francisco shot on the first day of the Mompox bullfight, or la corraleja. If you are sensitive to animal cruelty or physical injury, then skip the video and just read the article!

In “Tu no sabes…” Miguel Davila, author of “Bienvenido a Mompox/Welcome to Mompox,” interviews Julio Zambrana and Hernando Sanchez Villalba, author of “El Otro Lado del Rio/The Other Side of the River,” about the importance of the Magdalena River in the lives of people who live in Mompox.

Even if you don’t speak Spanish, the video is worth watching. Julio, dressed in his school gym uniform, has borrowed Francisco’s watch to look “more professional.” Hernando has dressed in his best outfit and is distracted by Francisco’s cigar, which he appropriates during the interview to give himself an air of seriousness. Although the boys are cutting up and Miguel’s filming skills are somewhat compromised by the fact that he’s lounging in a hammock as he interviews his subjects, the knowledge and talent of the three boys shine through.

Equipment Used:

Based on what we learned (and what we’ll be sharing in future stories), we’ve come up with this list of 8 easy things you can do to help Mompox. Like many towns across the world, Mompox has amazing potential, but simply lacks some basic resources that are needed to realize its own capabilities.

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8. Clean your closets. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure, my mom always said, and she’s right. Those gently used clothes, that box of pencils you’ve saved but will never use, the crutches you needed when you broke your ankle… every single item you no longer need can be repurposed for people in need. In Mompox, kids need school supplies–notebooks, pens, pencils. Residents of the local nursing home would like art supplies–brushes, drawing paper, paints. And the hospital is in desperate need of used but still serviceable crutches, walkers, and other pieces of medical equipment. If you have these kinds of items and would be willing ship them–either directly to Mompox or to CollazoProjects, which will be sending materials periodically–you’ll not only be lightening your own load, you’ll be helping someone else!

7. Adopt a kid. The kids in the Voces de Mompox project and many of their peers live in profound poverty. Some don’t eat even two meals a day. Many miss school because they lack proper shoes (and are sent home if this is the case) or have damaged uniforms. If you could commit to “adopting” one kid and sponsoring his or her school-related needs for six months or a year, you’d be improving the quality of education and the future prospects of students who are eager to realize their potential. And the good news?? Sponsoring a kid doesn’t cost much. School uniforms range from $8.00 to $16.00 depending on the item being purchased. If this option interests you, please contact us directly at writingjulie@gmail.com.

6. Collect soda can tabs. Soda can tabs are easy for us to send to Colombia and can be recycled by the kids for money.

5. Browse through your bookshelf. In Mompox, the local public library receives funds to buy new books every four years. The condition of the books in the limited collection is quite poor and children can’t check books out to read at home. Any books that you no longer want would be welcomed by the kids– whether in English or in Spanish. The same is true of old magazines.

4. Donate old electronics. What’s your plan for that old laptop or camera? Don’t recycle it; repurpose it! Going from no technology to some technology is a big step for the Voces de Mompox project. And as we work towards non-profit status, you might just be able to claim a tax deduction.

3. Lend a hand. What’s your talent? What might you be able to do to support the Voces de Mompox project? We’ve received offers of website development and grant writing, both of which are welcome. If you have a talent that could be used to move this project to the next step, let us know; we’d be happy to benefit from your expertise and enthusiasm!

2. Visit Colombia. Combat the negative stereotypes of Colombia by traveling there and seeing amazing places and people for yourself.

1. Spread the word. Share your enthusiasm about the Voces de Mompox project with friends, family, and contacts. Encourage them to adopt one or more of these action steps as a personal challenge to make a positive difference in the lives of these amazing young people. What are specific ways you can spread the word? *Forward your favorite Voces de Mompox article to your contacts and encourage them to visit the site. *Link to CollazoProjects and the Voces de Mompox series on your own blog or website. *Feature Voces de Mompox in a story on your website.

For more information about any of these tips, please e-mail us at writingjulie@gmail.com or leave a comment below.

Thanks,
Francisco & Julie

Everything seemed to come together at the last minute.

We found a house for rent that would serve as the ideal space for Voces de Mompox to continue as an after school program. With a large living room (that’s PART of the living room, in the photo above–to be repurposed as a computer/multi-media room), three bedrooms (to be converted into a library, study room, and possible bedroom for future volunteers), a kitchen, two patios, and a couple of other nice details (three bathrooms, hooks ready for hammocks to be hung, and a nice work room), this house in the center of town, offered at a totally fair price by the owners who are enthusiastic about Voces de Mompox, it’s hard to imagine finding anything better.

We also interviewed and are prepared to hire a young woman who is motivated and totally qualified to facilitate Voces de Mompox on-site. Not only would she be an ideal director, the job would provide her with much needed income and the pride of being able to support her family.

By the end of our time in Mompox, most of the parents and family members of the kids had come by to introduce themselves, to thank us for caring about their loved ones, and to express their support for the Voces project. We feel a huge obligation and commitment to seeing this project through, and with all the infrastructural pieces in place, there’s just one more thing we need: funding!

*
The Dollar Challenge

Since the Voces de Mompox project started, more than 4,000 people have visited CollazoProjects and read the kids’ articles and viewed their photography. The kids have been psyched to check our analytics and see how many people have seen their work and to learn where the visitors are from, and your support has been an incredible motivator for them.

In addition to your kind comments, your thoughtful personalized e-mails, donations to the ChipIn fund, and offers to help with everything from website development to grant-writing have been deeply appreciated.

The fact that 4,000 people have visited the site got us thinking: If every single person who read a Voces de Mompox article contributed just one dollar to the ChipIn fund, that would be $4,000! And $4,000 goes a long way in Colombia. In fact, $4,000 would secure the rental of the site for one full year, would pay the facilitator’s salary, and would provide some seed money for equipment.

Thus, we’re announcing The Dollar Challenge!

We challenge every visitor who hasn’t yet contributed to the Voces de Mompox fund to donate at least one dollar in support of the program being developed for the ninth graders of Mompox that will help them continue developing their writing, computing, multi-media, and communication skills, all in preparation for better opportunities for college and future careers. You’ll know how we’re using the money because updates will be posted at least once a week on the website and the kids themselves will be detailing what services they’re receiving and what work they’re creating on the ground in Mompox.

Are you ready to take on the challenge?! GREAT!

Just go to our home page and click on the ChipIn icon in the top right portion of the sidebar. This action will redirect you to a secure server where your transaction will be conducted via PayPal. If you have a PayPal account already, fantastic! If not, you can sign up for one–it’s quick, easy, and free.

Tomorrow, we’ll be posting 10 more ways you and your friends, family, and network can support Mompox to become the better community it’s capable of being. And stay tuned– there are lots more stories from the kids and from us about Mompox!

Thanks for your support,

Francisco & Julie

This week and next, we’ll be catching up on stories collected in Mompox… some written and produced by the kids, and others written and produced by Francisco and Julie.

We’ll also be updating readers about the status of the Voces de Mompox project and letting you know what you can do to help the kids and their community.

Until then, here are a few of our favorite photos from our month in Mompox…

Photo by Julie Schwietert Collazo

Photo by Julie Schwietert Collazo

Photo by Hernando Sanchez Villalba

Photo by Francisco Collazo

Photo by Julie Schwietert Collazo

Photo by Hernando Sanchez Villalba