A few months ago, I was in a sticky situation. My educational career in Manizales had hit a snag – while I was enjoying my life and work in a comfortable flat, ‘culinary differences’ with my landlady (while I liked to cook, she preferred that I didn’t) had meant things weren’t working out. The time had come to move on. Weep not for me – I quickly found myself a studio flat a stone’s throw from my old place. However, as is expected when house-hunting in any big city, my Fortress of Solitude was totally unfurnished. Plus, this being ‘expected’ had done little to galvanize me into making adequate preparations. Practical upshot – I found myself with two weeks to furnish a flat, with only my work stipend to my name. Troubling.
Enter OLX. A vast-reaching online flea market where you can buy anything second-hand, from bed frames to keychains, it proved indispensable. I would heartily recommend it to the cash-strapped traveller. My phone quickly overflowed with new numbers, and my visits to these online entrepreneurs took me all over the city. I discovered my adopted home afresh (and met some of the friends I keep ties with to this day) thanks to a period I still refer to as the Magical Upholstery Tour.
One journey to the western district of the city stays with me. My journey for this evening’s sojourn had been long and dull, the bus taking me through the dense warren of the centro. Factor in that I’d had a trying day in the classroom, as well as the frustrating WhatsApp correspondence to arrange the meeting, and I certainly was weary when I arrived. However, my hostess’ generosity dissipated my lethargy with stupefying effect. Before the table was even mentioned, I had a bracing mug of jet-black Caldas coffee in my hand and was gabbing as rapidly as my nascent Spanish would allow, coffee notwithstanding.
Of course, such hospitality was a staple of the Magical Upholstery Tour. Colombian cordiality had amazed me. I’d seldom left such a meeting hungry and was once even offered a full-on meal. But the curiosity far outshined the food. Over time, the Spanish answers to such questions as ‘Where are you from?’, ‘How long have you been in Colombia?’, and ‘Do you have family here?’ had become second nature to my gringo tongue. Tonight was no exception. However, what followed would ensure a return journey spent in quiet reflection.
Eventually, we came to business, which was concluded swiftly, and I was halfway to the door when my hostess warmly invited me to stay and meet some friends of hers. Not wishing to seem rude, I accepted. Before long, we heard a knock at the door, which opened to a small troop of modestly dressed young people. Like my hostess, they were friendly, charming and curious: I wheeled out my finely honed Spanish answers once again, and, as before, the conversation flowed. However, a change of pace – one of the young men took up an acoustic guitar and began to play. This alone wasn’t enough to alarm me (I myself have been known, to the chagrin of friends and family, to murder The Sound of Silence), but it was when they opened their backpacks to retrieve certain weighty books that realization dawned. The latest leg of the Magical Upholstery Tour had brought me unawares to a prayer meeting.
Colombia is, simply, religious. Of the total population, 90% identify as Christian, and only 4.7% as atheist or agnostic. Amongst Colombian Christians, the Catholic Church commands a majority of 70%, with Evangelicals and Protestants in second place at 16.7%. Household objects, from lighters to chopping boards, can reliably be found emblazoned with the relevant saint. ‘God Bless You’ can serve as goodbye, and, in response to ‘How are you?’, ‘Fine, thanks to God’ is very much normal conversational vernacular. If you’re made uncomfortable by religion, you won’t have the easiest time in Colombia, and, due to Manizales’ Spanish heritage and ethnography, the Mother Church is all the more prominent here. A 2013 survey claimed that 97.2% of the city’s population were Catholic, and one of the continent’s most famous cathedrals dominates the skyline.
However, their Spanish chorus of ‘Lord I Lift Your Name On High’ (hardly a Papal staple) recalled more the Dorset Evangelical church that my long-suffering parents used to drag me to every Sunday. My own religious journey had been a voyage from happy certainty to no-less-happy uncertainty. God definitely existed, then God definitely didn’t exist, then I admitted to myself I didn’t honestly know. But a secular-minded European blundering into a prayer meeting and quivering at every Hail Mary belongs to a bad sitcom. So, once resolved to go with the flow, I had an enjoyable evening. I still had the lyrics to ‘Lord I Lift Your Name On High’ clattering around my head from my church days, and I sang it for them in English. I even, shock horror, let them pray for me (although I couldn’t quite read from the Bible, out of fear of butchering the Spanish).
But, as my hostess prayed for family at home and abroad, the symmetry between my own background and the young believers of Manizales became crystal clear to me. Group prayer serves a purpose beyond religion. A community as small as Manizales’ non-Catholics can unburden itself in the presence of trusted friends. Indeed, my misgivings amongst the faithful stemmed not from the contempt of my angsty teenage years, but rather fear of slighting them by partaking in their social rituals without sharing their beliefs. As I ate and sang, I felt the imposter.
At the relentless behest of the guitar player, I later attended an evening ser- vice. In some ways, it was an ordeal reminiscent of why I’d abandoned church in the first place. My meager Spanish couldn’t follow the lengthy sermon. In addition, the church, while large, was threadbare, in disrepair, and the small congregation didn’t come close to filling it. However, the intimacy of that small community touched me. Everyone knew everyone, and most people in the congregation had a role in managing the church. Although I’m sure we would disagree on certain points (the topic of Colombia’s recent legalization of gay marriage, thankfully, never came up), it was hard not to admire them, and as beautiful as the larger churches and cathedrals of Manizales are, it’s hard to imagine such a mutual understanding and support existing amongst their numberless congregations.
