My Return: Colombia 1995
By Marc L. Nash
Marc Langdon Nash is my given name since 1980 when I was adopted from the Los Pisingos Foundation by a single female American parent. I'm proud of my anglicized name, of my new country and culture. After 16 years in that vast country in the north, a dream "la-la land" for many Colombians, I've come to consider myself "gringonized" in both language and culture, and yet, deep down I'm fond and proud of my Colombian roots.
To this day I'm truly thankful to Los Pisingos for my new family in the U.S. The United States has treated me well and has given me the opportunity to become a successful and resourceful young man. My life in "gringolandia” has been a breeze—one easy transition from one thing to the next. There, if one has the will, the power and the determination, then a piece of the American dream (the opportunity) can become a reality. In the land of opportunity, you set yourself the limits and obstacles. After some struggles about what I would dedicate the rest of my life to, I’ve decided on being a Spanish teacher, focusing on its people, literature and exotic culture. This was, of course, the most logical choice since it was in my heritage. You may ask, why did I come back if everything was so wonderful there?
The response, feelings I share with many Hispanics in the U.S., is to reacquaint myself with my roots, to judge Colombia for itself despite the biased propaganda my new country has given it, and gain experience in the field I've chosen. Believe it or not, once you've been exposed to it, you never stop thinking about it, you always want to return and make it a part of you again (la añoranza).
Since Colombia is a part of me again, I'll tell you how I managed the return. In the Spring of '95, two Colombian women went to Michigan to recruit teachers to teach English in a private bilingual school in Bogota. I took advantage of the opportunity and had an interview with them. As destiny would have it, I signed a year's contract to start on August first 1995.
On my arrival to Bogota, it was raining hard, something that without choice, I had to get used to. The traffic jams, the holes in the streets, the trash, the reckless driving and the barred windows, are also things I've become accustomed to. Having lived in other Latin American countries recently, the culture, architecture and language were of no surprise.
Within the first week, I tried to relive my past by visiting known places. Most of the places from my infancy have been replaced by tall apartment complexes, including Los Pisingos’ previous location in Santa Ana. I made it a quest to find its new location. In my search, I made an attempt to look up its founder, Rosita de Escobar, in the phone guide. To my surprise and disappointment, there were pages and pages of Escobars and too many Rosas de Escobar. My only option in finding her was to look for the new location of Los Pisingos. The Yellow Pages was my salvation. Without hesitating, I phoned and explained to some friendly lady that I was a returned Pisingo. Fortunately Rosita was also there. We spoke briefly and made an appointment to catch up on things the next day at the Foundation.
August '95, I was back after 16 years at the place responsible for me having a somewhat normal family and life. This is the proof that I had once lived in this country because listening to my spoken Spanish, it's hard to believe it. Rosita seemed ageless, the new foundation was huge and gorgeous, and to my surprise, some of the staff remained the same—Tereza, Eva, Gloria, Nora and Rosita. They all recognized me and gave me such a special welcome. Eva was clueless on who I was, but I helped trigger memories when I reminded her how I used to make her daughter Monica cry. I was just as surprised to find a goofy picture of me with bunny teeth on the wall sent by my adoptive mother when I was 11 years old. They showed me my adoption folder and photo album. It was an emotional moment down memory lane.
