My Adoption Story Part 5: Trip Back to the Homeland

On Dec. 17^th, 2019, it was official – I was going back to Colombia. My first trip back to the homeland. As I considered traveling back to Bogotá, I went back-and-forth as to whether I wanted to go alone and experience this trip by myself, or if I wanted to invite my family. After thinking about it more, I decided that I wanted to invite my family. So, I let all my family members know via text that I had booked my trip and that anyone who wanted to come could come. The one person who said “yes” right away? My mom.

Deep down, I wanted to go with my mom because she was there to get me since day 1. Her, along with my Grandmother, came to get me and pick me up in Colombia back in the early 80s. The height of the drug trade in Colombia and Pablo Escobar years. My mom would be able to provide historical context about how Bogotá had changed and evolved over time. She’d be able share the stories of the adoption agency as she remembered it. She’d be able to provide prospective and bring the trip full circle. I was happy that she’d be joining me. So, I booked her travel arrangements and it was settled, we were going to Bogotá. Another mother/son trip for the ages.

As we boarded our flight on Friday, Feb. 14^th, 2020 I was excited. Even as we got situated on the plane, I was looking around the plane, examining everyone thinking, “Most of these people are probably Colombian, know someone who is Colombian, or have been to Colombia.” I thought that was cool.

As the captain said, “Prepare for takeoff” reality set in. This was it. It was finally happening. 38 years of wondering what this unknown country and capital city of Bogotá would be like and questions I pondered throughout my life would finally be answered. As we began to lift off the ground, I looked at my mom and smiled, knowing that this was happening.

Approximately 4 hours later, we landed in Bogotá. Like a kid in a candy store, I took it all in. The sights. The smells. The people. As we walked through the El Dorado Airport, I couldn’t help but stare at other people, look at the shops, and gaze at the mountainous views we had outside. I was excited. We had made it. We just needed to get through the most difficult process - immigration.

 We got in a long line and I watched as approximately 300 people went through the immigration process. This was the one aspect of the trip I was nervous about. The reason being, because I was born in Colombia, I am technically a Colombian citizen. Because I am a Colombian citizen, I am supposed to have an updated Colombian passport but because I was raised in America my whole life, I only had my U.S. passport and my old Colombian passport when I was a baby. So, there was a chance they could pull me aside and make me get an updated Colombian passport. A process that could take a while and require paperwork I didn’t have with me.

As we got closer and closer to the front of the line, my hands began to sweat and I started to practice what I was going to say. I quizzed my mom as well, knowing that they could ask her questions about her reason for visiting, etc.

Finally, our time had come. We were next in line. As the agent waved us over, I got my passport out and slid mine and my mom’s over to him and said “hello.” As they reviewed my passport, the agent says, “Scott, where is your Colombian passport?” I hesitated and stated nervously I didn’t have an updated one. The agent then looked at me, looked at my passport again, and then called over his supervisor. This was it. My one and only nightmare coming to fruition.

The supervisor came over and the agent informed him of the situation in Spanish. The supervisor then asked me, “Scott, where is your Colombian passport?” I stated that I was adopted and only had the Colombian passport I had when I was born. He asked to see it and as I handed it to him, his eyes got all big – in a sense of surprise. He examined it front and back, as if he’d never seen one like that before. He chuckled and then showed the agent, who’s eyes also grew big, as if he’d never seen one like that before. Their laughter made me take a sigh of relief but then the supervisor started asking a few questions. “Where are you staying?” “How long are you staying for?” “What is the purpose of your visit?” Like a trained athlete, I was ready for these questions. So, I answered them without hesitation and with confidence. I wanted to express my confidence and excitement to show that I was just a visitor, looking to explore the beautiful country.

As I rattled off the answers, the supervisor smiled, and even acknowledged one of the places we were staying at as, “very nice.” He then smirked one more time as he looked at my passport, handed it back to the agent and said we were, “Good to go.” We were handed our passports back and just like that, we were walking through immigration and headed down to retrieve our bags. As we rode the escalator down to baggage claim, I couldn’t help but smile and shout, “WE MADE IT” to my mom as she smiled at me.

We retrieved our bags and jumped into a taxi, hoping that my broken Spanish and explanation of where we were staying would get us to the right hotel. For the next 25-30 minutes, we took in the sites, the sounds, and saw our lives flash before our eyes because if you’ve never been to Colombia, the traffic and driving is insane. I mean INSANE! My mom and I couldn’t help but laugh at how crazy it was but we figured, hey, we’re the foreigners and this is their city, so we just had to accept it. Sure enough, we made it our hotel safely and made it up to our room.

For the next few days, we’d venture out in what’s called the Parque 93 area, taking in everything. From how people dressed, to the types of candy they had in convenience stores, to how people interacted with one another. We’d learn how to decipher how many pesos we were spending and what the equivalent was in U.S. Dollars. It was awesome! I was in my homeland, in the city I was born, surrounded by Colombians.

We went up to Monserrate. We went on a graffiti tour. We shopped. We ate at amazing restaurants. We walked…a lot. We had more adventurous taxi rides. We spoke with locals as best we could. We ate street vendor food. It was everything I could have imagined, and it was fun. The weather was perfect and the people of Bogotá were welcoming and hospitable.

Me on the graffiti tour

It was the perfect setup to what I knew would be the most emotional part of the trip, our visit to FANA, the adoption agency that I was adopted from, which we had scheduled a tour on Monday, Feb. 17^th. I detail that experience in my next blog entry – Back to Where It All Started: FANA.