If there is one rule for a little girl in Colombia, it is that affection is not optional—it is the currency of existence. From the moment she wakes up, she is immersed in a culture of physical touch.

Greeting everyone in the room with a kiss on the cheek is not just a formality; it is mandatory. A Colombian girl learns early that she must greet tías, tíos, and neighbors with a warm "buenos días" and a kiss. This fosters a sense of community and belonging. She is rarely alone. She grows up surrounded by extended family, where cousins are often treated like siblings, and godparents (padrinos) play an active, authoritative role in her life.

Perhaps the greatest gift of this upbringing was la picardía—a word that translates poorly to "cleverness" or "street smarts." As a little girl growing up in Colombia, you learned to haggle at the market by age seven. You learned to turn a plastic bottle into a doll. You learned that if you help your neighbor carry her groceries, she will give you a dulce de leche.

You learned that life is fragile. You learned this at the velorio (wake) of a cousin, where the family gathered not just to cry, but to sing and drink coffee and tell jokes about the deceased. As a little girl growing up in Colombia, you learned that joy and grief are not opposites; they are two sides of the same shiny peso coin.

Perhaps the most defining characteristic of a Colombian childhood is resilience. Colombia is a country of immense beauty but also complex history. Girls are taught to be tough. They are taught to find joy despite difficulties, to laugh loudly, and to dance even when times are hard.

She grows up with a profound appreciation for her country’s biodiversity. She knows that her country holds the beauty of the Caño Cristales river and the wax palms of the Cocora Valley. She is taught that her homeland is not defined by its struggles, but by its immense capacity for joy and rebirth.

Colombia in the 90s and early 2000s was a complicated quilt. As a little girl growing up in Colombia, I learned early that adults spoke in two tones: one for inside the house, and one for when the news came on. I learned to read the tension in my father’s jaw when he heard a motorcycle engine too loud, too late.

But here is what I also learned: resilience is not a grand speech. It is my mother waking up at 4 AM to sell empanadas at the bus terminal so I could have a new notebook. It is my abuela turning a single chicken into a three-course meal (soup, main, and fricasé leftovers). It is every costeño on the Caribbean coast laughing harder than anyone else the day after a hurricane.

As a little girl, I thought everyone lived like this—everyone knew how to make sancocho from scraps, how to dance mapalé without lessons, how to mourn a loss over tinto and pan de bono by noon, and be dancing by nightfall.

As a little girl growing up in Colombia, my first lullabies weren’t soft. They were loud. Not violent—just vivo. The crack of a chiva bus backfiring on a cobblestone hill. The pock-pock-pock of my mother patting masa into arepas at 6 AM. The metallic cling of an aguardiente bottle cap hitting the floor during a parranda.

Silence was suspicious. Silence meant someone was sick, or the power was out, or—worst of all—that the coffee had run out.

On Saturdays, my abuela would turn on the radio to Caracol while she shelled habas (fava beans) into a chipped ceramic bowl. I would sit at her feet, my small fingers trying to mimic her speed, and listen to the vallenato accordion weep about lost loves and wayward mules. “This,” she’d say, tapping her temple, “is the map of our soul. Never forget the rhythm.”

I never did.

To have grown up as a little girl growing up in Colombia is to carry a dual citizenship for life: one for the country on the map, and one for the country inside your bones. It is to know that joy and sorrow are not opposites but dance partners. It is to understand that the most revolutionary act is to laugh with your whole body after crying with your whole soul.

So if you meet a Colombian woman today—if she offers you coffee even if you said no, if she talks about her mom like she’s a saint, if she tears up at the sound of a tiple—now you know why. She was that little girl once.

And in many ways, she still is.

¿Tienes tu propia historia de crecer en Colombia? Compártela en los comentarios.

Growing up as a girl in is a journey shaped by deep-rooted family traditions, a vibrant culture of celebration, and a resilient spirit often called "realismo mágico"

. While individual experiences vary significantly between urban centers like Bogotá and rural areas, several core themes define a Colombian girlhood. 1. Family and Community Ties

Family is the cornerstone of life. Colombian parents typically prioritize togetherness

, with extended family members—grandparents, aunts, and uncles—playing active roles in a girl's upbringing. Respect and Values : There is a strong emphasis on manners, with phrases like "por favor" "con gusto" being taught early as essential signs of respect. Care and Caution

: Growing up, girls are often taught to be careful and diligent, traits that come naturally in many traditional communities, such as the pot-making children of Ráquira. 2. Traditions and Celebrations

The calendar is marked by events where children are the center of attention. Little Candles' Day ( Día de las Velitas

: On December 7th and 8th, girls join their families to light colorful candles on sidewalks and balconies to honor the Virgin Mary, a tradition that signals the start of the holiday season. El Niño Dios

: Unlike many cultures focused on Santa Claus, Colombian girls traditionally wait for "Baby Jesus" to bring gifts at midnight on December 24th. Cultural Milestones

: Annual milestones like New Year's Eve are celebrated with specific rituals, such as wearing yellow for good luck. 3. Food and Flavors

Childhood memories are often tied to specific "comfort foods" that are staples in Colombian households: Sweet and Savory

: It is common for children to grow up eating fruit with savory meals, such as stewed meat with bananas on the side. Local Staples : Daily life often includes traditional snacks like (cheese fritters), The "Diminutive" Culture

: Food is often described affectionately in the diminutive—like an aguardientico —reflecting a cultural warmth. 4. Educational and Social Realities

Growing up as a girl in often means being immersed in a culture that blends deep-rooted family traditions with a vibrant, modern lifestyle. Key Cultural Milestones

Quinceañera (15th Birthday): A pivotal transition from childhood to womanhood. Girls often wear pastel or light-colored evening gowns, tiaras, and jewels for a grand celebration that includes a formal waltz with fathers and godparents, followed by a lively "hora loca" (crazy hour) with masks and fast-tempo music.

First Communion: A significant religious and social milestone, often celebrated with formal white dresses and large family gatherings. Daily Life and Interests

Not all aspects are idyllic. Many little girls in Colombia grow up aware of:

Yet, a striking theme is resilience. Colombian girls often display strong community bonds, humor, adaptability, and pride in their regional identity—whether paisa (from Antioquia region), costeña (from the coast), rola (from Bogotá), or valluna (from Cali region).

As a little girl growing up in Colombia, your day never begins with an alarm clock. It begins with the tierra (earth). If you lived in the Eje Cafetero (Coffee Axis), you woke to the smell of wet soil and parchment coffee drying on clay patios. In the bustling capital of Bogotá, you woke to the tiple (a small guitar-like instrument) of a street vendor selling pan de yuca or almojábanas.

Breakfast was a ritual of efficiency and love. My mother would slice a arepa—crunchy on the outside, soft and buttery on the inside—and top it with hogao (a slow-cooked tomato and onion sauce) or a crumble of suero costeño. As a little girl growing up in Colombia, you learned quickly that food is the love language. A bandeja paisa wasn't just a plate; it was a declaration of abundance: beans, rice, chicharrón, avocado, fried egg, and plantain all fighting for space on a single platter.