It was March, year of 2007, as I was hesitantly viewing my limited information about my adoption: Birth name: Ana Carolina Munoz, Date of birth: “on or about” January 1, 1978. Place of birth: Palmira, Valle de Cauca located near Cali. Mother’s name: Rosa Munoz Lopez. Father’s name: “illegitimate”. Not a whole lot to go on but it was a start. For the past year and a half, home for me had been Cusco, Peru. Often people would ask me, “Why are you in Peru if where you were born is Colombia?”

Secretly and privately, the answer was always a simple, “Because Peru is safe.” The continent of South America had always been like home for me. It is filled with multiple Spanish speaking countries. South America was me, my culture and my language on this massive land. It had always been my fear to feel separate from the people of South America. In Peru, not 100% fitting in, was acceptable, absolutely emotionally safe and even to be expected. I could breathe through all the emotions that come up with the idea of not fitting in Peru, for the simple reason- I am 100% Colombian. Peru was safe. I never explained my true answer but laughed it off with, “I will eventually make it back there.”

My time in Peru was coming to a close. That little voice in me told me, prior to returning to the States to go back to Colombia. “Carolina, head back to where you began!” The idea of going back terrified me to the most extent. So, I journaled my list of fears. What if I don’t fit in? What if I feel like I don’t belong there? What if I can’t handle the feelings that most likely will surface? I sat in my awareness that it would break my heart to be in Cali, Colombia and not have any means of finding my mom. I thought how I could literally walk by her or any family member and not even know it. After spending my life in North America, it was a common experience of not ever feeling that I completely fit in, not feeling at home in a town I referred as “home” and not being with my people- it was time to head to Cali, Colombia. I didn’t have anyone to process this with or relate to. I just followed my heart and had to trust the process. After all, I made it this far, so on I went.

I can recall my first journey back to Cali as if it was yesterday. Peering down at my plane ticket, I noticed that Palmira had the closest airport to Cali. I thought to myself, nothing like just jumping head first! My breathing became shallow as I clinched my hands and made my way off the plane. I took everything in. While feeling fearful, I was simultaneously feeling happy to be back home. I took my first full breath and it felt incredibly good. I paid close attention to the women around me and there was a rich resemblance to my body frame. There were many young girls, ranging from toddler to tween, and I was amazed in that I saw my face in theirs. I had to pinch myself and give myself space and time to allow the emotions flow.

On my first night, I journeyed to the highest peak and looked over at all the lights of Valle de Cauca. I said to myself, “My mom is out there.” I wanted so badly to be able to tell her I was home and that, up to this point of my life, I thought of her every single day. I said a short prayer hoping that at the very least she could feel my presence the same way I felt her. Emotions surfaced, but I welcomed every thought that came my way. In answer to my own question, I most certainly felt at home. I did not feel out of place. I enjoyed walking through Cali and being among my people, my country and feeling my heart beat fully in my body.

I rested well that night, for the following day was a big day. I was on my way to Bienestar Familiar, the social services who were a big part of processing my adoption. I needed to see what information, if any I could find. I was not certain of how I felt about Bienestar Familiar but they held the chance to gain more information about my origins.

I made arrangements for a taxi to come to my hotel. To say my anxiety was at a high would be an understatement. My breathing once again became shallow and my mind slowed down as my taxi arrived. I immediately told him where I was heading and gave him the address that was written down on a piece of paper. He, like so many taxi drivers, engaged in small talk. It was very common culturally that the people, especially taxi drivers will ask extremely personal questions such as, “How old are you?” “Where are you from?” and “Are you married?” One can imagine that as a 28 year old woman traveling by herself, how uncomfortable these questions felt to me. This particular taxi driver asked me different questions however. He asked me why I was going to Bienestar. I didn’t know how to answer. He then proceeded to ask me if I was going to adopt a baby. I hesitantly responded, saying that I was adopted and that I was going to get my information. He clearly said with such excitement in his voice, “Oh you are going to get papers!” I responded with a quiet “yes.” Without the much-needed guidance and support, I could not understand why, after telling the taxi driver my pursuit to get my paperwork, I could no longer speak and my body froze. I went from being a 28 year old to feeling like a child sitting in the backseat with great fear and hesitation. I was completely disassociating. I wanted to hit pause. Most of all, I wanted him to not be excited with the idea of getting my paperwork. Doesn’t he know this is so nerve wracking for me? He, of course, continued talking to me.

In my mind’s eye, it was at this moment that it went from bad to worse. While at a traffic light, he turned around to me and told me, that this address does not exist. I was horrified, sad, and desperately wanted to turn the car around and head back to my hotel. I couldn’t say anything. The taxi driver turned the meter off and told me he will find out the correct address and get me there. My response was to hold tightly onto to the car doorknob saying loudly in my head, “What was this taxi driver doing?” “Where was he taking me?”

We stopped at a bodega. Like many of the stores in Cali, the front wall of a store is entirely missing. In other words, you could see everyone in one glance. No door to walk in and out of, just an entire wall missing! I watched the taxi driver’s movements and saw him on a pay phone talking to someone and writing something down. I debated whether I should I get the hell out of the car or hear him out with what he had to tell me. Before I could react, he was back in the car. He told me that he had talked to his wife and he handed me a new address that, according to him, was correct.

My nerves let up as we pulled up to a building that clearly said Bienestar Familiar. A wave of relief came over me. I felt exceptionally happy but still not fully in my body. All of this was so overwhelming. Ironically, I knew at that moment that from that point it didn’t matter what I had found inside the building. This taxi driver made my search experience worth it.

Like most public buildings, there was a large fence, at the door of the fence was a guard with whom I needed to talk and explain why I was there. The next hurdle was that I would have to communicate in the best Spanish I know and explain why I needed to go into the building. The taxi driver walked ahead of me and took it upon himself to talk to the guard and assisted in explaining why I was there and what I needed. I couldn’t believe it. He walked me to the office door, walked inside the building and up the stairs. He then turned to me and told me that he will be waiting for me outside. These here, are “my people.”

I walked in a small office and gave the social worker my information and requested for my paperwork containing the information they had about my adoption. They were empathetic to my questions; however, they did not have the means to find my paperwork. They told me that I needed to fax my information so that a search can be made for my paperwork. The meeting was quickly over, but I did not leave it feeling defeated. Not by a longshot.

I walked out of the office building and immediately saw the taxi driver waiting, just as he promised me. He made me feel taken care of and supported as I went on this major task of trying to find information that has been unknown all my life. It is my belief that he had no awareness of the role he played for me. This was my first time back in Cali, Colombia and many emotions flew from all directions. The taxi driver helped me in containing my discomfort, fear and momentary disassociation. He didn’t have to turn the meter off and find the correct address. He was witness to me entering back into my trauma of the separation from my mother and my homeland. I felt protected and at that moment he became my guardian angel. He was, quite literally, the first interaction I had with a Colombian since 1979 when I left Colombia to start a life that was not of my choosing. I am forever grateful for this man.

Upon returning to my hotel, did I feel emotional, absolutely. Did I cry, most certainly, but I felt that this journey was a success. I completed what I came here for.

Since 2007, there has been many more journeys back to Colombia. I did receive more information with the help of fellow Colombian adoptees, investigators, and therapist that specialize in adoption trauma. Back in 2007, cell phones were few, social media was just started, and, most importantly (I have found), support was not available. I am happy that the adoptees that follow behind me have support, access with guidance and direction of how to begin the daunting process of search.

My Blind Leap of Faith

Alianza of Colombian Adoptees

My Blind Leap of Faith

How does it feel to be adopted?

¡No way José!

Alianza of Colombian Adoptees