Down South: my Peace Corps adventures in Colombia: It's All in the Feet

Cumbia: Colombian type of music and dance that involves women sashaying in giant skirts while menfolk in suits swirl cowboy-esque hats. Supposedly it originates from slave courtship days, and the music is created with traditional West African instruments, including drums and a reedy sounding flute. It’s as popular as Salsa, here—and, fortunately for the resident gringas, infinitely easier.

I had the chance to experience Cumbia not once, but twice this weekend—once informally, and once in public, at a traditional dancing event.

Friday night, found us heading to a Ruedo de Tambores—a drum circle of Cumbia music. Since the Immaculate Conception, they’ve occurred pretty much every Friday night, but this is the first we made it to.

The “circle” itself was pretty much contained to a big intersection. Music players sat on a small round wooden platform, trading off on the drums and flutes and passing shots of aguadiente, while a small crowd rotated dancing cumbia around the platform, and an even bigger crowd watched and socialized around it.

Since Chance had brought a small drum, he hopped onto the platform to join, confusing everyone by using his drumsticks on a small traditional drum, and we alternated Cumbia-ing around the circle and/or occupying a spot in the flow right by him.

How does one Cumbia? By shuffling. That’s right. That’s sort of all you have to do—take really small steps but alternate flexing your knees, so by dint of your foot movements, you get a nice butt-shake going. Don’t move your hips, I was told…it’s all in the feet!

Traditionally this is done wearing a gigantic round skirt, so that, as a woman, you keep one hand on your hip or stretched up, while the other swirls your skirt in grand, sweeping motions. Sans skirt, you either put your hands on your hips or sort of do what you want. The men follow the movements of the skirt with their cowboy-like hat, sweeping it in front of them as though they were bowing like old-fashioned gentlemen.

I was glad of the informal practice, because on Saturday things got real; two teachers from my school decided it was high time to expose me to Colombian dances, and invited me to an all-women Cumbia party. For this, a skirt was definitely a requirement. No problem, they said—they’d find me one.

So, three hours before the event, I was sequestered from my house and brought to Helen’s, where we proceeded to outfit ourselves in a suitable manner.

This is Helen, putting the final finishing touches on her blouse. How long does it take her to create these outfits? Oh you know, two days. A little bit of sewing here, a little bit there…

This is what we looked like in our dresses—all homemade!:

(Her apartment has a whole ROOM devoted to the costumes!)

And then came the event. Held at a Comfamiliar (sort of like a YMCA, but different), there was a huge conference room devoted to the dancing. In we walked to a room full of excited women of all ages. Everyone wore a ruffled, voluminous outfit, each person’s more glittery, flowered, ruffled than the last, and they spun through the room like oversized, extremely joyful butterflies.

Feeling confident I could handle at least this situation—all women, cumbia-based dancing—I was excited to see what this was all about. Little did I know that there would be a live band, that in no way confined itself to cumbia!

Another complication: you would think being enveloped in 10 feet of capacious fabric would make it easier to dance—or at least to hide ineptitudes. And in a way, it certainly did. And yet, a skirt introduces a whole new brand of complications. One should swish it. Or lift it. Or gracefully sweep it so that it leads your turns, or use it to compliment your shimmies…(hah).

Fortunately, the women I was with couldn’t have been nicer. I spent most of the night trying to keep up with my 70 year old colleague and failing…who knew that a dance based on shuffling could be so exhausting! Of course, then there was trying to learn the meringue, salsa, and every other step in between.

The thing is, everything you do with your feet seems to be in double-time. I still have no idea how these steps work. When asked for advice, most women lifted their skirt and said, “like this!” Which didn’t help at all. Another colleague broke it down for me: The dances are based on four steps. Your right foot goes out, then comes back. Your left foot goes out, then comes back. You might go side to side, front, or back, but it’s always those four steps.

Couldn’t be easier, right?

Except of course, after demonstrating this slowly at first, magic proceeded to happen. Her foot started up with these little double steps. Suddenly she was skipping over the ground, her hips were shaking, and her feet were sort of a blur. Fred Astaire and Ginger come to Colombia. The four-count was lost in syncopation and double-time, and I was left doing some sort of hopping-tromping imitation. It was hopeless.

I covered my feet with my skirt, plastered a giant smile on my face, and did my best to imitate the general motions, if not the foot-work…hoping somehow good humor would make up for my lack of grace!