When I first met Bea, we were sharing an office at Rosario University in Bogotá, Colombia. I was 21, working as an English teacher, and she was a professor lecturing on literature and race. From day one, I was drawn to her. She had a full laugh and was unapologetic for the space she took up in a traditionally white, upper-class institution. She was one of only two Afro-Colombian women that I met in the university.
Bea would call me “mija”, a term of endearment that older Latin women use for younger women, before dropping some wisdom my way. Often she would talk about the importance of good sex, which would make me blush; I grew up in a strict Muslim household where we would switch channels if there was a kiss on the telly.
Her greatest lesson to me was to let go of guilt. Latinos understand guilt through Catholicism while Arabs know it through Islam; and in both cases there’s a particular focus on women to conform. Bea has not lived up to the expectations that people have of Colombian women. Now in her 40s, she is unmarried; she does not have children or own a property. Instead, she has a career, travels, and regularly has good sex.
Bea succeeds in being so content that it rubs off on those around her. She financially supports her family in the small town of Puerto Tejada, proving you can live for yourself without being selfish. She has been crucial to my development, teaching me to set my standards high – in my relationships, career, and sex, too.
When she came to visit at the start of summer we ate well, laughed hard and shared intimate stories about the men in our lives. The men may have changed over the years, but I’m still mija to Bea.
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