Day in the life: Teaching in Colombia

6:00 AM - Early Birds and National Anthems

The alarm rings. I roll over and squint at the time. It's 6 AM. Before I can even think about snoozing, I hear the national anthem playing on the radio outside. Ah, yes, another day in Colombia. To be honest, I'm cutting it fine since school starts in 45 minutes, but back in the UK, I’d have at least an hour and a half more sleep, and I would have woken up to rain gently tapping on the window. Here? It's the Colombian anthem at full volume, reminding me that everyone else is already up and has probably had two cups of coffee by now.

Speaking of coffee, in the kitchen, my lovely husband is busy brewing “tinto” (Americano). I inhale the intoxicating smell and say, “Uyyyy cafecito! Gracias, amor mío (thank you, my love)" as he hands me a cup.

He chuckles. “Cafecito? Mírate (look at you), 100% Colombiana. In Colombia, everything gets a little -ito added. In theory, "ito/ita" is diminutive; it makes things smaller, so hermano is brother, but hermanito is little brother. Contrary to every textbook you’ve ever read, there’s no such thing as "café” here – it’s nearly always "cafecito", or if you want something else, maybe a "juguito" (juice), or some "panecito" (bread). But the funniest part is, ‘little’ doesn’t mean ‘less’. That morning's “cafecito” is still a full-sized cup. The food my husband will eat for breakfast, "arepa", turns into "arepita", not based on its size but on how much the eater is looking forward to it. In Colombia, "ito/ita" means love more than it means small, so in my husband's case, it is "arepita" much more than it is not.

6:25 AM - Buñuelo Run: My Tasty Morning Ritual

After my morning shower, which absolutely cannot be skipped – Colombians are very particular about cleanliness – it's time to leave. Before heading to the bus stop, I take a quick walk around the “manzana” (the block) to the neighbour’s house, where they sell freshly made “buñuelos” from their front window. As you can imagine, no, she does not have the health and safety paperwork you’d need if you lived somewhere else, but every morning, like clockwork, there’s a small line of my “vecinos” (neighbours) waiting for these golden, cheesy delights. I can never resist grabbing one (or two, or five – in my defence, they're quite small) for the road.

6:30 AM - The School Commute: Buses, British Politeness, and Colombian Vibes

It’s almost time for school, so I hop onto the local bus. Even by rush hour standards back in London, this ride is a bit, well, snug. One thing I’ve learned: there’s no such thing as personal space on a Colombian bus or anywhere in Colombia, if I'm honest. Every time another person squeezes in, I can hear my British inner voice politely saying, “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t mean to impose, but could you please shuffle over?” Here though, everyone just laughs, exchanges a few "buenos días", usually shortened to just “buenas” so it can be used any time of day, or “¿Cómo amaneciste? (how did you wake up?)”, and somehow makes room. I’m starting to get used to it, even if that man did just step on my toe!

6:45 AM - School Begins: The “¡Profe!” Chorus

Arriving at school, I’m greeted with a loud chorus of “¡Hola, Profe!” and high fives. Colombian students are a particularly lively bunch, far more energetic than anyone back in the UK would be this early. They are also much more tactile; these high fives were negotiated down from the hugs I used to receive.

We head to the first class, where I co-teach English with Profe Mauricio. Co-teaching means different things to different people, but in our classes, I'll teach until it's clear they need something explained in Spanish. I started off refusing to have any Spanish spoken in the class and was surprised to find that kids very rarely have English classes in English. I figured I could fight the status quo, but I very quickly learned that the key to really fitting in here (and anywhere else really) is to be like the Guadua (a type of bamboo that grows at the end of my garden); firm but flexible.

10:00 AM - Snack Break: British Tea vs. Colombian Fruit Fest

The students rush outside for their break, and I wander over to the "tiendita" (tuck shop) to grab a snack. Now, here’s a big cultural difference: In the UK, break time involves a cup of tea and maybe a biscuit. But here? The snack options are a tropical fruit lover's dream. Pineapple, mango, "bocadillo" (guava-based treat), all freshly sliced and served in plastic cups.

I skip the “mango biche” (underripe mango) because it's served with salt, pepper, lemon, and condensed milk of all things. Not really my cup of tea, but I did recently try a fruit salad that had at least six different toppings, including “arequipe” (Colombian caramel) and “queso” (cheese). Cheese… on fruit salad, you’re thinking? Believe me, I was thinking the same. My British taste buds were bewildered. But, as they say, "When in Colombia..." and honestly, it was surprisingly delicious. I may never go back to custard cream biscuits again. (I am lying, I LOVE custard creams and will never give them up.)

12:30 PM - Lunch: Where Are the Soggy Sandwiches?

The bell rings for lunch, and I join the other teachers in the cafeteria. There’s no soggy school pizza or cold sandwiches here. Oh no. I’m served a hearty meal of "sancocho" (a traditional soup with meat, plantains, and corn) alongside rice, meat, beans, salad, and “patacones” (fried green plantains).

I glance down at the giant soup in front of me and remember when I first arrived, asking Mauricio if he ate this much soup for lunch every day. "Claro, esto es solo el primero! (Of course, this is just the first course!)”. Back in England, we’d be satisfied with a sandwich and crisps. But here in Colombia, lunch is the main meal of the day and has to be filling.

3:00 PM - After School: Salsa Choke Showdown

Depending on the year/grade, school finishes somewhere between 1:00 PM and 4:00 PM. Most students go straight home especially if they leave earlier and don’t have lunch at school, but some of the students hang around, laughing and joking. I’m on my way home when the sound of  "salsa choke" fills the playground. They catch me slinking away. “Oye Profe, ¡ven a bailar con nosotros! (come and dance with us)” they shout.

Now, in this part of Colombia, "salsa choke" is no joke. It’s a fast, high-energy dance that combines traditional salsa with urban street moves, and these guys spend hours practising in order to show off their moves at parties, so I hesitate. I’ve been watching them dance for a while, and even though I’m a decent dancer, I’ve never mustered the courage to try. But today? I decide to give it a shot.

I join in, mimicking their moves, or at least trying to. I feel like I’m getting it, but the students are laughing – not at me, but with me (I hope). “¡Dale, ticher! ¡Casi lo tienes! (Go on, teacher, you’ve almost got it),” they shout. “Casi” officially means almost, but I feel like in this case it means “not even close.” Still, I’m having fun, and that’s all that matters.

After what feels like an hour but was probably only five minutes, I give up, say my goodbyes, and make my way home. Next time I’ll be ready… or so I tell myself.

5:30 PM - Unwinding: British Tea in a Colombian Coffee Town

Back at home after a long day, I brew myself a cup of tea. Some habits die hard, after all. My husband’s offered me more "tinto", but even though it doesn’t taste as good as it does back home, I’m determined to have my cuppa.

As it darkens, I sit down on the porch. The evening breeze brings with it the scent of empanadas and the not-so-distant hum of vallenato on my neighbour’s radio. I sip my tea, reflecting on the day. It’s not quite what I had imagined, but it’s filled with warmth, laughter, and a lot of new dance moves.

Tomorrow, I think I’ll bring the biscuits I brought over to share with the students. I had been rationing them but they’ve introduced me to arequipe on fruit; it’s only fair they get a taste of digestives in return.

Maybe I’ll even master the salsa choke next time. Well, “casi”.