At noon, I found myself alone as I crossed a bridge to the other side of the road. As I reached the middle, I noticed a black homeless man approaching from the opposite direction. In that moment, the world seemed to shrink—it was just him and me on the bridge. As we drew closer, the man stopped me abruptly and asked for money. I explained that I didn’t have any, but his tone quickly shifted—he began demanding all my money and my phone, his eyes fixed on mine with an unsettling intensity.
I tried to step away, but he blocked my path, refusing to let me pass. Fear gripped me as I took in his dark skin, tattered clothes, and the sour smell that clung to him. But even in that tense moment, I knew I had options. My right hand held a bottle of water, while my left shoulder bore the weight of my backpack, which contained my phone and camera.
In my left pocket were some bills, and loose change jingled in my right. I handed over every Colombian peso I had—less than 20,000—from my right pocket, telling him it was all I possessed. In my mind, I prepared for the worst: if he refused to let me go, I would smash the water bottle against his head.
Even something as simple as a bottle of water could become a weapon in desperate times. Thankfully, he eventually stepped aside, and I walked away unharmed.
This remains the most harrowing experience I’ve faced during my time in Colombia. Cali, known as one of the country’s most dangerous cities, serves as a stark reminder of the risks solo travelers face daily. Today marks my final day in Colombia, and I can only hope the winds carry these memories away.
Attached is a video of me practicing nunchucks in better days—a small piece of nostalgia from a calmer time.
