Songs Written with a Machete #16: Hijo de puta!
I spent eighteen months of my three-year South American adventure in the Colombian wilderness, in a mountain village near the infamous Medellín. As a bluesman, I was impressed by local songs, whose lyrics would wake up even Oblomov from his lethargy. I decided to translate the juiciest pieces and bring them to you in the series Songs Written with a Machete.
"Welcome to Crystal Radio! Eighty, hijo de punto, nine!" The reporter of a famous commercial radio station has just played a bit with the most used swear word in the land of magical realism. Instead of the vulgar term "puta" (whore), he used the term "punto", which in the context of the radio frequency means "point".
In Colombia, hijo de puta, or son of a whore, is used more often than a period after a sentence, and – figuratively speaking – it is the duty of every Colombian citizen, except for the mother superior with her novices, to vent their feelings at least once a minute to make the world around them, which is already as rough as a week-old coffee, even rougher.
There are situations when the Colombianos want to vent even in official places, especially when they are outraged by any kind of injustice, which is not scarce in the land of magical realism. And that's when the diplomatic variations of the legendary swearing come into play, of which there are several. But let's start with the famous classic that never gets old.
Hijo de puta! – Son of a whore! Used where no official, priest, policeman, military officer or mother-in-law is present.
Hijo de pucha! – Son of the three-quarter-litre bottle! A Catholic variation often uttered in churches.
Hijo de pato! – Son of a duck! The scorn of taxi drivers for those who do not obey traffic laws, fearing escalation of conflict and possible shootings.
Hijo de perra! – Son of a bitch! Women don't like to be too foul-mouthed and therefore enjoy this variation with gusto.
Hijo de madre! – Son of a mother! Swearing in the presence of children.
Hijo de flauta! – Son of a flute! A favourite profanity of the indigenous people, who are proud of the fact that they don't swear as a matter of principle.
However, four times a day there is a moment when the whole of Colombia falls silent and listens with dignity, spiced with the punch of chilli salsa, to the national anthem, which must be played on all radio stations at 6 am, noon, 6 pm and midnight. The words of the anthem are so noble that the lips of even the roughest guevón (a dirtbag, dickhead, moron, nutcase) will murmur every note with the precision of a Swiss watch repairman.
National anthem of Colombia
The music was composed more than a century ago by Oreste Sindici and the lyrics by the country's former president Rafael Núñez.
Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.
Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.
The horrible night has ceased.
Sublime Liberty
spills the auroras
of her invincible light.
The entirety of humanity
that groans within chains,
comprehend the words
of He who died on the cross.
Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.
Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.
Four times a day, life stops for two minutes in Colombia, and even the biggest badass sheds a tear.
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