Every time I post a video about Colombia, there’s a guaranteed comment that shows up:

And look, I get it. Colombia is beautiful. The people are beautiful. The nightlife is intense, the music doesn’t stop, and if you’re new here, it can feel like someone turned the volume up on your life.

But my channel—and this newsletter—isn’t about dating. It’s about what it’s actually like to live here. Build a life here. Retire here. Bring your family here. Or visit responsibly.

And there’s one topic I can’t dodge anymore, because it’s not just about nightlife. It’s about safety. It’s about people waking up 20 hours after a “date” with missing wallets, missing phones, and, in the worst cases… not waking up at all.

I’m talking about burundanga—also known online as “devil’s breath.”

It sounds like an urban legend. It’s not.
It’s real. It’s rare—but real.
And while Colombia and Ecuador are ground zero for most of the stories you hear, this kind of crime is showing up across Latin America and, increasingly, all over the world.

So this isn’t a “don’t come to Colombia” piece.
This is a “come smart, stay safe, and keep your life intact” piece.

Because if you understand how this works, and how it doesn’t work, your chances of ever being affected drop to almost zero.

Before we dive into the scary stuff, I want to set the record straight on something that always shows up in the comments:

If that’s you, I have some homework for you.

Among the top 225 cities with the highest murder rates per capita in the world:

And no, Bogotá and Medellín are not on that list.

Colombia does not have a Wikipedia page for “mass shootings.” My home country absolutely does—and you can watch CNN’s graph for 2025 spike like a seismograph in an earthquake.

So no, this is not a “let’s bash Colombia” conversation.
This is a “crime exists everywhere” conversation—with one very specific MO here that you need to understand if you’re going to participate in nightlife and dating.

Quick science break—because fear is less powerful when you actually understand what you’re dealing with.

At the core of this is a substance related to scopolamine, a legitimate medical drug that doctors use in tiny, controlled doses—for things like motion sickness patches behind the ear on cruises.

In the street version, though, we’re talking about a crude, uncontrolled mix often derived from local plants that grow all over Colombia and Ecuador. No dosage labels, no lab oversight, just improvised chemistry plus bad intentions.

What it does in the body is pretty straightforward:

When that signal gets blocked, your brain doesn’t “shut off,” it just stops recording properly.

You don’t necessarily pass out.
You might walk. Talk. Pay a bill. Hand over your PIN code. Call a taxi.

And then you wake up with:

Doctors call this anticholinergic toxicity. On a hospital form, it’s a medical reaction. On the street, it’s a weapon.

And here’s the ugly part: with no dosage control, it’s a coin toss. Too little and the victim is just dazed. Too much and breathing, heart rate, and basic functions can be dangerously depressed.

This isn’t just a robbery tactic. In the worst cases, it becomes a life-and-death problem.

If you spend more than 10 minutes on the internet, you’ve probably heard this one:

Nope.

Toxicologists, doctors, and even myth-busting sites have gone over this for years. Here’s the bottom line:

Even Snopes has multiple articles debunking these stories. They make great headlines. They don’t make real-world pharmacology.

The real danger isn’t in your hand. It’s in your glass.

When you strip away the drama, it’s almost boring in its simplicity.

Over and over—from police reports, news articles, embassy warnings, and victim accounts—the setup looks similar:

Someone:

Symptoms usually start within 10–30 minutes after ingestion:

That’s enough of a window for someone to:

This is not movie magic. It’s not instant hypnosis. It’s chemistry plus opportunity.

Which is exactly why the best defenses are boring, basic, and effective.

In Colombia, there’s a phrase you’ll hear a lot:

You’re in a place where the average monthly salary can be less than what you’re carrying in your camera bag.

That doesn’t mean everyone wants to rob you.
It just means flashing wealth—phones, jewelry, gear, watches—in certain environments is like walking through a crowded room holding a tray of desserts above your head.

Most people are going to smile and ignore it.
One person is going to see an opportunity.

“Don’t give papaya” simply means:

It’s not victim-blaming. It’s context.
There’s a 1% of bad actors everywhere in the world. The goal is not to walk directly into their business model.

Let’s talk about the part nobody likes to admit: dating apps are a hunting ground.

Not all the time.
Not for everyone.
But often enough to be a pattern.

Tinder, Bumble, whatever you use—these apps are incredibly popular in Colombia and Ecuador. For most people, they’re exactly what you think: a way to meet someone.

But for scammers, they’re even better:

In many of the worst stories:

Sometimes she’s real.
Sometimes she’s fake.
Sometimes she’s working with a team waiting outside.

Again, this is not every match. Not even most.
But you don’t need “most” to go wrong. You only need one.

If you truly want genuine connections in Colombia?

You’ll often be better off talking to:

Colombians are, by nature, friendly and warm. You do not need a swipe to have a conversation.

If you do use the apps?

Convenience is not the same as safety.
You’re not lucky that she matched.
You’re lucky when she is who she says she is.

Patterns matter.

Most of the higher-profile cases and embassy warnings from Colombia and Ecuador tend to cluster around:

Bogotá, by contrast, is more business, family, and locals. The risk still exists, but the stories are fewer and usually tied to:

Ecuador has seen enough cases that embassies have issued formal alerts. Other cities around the world—Nashville, Paris, London, Amsterdam, New York, LA—have also reported similar drugging and robbery tactics.

This is no longer just a “Colombia thing.”
It’s a “nightlife plus opportunists plus chemicals” thing.

If you start to feel:

Treat it as an emergency, not an inconvenience.

1. Get to a safe, public place.
Light, noise, witnesses:

Do not “sleep it off” alone.

2. Ask for help immediately.
Tell staff or security:

In Colombia or Ecuador, ask them to call 123 (their version of 911) or take you to the nearest ER.

3. Use the right words at the hospital.
Say:

That gives doctors a faster path to the right treatment.

4. Stay as calm and cool as possible.
Heat and dehydration can make symptoms worse.
Drink water if you can. Sit. Don’t wander.

5. Preserve any evidence.

Police and labs can use them later—if not for your case, for patterns.

6. Report it.
File a police report and notify your embassy. It might feel pointless in the moment, but every report helps authorities understand tactics and issue better warnings.

And please, don’t blame yourself.
These scams are planned. The people running them are not amateurs.

Your job isn’t to be perfect.
Your job is to act fast and reach help.

(The Boring Rules That Actually Work)

Think of these as your expat/nightlife survival checklist—for Colombia, Ecuador, and honestly most of the world:

Here’s my honest answer as someone who’s lived here for years:

Yes—if you respect it.

Colombia is not a villain.
It’s a country full of people who are:

The same way you wouldn’t judge the U.S. only by mass shooting statistics, you shouldn’t judge Colombia only by sensational stories about drugged tourists.

The reality is simple:

If you:

…Colombia will likely treat you like family. You’ll leave with friendships, experiences, and stories you couldn’t have had anywhere else.

Fear doesn’t keep you safe.
Awareness does.

Respect the country you come from and its people.
Respect Colombia and its people.
Respect yourself enough to move smart.

Stay curious.
Stay respectful.
Stay safe out there.