Martha Lucía’s stubbornness has truly paid off. It is her superpower—the one that allowed her to carve out a name for herself in a trade that, in her region, has traditionally belonged to men: jewelry-making. To give you a sense of how it all began, the craft found her while she was working as a cleaner in a jewelry workshop in Quibdó. One day, without the owner’s permission, she decided to turn on the torch she had seen him use—and got quite a scare when it burned her face and hair. Imagine her surprise when the jeweler offered to teach her a bit of the trade, on the condition that she never touch the tools again without his consent.

At first, it was simple curiosity that drew her in, but as she began to learn, that curiosity grew into genuine passion. Bernardo Buendía became her mentor. He taught her to respect the quality of materials, to be honest in her work, and—though his methods tested her patience more than once—he instilled in her a relentless pursuit of excellence. Whenever something didn’t turn out right, he wouldn’t let her fix it; instead, he would melt the entire piece down and make her start over. Today, she is grateful for every lesson and for his uncompromising perfectionism. He came from a lineage of male jewelers. In contrast, Martha says, her own journey in the craft—her love for it—began with her, more than twenty years ago.

With the work ethic Don Bernardo instilled in her, she went on to work in other workshops. More than once, clients would ask to meet the jeweler behind a piece and were surprised when a woman stepped out from behind the scenes. She would swell with pride when they praised her work. Of course, there were also bitter moments—people who questioned whether she thought she was a man. Fortunately, Martha is stubborn. With the same boldness that led her to pick up the torch that first time, she kept going—building her reputation across more and more workshops, gaining clients, all while raising her children. She has always had a knack for going against the grain.

It was only years later, after working tirelessly, that she connected the dots and realized she hadn’t grown up as far removed from jewelry as she once thought. She came from a family of artisanal miners in Istmina and had been familiar with mining work from a very young age. Her great-aunt, Floralba Mosquera, took care of her and often brought her along to the mines so she wouldn’t be left alone in town—even gifting her her own gold pan. One day, a woman asked Floralba whether the girl already knew how to extract gold. Her great-aunt replied, “Of course—she only needs to learn how to make jewelry.” With that remark, she both marked Martha’s path and foretold her future. That was where it had all begun, even if Martha didn’t realize it at the time.

How she wishes her great-aunt had lived to see the quality of the pieces she would go on to create—and how grateful she is today for that early prophecy. She is equally thankful to her mother, Rosa Nelly Mosquera, better known as Pelo, because without her support, she might never have found the courage to strike out on her own, leave Quibdó, and open her own workshop in Istmina. It took more than one leap of faith—buying all her tools, even selling them at one point when fear got the better of her, and then equipping herself again and stepping decisively into her craft. She began making the chains and gold beads she is now known for, using gold from her own land, and gradually started participating in fairs. It has all been worth it. Today, in her workshop—aptly named Al Pelo, in honor of her mother’s nickname—she teaches the craft to two of her four children. She is training the next inheritors of her trade with the same rigor her own mentor used with her: demanding, yes, but ultimately transformative.