I've only been at the Petronio Álvarez Festival, in the football stadium in Cali, south-west Colombia, for a few minutes when I feel the pumping salsa beats and welcoming atmosphere wash over me. "Rumba, rumba, rumba," screams the crowd, rammed together on the makeshift dancefloor. This is the world's largest Afro-Latino festival and a great way to begin a trip to Columbia's Pacific region, with its rich culture and history. Every August, thousands of Colombians descend on Cali to enjoy a weekend of the best Afro music South America has to offer.
While Colombia has been edging its way on to the tourist map in recent years, only a tiny chunk of the country receives significant numbers of foreign visitors. Away from the top destinations (Tayrona national park, Cartagena, Medellin, the Amazon rainforest), large swathes are unexplored. I chose to visit one of the least-visited regions, the Pacific coast, which is largely populated by Afro-Colombian communities.
Over four days more than 60 bands from across the country compete for awards. Many come from the poorest, most neglected and isolated regions in Colombia. With few other major events promoting Afro-Colombian music, the festival has become increasingly important for preserving and promoting this culture. Around 50,000 people attended this year, compared with just 4,000 four years ago.
I squeeze into the gyrating crowd, right at the front of the stage, and am soon overcome by infectious energy. Groups dance in unison, with "leaders" at the front dictating everyone's next moves. Many people are wearing straw hats; some are waving white handkerchiefs in the air. People share bottles of Viche, the local brew and sing along to their favourite songs. Eventually it all becomes too much and I make my way to the back of the dancefloor.
There, amid the chaos, singer and community leader Noency Mosfuera Martinez stands calmly. Dressed in a long multicoloured dress adorned with symbols of Africa, she oozes pride. "Without this festival Afro-Colombians would be forgotten by the world," she tells me, smiling as sweat – the result of hours of dancing – drips off her forehead.
In 2002, Noency's hometown of Bojayá, further north in the Chocó department, suffered a massacre when Farc guerillas fired rockets indiscriminately and hit the church, where hundreds of civilians were hiding. They killed 119 civilians and injured 98. "The whole town fled straight away. Many moved to local cities – we lost everything overnight," says Noency.
With her band, Bongo De Bojayá, Noency has travelled for two days by boat to reach the festival. "We came because we want to tell the world what happened in our town," says Noency, whose lyrics tell the story of the massacre. "We also want to encourage all Afro-Colombian communities to protect their land and culture."
These communities are some of the most susceptible to displacement in Colombia. Their traditional homelands are often in remote mountainous regions, ideal hiding places for armed groups fighting over natural resources and drug-trafficking routes. So the boost offered by the festival is welcome.
The closing night of the festival is the rowdiest. The audience, crowded round their favourite bands, are somewhat tense as they wait for the judges' final decision. Famous musicians are always booked for the final night, to boost the festival's popularity.
"It helps bring attention to our music," says Ruth Marien, director of one competing band, Semblanzas del Río Guapi. "Before the festival, Afro-Colombian music was not even played on the local radio. But the festival is slowly helping it regain popularity in the mainstream media."
Wanting to show me more of Afro-Colombia, Ruth invited me to return with her to the band's hometown, Guapí, the heart of Pacific music.
After 12 hours spent on an old boat, listening to the band sing and play as we passed mangroves and bumped up and down on rough sea, we finally arrived in Guapí. Cut off from the rest of Colombia, with no access by road, the shabby but charming town is stuck in a time warp. The cobbled streets are still mostly travelled by horse and cart. The buildings are nearly all wooden, with beautiful balconies where old people sit in rocking chairs and children peep out of small windows.
On a Saturday afternoon, the Semblanzas del Río Guapi band is assembled in Ruth's home. Things start quietly, but by the end of the afternoon people from all over town have come to listen to them play and hear about their experiences at the festival. For many, the trip to Cali is long and costly, and few will ever make it. Old and young dance, laugh and drink in the sun. Sitting down with the band at the end of the afternoon I hear about their aspirations for the region.
"We want people from all over the world to come to experience the music and culture of Guapi," Ciro, a young bongo player tells me.
The next day, sitting in the boat on the way back to Cali, I think back to a folk story I was told a few days before. The legend has it that a vampire-like monster called La Tunda appears in the form of a loved one to lure people into the forests and keep them there. Most of the people I've met on my trip to Afro-Colombia might be La Tundas, I think. They all feel familiar, and like many visitors to the region I feel I am being lured into the Pacific coast, with little desire to leave.
• Will George was a guest of the 2012 Petronio Álvarez Festival (festivalpetronioalvarez.com, August, dates tbc). He stayed at Jardin Azul in Cali (jardinazul.com) which has doubles from around £35 a night. US operator Tia Stephanie Tours (+1 734 769 7839, tiastephanietours.com) has a 10-day tour of Afro-Colombia, finishing at the festival (tinyurl.com/c5jbuol) from $2,675pp
