When I was packing to come to Bolivia way back in January, though I was sure to pack a few sweaters and warm socks, I was expecting my stay to be completely warm and tropical. Bolivia would be my respite from the snow and icy wind of my home state and the state where I go to school. Or so I thought. Last week, I visited La Paz, one of Bolivia’s two capital cities, and its neighboring city El Alto. Though it certainly wasn’t cold enough to warrant snow, I was most definitely thankful for the hat, gloves, and scarf that I bought before the excursion.
The first place we visited upon arriving in the area was Tihuanaco, the ruins of a highly advanced ancient civilization. I found the silence of the place to be very peaceful, and it’s hard to imagine that hundreds of thousands of people once lived there.
Discomfort from the chilliness aside, I found La Paz to be hermosísima (super beautiful, for those who don’t speak Spanish). The shape of the city is what was most striking to me. There are so many steep hills and deep valleys, that it looks as if the city was built on top of the backs of undulating serpents.
Plus, there’s a lot of wonderful graffiti…
… and zebras direct traffic.
One of the highlights of the visit for me was the visit to the coffee shop of Mujeres Creando (Women Creating), an anarchist feminist organization. Although I don’t count myself as being that radical, I’m glad that such an organization exists to counteract the culture of machismo and to show that feminism isn’t only an invention of the Global North.
Regarding El Alto, we only spent a day there, and we visited two places: La Universidad Pública de El Alto (UPA) and el Teatro Trono. UPA is unique in that it’s the first public university to be founded in El Alto; it’s only been around since 2000.
We visited a class of first-year students who are majoring in derecho (literally-right, but it’s something like pre-law). I was amazed with how much curiosity they had about us. They clamored to take pictures with us and add us as friends on Face (i.e. Facebook).
El Teatro Trono is a community theatre for kids in El Alto. Many of the kids involved in the acting in and production of plays have lived on the streets, but participating in the arts gives them a positive outlet and many of them remain a part of el Teatro into their 20s What’s cool about the building of the theatre itself is that it’s built out of recycled materials. :D
All in all, I found these twin cities to be lovely, and there’s a good chance that I’ll go back for my independent project.
*I meant to send this out around Monday after returning from Oruro, but I was too busy, so here it is now.*
I feel like such a square/wet blanket/stick in the mud/fill-in-the-blank-with-another-name-for-someone-who’s-super-boring for saying this, but I did not particularly enjoy Carnaval in Oruro. The main problem for me was that there was hardly a respite from the crowds. From the moment we got there until Sunday morning when we left, the streets were full of people. Walking among the crowds was very slow; it felt as though I was trying to make my way through a river. However, the pushy, impatient, energy-sapping multitudes were not as bad as another dreaded element: espuma.
Espuma is the Spanish word for foam, and during Carnaval, it took the form of a weapon. Men and women, children and old women possessed spray cans of espuma, and no one was safe from it. The foam in and of itself was mostly harmless to be sure; it fades away in minutes. And most people sprayed it in innocuous places such as in people’s hair or on their arm. However, I got sprayed in the side of my face at least twice, once while I was trying to enjoy some delightful cinnamon ice cream. One student in our group had the misfortune of having her wallet stolen after getting sprayed with espuma in the face. In the grand scheme of things, though, it was mainly an annoyance, and it’s definitely a better alternative to water balloons, which have apparently been outlawed recently in Oruro.
To avoid complaining too much, I will say that I enjoyed the dances quite a lot. There were caporales, morenadas, and thinkus galore. I would even like to learn some of them; the dancers looked like they had a lot of fun. Sadly, I don’t have any pictures because my camera didn’t decide to start working until Sunday morning, when the parade was long over. Hopefully, future excursions won’t tire me out so much, and I’ll be able to go to give better reviews. ☺
I´ve been in Cochabamba for a little over two weeks now, and I´m feeling rather blocked. As much as I have been surprised by how many familiar things there are here, I´m really starting to miss life at my college. I think what´s starting to wear on me the most is that Cochabamba is a big city, and I don´t spend that much time in big cities. The rolling green grass and ancient trees to which I´m accustomed are restricted to specific plazas, rather than surrounding me as they do at school or around my home. Of all the things to which I knew that I´d have to adjust, I completely underestimated the factors of smog, litter, and honking cars.
On the other hand, though, I do feel very safe with my host family. They´ve been very understanding. For example, my host mom knows that I miss playing cello, so once when I was studying in the living room, she played cello music for me on the stereo.
Another challenging factor for me has been time management. I really do want to learn everything I can about Bolivia, but we spend so much time in classes and have so many reading assignments that, ironically, I feel that my formal education is getting in the way of my learning. That being said, I haven´t quite found my rhythm yet, so I´m sure things will improve.
This weekend, the group is going to Carnaval, so that will be a nice change of pace.
I’ve been living in Cochabamba, Bolivia for about a week now, and the city is beginning to feel familiar. Actually, it hasn’t felt terribly foreign; there are so many advertisements for United States products like Coca Cola, and almost everyone dresses in jeans and t-shirts. When I was packing for this trip, I avoided bringing clothes with English words on them, thinking that I might stand out less (silly, I know). But English is ubiquitous here, even for those who aren’t fluent in it. When my host brother came to pick me up from the hotel where I and the other students had orientation, he said “traffic jam” when we were trying to navigate the narrow passages with my bags. He also told me that Cochabambinos refer to cherries by their English name, rather than calling them cerezas. Sometimes, when I need to say something, but I can’t think of the right word in Spanish, my host mom or brother will recognize the English word. Even though I’ve read about globalization before coming here, I suppose it’s taken these real-life examples to influence me to begin to understand how truly ubiquitous it is.
My host family is wonderful, by the way. I’m living with a single mom and one of her sons. The other two sons are married. One lives in the U.S., and the other lives elsewhere in Bolivia. Also, my host mother’s brother comes to visit every day at lunch. My host mother is an excellent cook, and she’s very accepting of my primarily vegetarian diet, which I predicted would be rare in a South American country. She compliments me on my Spanish and bragged about me to other folks at the special host family dinner when I mentioned I was a Spanish tutor.
My host brother is very funny, and I immediately felt comfortable with him when we met. He seems to know a lot about environmental issues since he’s an agricultural researcher, so hopefully he can be a contact for my independent study project (ISP). He also seems to be embarrassed that I am slightly taller than he is, even though I’m supposed to be the little sister, the hermanita. In one conversation we had, I was explaining how the cello is played and the different finger positions there are, and he asked me to put my hand against his to see how long my fingers were by comparison. Mine were perhaps an inch longer, leading him to say, “Well, that was a bad idea.”
On an academic note, all that I have to do this semester seems very overwhelming. During orientation, the professors and academic directors said over and over again that our time in Bolivia is very short, and that this program is very rigorous. But then again, they advised us to be flexible and learn to adapt to “el tiempo boliviano”: the sense that time isn’t so much linear as circular. Still, I do wonder how I will manage my experience here, since I want to explore Bolivia while at the same time doing well academically. In the meantime, however, Cochabamba is treating me well.
When I reached the shuttle that would take me to a plane destined for Bolivia, my immediate thought was that it was as if my high school Spanish textbook had come to life. I heard avión, pasaporte, and billete, words that I spent hours memorizing on flashcards. I remembered waking up this morning with my mind already switching to Spanish. I had the strangest sensation that someone different was taking over my brain. Spanish will soon be all around me. People talk about language immersion all the time, and I’ve recently begun feeling as if I’m going somewhere underwater.
I keep getting the impression that I’m going to a different world, and Bolivia’s considered to be in the Third World. But will it really be so different? As I looked around my shuttle, I saw bolivianos brandishing smartphones and iPads. The girl who was sitting next to me at the start of the flight was carrying an English book that I had read days ago: The Fault in Our Stars. There’s so much familiarity in the midst of something so unfamiliar. I can scarcely imagine what my life in Bolivia will be like.
When I noticed my neighbor’s book, I immediately exclaimed my delight and my admiration of the author. We talked about books for a while, and then she asked me my name and why I was going to Bolivia. Remembering my dad’s advice, I lied. I told her my name was Becca and that I was going to visit family. I felt ridiculous immediately after saying it, and not just because I don’t exactly look like someone who is a native Bolivian. Although, there is a black population there, but I digress. I don’t feel comfortable lying, but after the girl (whose name turned out to be Andrea) stopped asking questions and turned to talk to her friend, I began to ponder what other things I could invent. I suppose life in general is about inventing identity. It’s like the improve reflections that Steven Colbert gave at his acceptance of his honorary degree from Knox College or that Tina Fey gave in Bossypants: When life throws a situation at you, you not only have to react, but you also have to contribute to what’s going on. You have to say, “Yes” and add something. I anticipate lots of “yes, and-ing” in the months to come.
The skies are clear, a gentle breeze is blowing, and miraculously, there is an Internet connection. I’m sitting on a bench with my back to the busy street. Two women are shouting across the street to each other: “Hi there! How are you?” I’m waiting for the next customer to pick up a share of vegetables. There’s a lot of duality here: so much movement all around, but my mind feels slow. Sluggish even.
Lately, I’ve been wondering how to make myself more memorable. I wonder what impact I’ve had on this organization, what impression I’ve given the people with whom I’ve worked. Was I a cog in the machine, or did I really make a difference? I have to reflect on this some more, but maybe I’ll never know.
It seems so strange that I only have a week left on this internship. I don’t have the profound I’m-saving-the-world feeling that I thought I might have while doing this kind of work. After all, there’s always so much to do, and so much that gets left undone. An individual person can have a great deal of power, but that individual can still be quite insignificant on a global scale.
Instead of that hero feeling, I have the sensation that I have a puzzle piece. Everyone does. But the problem is, the image on that tiny puzzle piece is so indistinct, and there are so many puzzle pieces throughout the world, it’s hard to tell where it should go. The piece is small, but it still matters. This summer, my puzzle piece was rejected by one group, Clean Water Action, and passed over to another group that was a much better fit. My experience in urban gardening has given me more clarity to where my puzzle piece might go, but I still have a lot of reflecting to do. Maybe I’ll never see the picture in its absolute entirety, but that’s ok. I’ll just enjoy the search.
So things have been rather busy at the garden, and I’ve been forgetting to update this blog. >.<
Here are some of the highlights of the last couple of weeks:
So it’s been a week now at the urban garden, and I am starting to get my bearings. The main program for the summer begins next week, so all of the student participants will start working. Yesterday, I met with Rhonda, Isaiah, her brother Joshua, and Amanda to build a curriculum for them. The urban garden is meant to be educational as well as productive, so there will be several tutorials throughout the summer on topics such as garden design, sustainability, nutrition and health, and racism in the food system. I will even get to facilitate two tutorials myself: one on permaculture, and one on the food system.
I really feel that I’m fitting in in this group and making a difference. I also think I’ll learn quite a bit. I’m going to have a lot of responsibility, but this is something I know I can handle. When I went to the board meeting for the garden for the first time, the board members said they saw me as a gift from heaven because of the timing of my availability to them. Evidently, a lot of previous volunteers’ families were affected by the recent tornado, so the group has been shorthanded. While I don’t believe in divine intervention, I feel very confident that working with this group will be a valuable experience for me.
