Due to some changes in funding and laws, we've had a pretty dramatic change in staffing. One of the educadoras has left, one is on vacation and might return as a day employee only, our administrative assistant will help us out now only on weekends as a volunteer, and our cook will hopefully be back in a few weeks. For now, we're holding down the fort with 47ish girls, two sisters, and two volunteers. Yikes.

A few weeks ago I moved in to one of the two dorms and took on a few extra duties outside of teaching and tutoring during the day.I'm now the only one in the hogar from 6am until about 8:30 am. Every day, after seeing all the girls up, dressed, fed, and ready to go, I feel like supermom! Fortunately, the older girls help out a lot with the littlest ones. After prayer, I'm also the only one in the hogar for an hour so during dinner time until the sisters arrive again. I thought it would be really overwhelming to be here alone with all 47 of them on a regular basis, but I've gotten used to it pretty quickly. Although I'm working more hours, it's nice to take advantage of this time to catch up with some of the older girls, since most of the school support I do is with the elementary schoolers.

The lazy days of summer are really taking hold of the girls. I thought a full-on riot was taking shape the other day when I forced them to play for an hour after dinner before watching TV. "But Amber!! You're so evil!!! We don't even know what to do!" Exactly...that's how I know you've been watching too much TV. Getting all four dozen of them out back and introducing them to tunnel tag and duck duck goose seemed to break the spell of that bewitching glowing box for a few blessed minutes. They transformed from droopy-eyed zombies back in to little girls who laughed and played and cared about something besides Korean pop-stars. It was worth the many dozen times I was called "mala" and the comical threats to call the sisters and report the terrible abuse I was inflicting upon them by depriving them of their precious "tele."
Quote of that day, "You guys, if Amber keeps serving dinner, she might make us play EVERY DAY!" Sorry, girls, I'll be dragging your butts out to the soccer field every chance I get as long as I'm in charge at night. Which, considering our budget, is going to be quite awhile. Bwahahahaa!

We also have two new little ones (6 and 4) in the hogar and in my dorm. They're pretty cute, but they're still getting adjusted. It takes awhile for the girls to adjust to the norms of the hogar. Some of those lessons stretch our patience, and some our compassion ("you can come out from under your bed now. I'm going to scold you, not hit you"). Here we are with the other youngest girl in the hogar:

From Paseo December 2010

Massive Photo Dump!!!

As always, I have tons to say and not enough time to say it. Good thing a picture is worth a thousand words. Now you have an entire library to sift through while you wait for me to update you on...
Changes in our workload
Christmas
Dance
New little members of our family
New little members of my blood family
And a whole lot more...though not necessarily in that order.

In the meantime...enjoy!

piojitos

October 10

Cosechando Talentos / Hogar Maria Auxiliadora y Revolution Jazz Dance

Christmas 2010!

December 10

If you haven't heard yet...

So I have some really exciting news that's only about three weeks old. Whoops. See, it was so exciting that I called my family, baked banana cookies, smothered these little ones in hugs and kisses, and called it a day. Now I realize that the blog post I intended to write was never written (see how convenient the passive voice is, I don't have to take responsibility for my poor communication).

Here we go...brace yourselves...(getting to break the news a second time is way too much fun!)

All of the girls from first through seventh grade...(I have no way to effectively pull off a dramatic pause in writing)...every single one of them...(I swear I really will tell you now)... passed! In every subject!!!

I know. I know. Whoopdidoo, right? But seriously, last year at this time, when I started teaching summer classes in the hogar, every one of them had failed at least one subject, if not the entire grade. They were out of control behaviorally, embarrassed and self-concious, hostile towards their peers, their teachers, and me during their classes, and shockingly behind their peers academically. That was one year ago.

I got to tell the eight girls I work most intensively with myself and I wish I could have preserved that moment somehow. Even the too-cool ten year olds squealed and giggled and hugged eachother. That is, after they kept asking me "are you SURE? Did my teacher know you guys were talking about ME?" That's right my little friend, we most definitely were talking about YOU and how smart I always told you you are!!!

I wish I could express what an incredible turn around this is, how proud I am of the girls, how positively this impacts their self-esteem, what a dramatic difference it makes to set them back on course while they're young, etc. This also has such a great impact on the hogar. The older girls were shocked too, and had to rethink the way they talk about the little ones like they're dumb. Both inside and outside the hogar, we got a chance to show what these girls are capable of and I pray the effects will continue in to the next school year, which begins in February.

This was also a really wonderful moment for me, not just through the empathetic celebration I get to have with the girls. A lot of people have a very romanticized view of orphanages. The truth is, the kids can be really tough. Trying to take on their educational needs has been a rough road and there are many days, sitting through time-outs, getting sassed by fourth graders, searching for my students hidden under their beds, sitting through dismal meetings with teachers, when I felt defeated, racking my brain for a sixth new way to respond to "I don't get it".

But I kept reminding myself that if I gave up on this task, I was giving up on these girls. No matter how much they fought back I wanted them to know that I believed in their ability to succeed, even if most days it seemed they wished that I didn't. Every person has value, and every one of these girls deserves the chance to see what she's capable of. And they did it!! The struggle through the school year was not in vain because these girls, unbeknownst to them, are diamonds in the rough. It is such a blessing to be able to polish them up and show them that!

And now we're in the lazy days of summer break. The little ones are practicing reading and basic math every day and the older elementary students have a one-hour class each weekday to keep their hard-won skills fresh and that's about it. It's nowhere near the exhausting marathon of classes and tutoring and tantrums that it was throughout the entire last year beginning with summer break, especially when divided between my new site-partner Mary Pat and I. At first I felt a little guilty about all the new free time, but looking back over the year I think we ALL deserve a little rest.

God has answered my prayers for these girls and blessed me trumendously by allowing me to see the fruits of this challenging year! My prayer for you all is that, at least once in your professional or vocational life, you have a moment like this that affirms the beliefs and hopes that push you onward every day.

And just think...if I had left in August I would have missed it!

Embrace the Absurd...RIP Choca

While I can say without a doubt that living in Bolivia has so far made me a more compassionate person, I have to admit that it has desensitized me to some of the more challenging aspects of daily living. As a result, my sense of humor, which was a little on the dark side to begin with, may have crossed in to completely warped by now. It’s not just me. I remember months ago hearing the mother superior talk about her aunt who had cancer. She was talking with someone whose family member was ill and in her even, motherly tone, said something to this effect:

Well first, she had radiation, that was pretty tough.
Then she had to have chemotherapy.
Then she had surgery.
And then…she died anyway! Bahahaha!

To my shock the whole table burst in to laughter along with her. Including the woman she intended to console.

I guess when you live surrounded by violence and hardship and political turmoil, there’s not much else you can do but turn “twisted”. That said, I have a story that may only be funny to me…or anyone else who has spent “too much” time in the third world.

Last week the neighbor poisoned our dog. Don’t worry, that’s not the funny part. Choca was a nearly-perpetually pregnant stray who hung around the hogar. The girls decided years ago that she belonged to them in a way, so they were pretty upset (though not as traumatized as I would have expected) to see her dying, rolling her head through the muddy water in the nearly empty drainage ditch beside the road last Saturday. The whole ordeal didn’t last long, but it wasn’t pretty so I’ll spare you the details. Turns out the neighbors had poisoned her because she bothered them at night.

That afternoon started a subtle face-off. Who could out-wait who? Neither the hogar who had somewhat claimed the dog, nor the neighbors who killed her, wanted to fish her bloated and wet body out of the ditch. My English student, a fruit farmer from a remote community outside Cochabamba, came for class the next day and walked through the door with his nose wrinkled up. The monotonous tone of the conversation, in retrospect, was probably the most bizarre part.

Did you know there’s a dead dog out there?
Oh that? Yeah. The neighbors poisoned her.
Oh, I see. Did you see her dying?
Yeah, it was pretty awful, but quick.
Well, if you saw her dying, why didn’t you coax her in to a big rice sack then so you wouldn’t have to deal with the body later?

Let's just take a moment to visualize this suggestion...

Maybe you’ve been in Bolivia too long when your first reaction isn’t “what! That’s terrible!” but rather “do we even have a sack that big?”

The sisters assured us that one good rain will just wash it away. They seem to have forgotten that a: we’re entering a state of disaster due to the current drought. And b: The body will still be there, decomposing in someone’s yard, even if we can’t see it anymore.

Fortunately , the next day the girls commented that the neighbor and some little boys were messing with the dog. I figured it was the neighbor who killed the dog finally taking responsibility for the situation and was relieved to see the ditch dog-free that evening. Yet I had an almost superstitious suspicion that if I glanced over there I would still see the corpse rotting in the mud and tried not to look too hard when I came in and out of the hogar. After giving in a few times I noticed something strange. I kept it to myself for a few days until I was good and sure, then I broke the news to Mary Pat. If you look carefully, it’s obvious that one of the mud mounds in the ditch is beginning to reveal a few tufts of rotting fur.

That’s right, Choca IS haunting me. Instead of cleaning things up, the neighbors were simply packing her in to a little mud coffin and praying for rain. Maybe Romulo was on to something with the rice sack. Mary Pat and I fell over laughing and the absolutely ridiculousness of the entire ordeal, proving that fitting in to polite society once again in the US is going to be quite a challenge.

Let’s recap: In Bolivia…
If a dog is bothersome at night you should: poison her in front of dozens of children
If you notice said dog dying you should: save yourself the trouble of dealing with the body later by throwing some chicken feet in a rice sack and congratulating yourself for planning ahead.
If Plan A falls through, resort to plan B: pile mud over the body until you’re able to trick the neighborhood for over a week in to believing their rotting animal problems are taken care of.
When Plan B falls through, resort to plan C: Pray for enough rain to wash the heap down the way, far enough to become someone else’s problem.
When in doubt: forget about the morbidity of the situation and enjoy its pure absurdity instead.

One more magic Bolivia moment that maybe shouldn’t be funny…

A few weeks ago the aunt and uncle of two of the girls came to visit from another remote community in the Amazonian area of Bolivia. They had heard that the older sister had recently fainted a few times, though we’re still not sure why. “she used to do that sometimes when she was little. But someone in the town told us what to do and it worked, so we brought this.” The uncle said…then he held up a bag of live baby bats.

Ummm…what are we supposed to do with a bag a live baby bats? The exact instructions he gave us were to “peel and juice them” and have her drink it.

Again, just take a little moment to savor this situation.

I was beyond thankful when Hna. Leticia told him he was welcome to “peel and juice” whatever he wanted, but we were not about to take charge of this bag of bats, or persuading a sixteen year old girl to chug that concoction.

Oh, Bolivia. Sixteen months in and you keep on surprising me.

more dancing adventures

This month I had another chance to help out some students in the high school with a dance performance. As you may remember, the last project I helped with was for Dia de Maria Auxiliadora. Every grade in the school prepared a special performance of some sort to honor Mary Help of Christians, and the seniors chose to rewrite the lyrics to Hijo de La Luna, a song about the moon having a human child, which sends the mother’s husband in to a violent jealous rage, to honor Mary while they danced the waltz. Yes, you read that correctly. Believe it or not…they actually pulled it off. The students are so creative and I’m always amazed how willing they are to try something new, especially when it comes to dance.

I remember in high school how many people would laugh off the idea of dancing, especially in front of the school or community, with the typical “oh no…I’m not a dancer.” That attitude is hard to encounter here in our students, even amongst the uncoordinated or the particularly “macho”. In Bolivia, there are no “dancers” and “nondancers,” Just people. And Bolivia and I agree on the point that all people were born to dance in some way.

I should have had a little more faith in these kids this time around, but I have to admit I was worried. Before you scold me for underestimating them, let me explain…

A few weeks ago I was at the school for a parent-teacher conference when one of the high school teachers asked me if I had some extra time to help some sophomore girls with a dance they were putting together. She had seen me dance in the church before and said she needed some slow graceful steps for the girls, who would be dancing as “maidens” and planting seeds. I’ve stopped trying to guess about things like this, and even asking doesn’t get me far (Why are they constructing a huge swing in the road outside the church? Because cholitas or going to swing on it? Why? Because it’s November. Ah yes…of course, why did I even ask?). So I agreed (of course…maidens planting seeds…got it), and two days later one of the girls brought home the music. I put it in the cd player, pressed play, and was instantly assaulted by the worst music I had ever heard. It was essentially the same drab eight count repeated over and over. The only variation was thanks to the periodic switch between what sounded like a recorder, and a cheap keyboard set to “harpsichord”. It probably takes a special effort to produce music that creates new levels of awful, yet still manages to be painfully boring. And I get to make this fun for a few high school “maidens” dancing ballet for the first time?

As Hna. Leti would say “Gracias, Señor! For this wonderful new challenge!”

A few days later I had done the best I could to come up with some simple choreography for the girls. When the class arrived to practice, I was surprised to see not just the eight girls file in, but about a dozen young men and women as well. Okay…this was not part of the plan.

“So…why don’t you tell me a little more about this piece” I prompted the teacher.
“Well…” she began, “it’s for the environmental awareness fair at the end of the month. We’re going to be dancing about pollution. First, the girls will dance, and sow the forest. Then all these kids will dance. You’ll have to teach them some ballet too.”
“and they are…?” I started, bracing myself for what I knew was about to come out of her mouth.
“trees. I want them to dance ballet…but they can’t move around or anything like that.”
“okay…is that all?”
“Well, that girl’s a butterfly, and those two kids are birds”
Yes! Okay! Here’s my glimmer of hope! Butterflies and birds! They can move around and distract from the miserable trees attempting to dance ballet without actually ever moving their feet. Oh, but wait…
“The butterfly has really big wings. Like bigger than her, so she can’t really move too much. And birds, of course, belong in nests, so they have to stand on tables the whole time.”

Okay…let’s review…I now have the pleasure of finding a way to make something educational, entertaining, and not humiliating out of:

Eight dancing “maidens”
A dozen trees
A butterfly too hindered by her own wings to do anything
Two birds prohibited from flying
Music that was only burned on a CD because nobody would believe something that terrible existed without recorded proof.
Gracias, Señor, for this wonderful new challenge!

I did what I could, which, thanks to the enthusiasm and open mindedness of the students, turned out to be a fair amount. But when I saw the finished piece at the environmental expo, I was blown away. I should have known these kids would take something awkward, add all the flourishes, and make it part of something spectacular.

They opened with the ballet section. They had made some pretty amazing costumes, complete with face paint, and even gone so far as to turn the basketball hoops in to massive trees for the birds to dance in and fasten a few extra branches to the heads of our dancing forest. They really threw themselves in to the steps and made it look pretty darn good.

As the dancing forest finished up, the wind came in to wreak havoc (I didn’t have the heart to point out that wind, though destructive, isn’t a source of pollution) amongst smoke bombs and handfuls leaves flung by the waiting cast members.
Then came (dun dun dun!!) the garbage. Decked out in full recycled costumes (newspapers cut in to fringe, entire suits made of plastic bags, etc) and some pretty sick looking face paint, they crept in, some of them half swimming belly down on skateboards, to terrorize the forest. They pulled out some huge jump ropes and launched in to a sweet jump rope routine that lasted several minutes before…of course…transitioning to Michael Jackson.

I should have realized that this project would be a success simply because all dance related performances manage to incorporate Michael Jackson in some way. Anyway, the boys came in and rocked it.

Finally, a tight circle of guys shuffled in with their heads bowed together, while the music changed, promising something epic. They leaned back, spiraling open and balancing on each others’ stomachs until their bodies from the knees up were parallel to the ground. Completely unanticipated, a kid in a metallic hockey mask came crawling out of the circle like some sort of alien creature to deliver one of the most terrifying “don’t litter” messages I’ve ever witnessed.
To close, of course, the group lapsed back in to Michael Jackson to celebrate the rebirth of the forest.

You’d think I would have learned by now. Just because I don’t “get it” at first doesn’t mean it’s a waste. Congrats to our students on their hard work and creativity…and for proving me wrong once again.

snapshots September/October

Here are just a few quick snapshots of what’s been going on over the last month or so…

I spent a few days teaching one of the classes at my dance academy as the “guest united states folkloric dance instructor.” In other words…I choreographed and taught some swing (primarily east coast and charlston, as Sing Sing is too fast for lindy) that Luis worked in to one of their dances. It was such a blast! He students had honestly never seen anything like it and it was amazing to realize how much our culture influences the way we move and keep rhythm and interpret music. They really went for it though and they look great. Students from other classes crowded around the door trying to see what was going on and I had a lot of fun sharing a little piece of my culture with them.

Three of the girls, a young teenager and another pair of elementary age sisters learned this week that their fathers had passed away, one a year ago and the other three years ago. Although they obviously haven’t been in contact with their fathers for quite some time, it’s still devastating to lose the only family member you have left. It’s particularly infuriating for me that no one took the time to inform the hogar so these girls could learn why it had been so long since hearing from their dads. It will now be possible for a family to adopt the young sisters and we’re praying someone comes along and invites them in to their family.
I have discovered an incredibly effective reward for the girls I work with. If they work well all week, on Saturday afternoon they get to make play dough. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier when we started doing Saturday rewards. I’ll post a few pictures soon of some of our reward days, making play dough, playing soccer in the park, hiking to the church in the next town over. The girls are always so excited and proud of themselves for earning their reward that week.

Yesterday I was working with one of my first graders, who started out the year throwing hour long tantrums until she fell asleep on the floor if she so much as saw you coming near her with a book or a pencil in your hand. Yesterday she was working calmly, grinning as she finished reading each sentence in her work book. After we read together we practiced spelling by having her draw a picture of a little girl, then picking parts of her face and body to label. She finished each one on her own, clapping her hands to separate the syllables and spelling each sound out one by one. When she finished the last word on the board and I told her she had spelt that one correctly too, she grabbed my hand, started jumping up and down, and shouted, “Amber! Amber! I did it! Do you see? I know how to spell, I can spell!” I was so overwhelmed by how happy and proud she was, and by how far she had come in so many ways over this school year. In that moment it felt so clear to me why I’m here in Bolivia, both for them and for myself.

The president, in a moment of vengeful anger, kneed another Bolivian politician in the groin during a “friendly” soccer game. Youtube it, it’s brutal. I have so very much to say about Bolivian politics, but will save it for today.
I am still amused by how casually people talk about weight, appearance, and race. Two examples:
At dance yesterday, we started working on an African-inspired piece. My teacher just kept yelling “blacker! Blacker! Come on, you need to be blacker than Michael Jackson!”

Yesterday the sisters were talking about checking their pulse. A few couldn’t find there’s on their wrist, so I was showing one of the aspirants how to check her pulse on her neck. “I still can’t find it!” she was complaining, when one of the older sisters said, in an even and almost distracted voice, “Oh Nilda, you’re very fat.” causing everyone in the room, including Nilda, to laugh hysterically.

Yesterday-today: Family

A year ago I wrote: “I think a lot about how tragic it is that these girls grow up without anyone delighting in every new step of their life. No one marveled at their tiny hands or taught them how to ride a bike or took them to the zoo and laughed with them at the monkies. No one hung their first book report on the fridge or asked about the boy that keeps stopping by. I know the hogar does a great job of preparing these girls for life beyond the hogar and making them feel at home and part of a family, but I can’t help but think how things would be different if constant, unvarying people savored every second of life with these girls from their first breath on.” (September 6, 2009)

Although I have had a lot of wonderful opportunities to delight in these girls, to try to make them feel loved and special, and to celebrate their growth, I revisit this same sentiment over and over.

This week I wrote: “Tonight I witnessed a child become an orphan. She was passed from her mother’s arms in to Doña Emmy’s and we carried her away to begin her new life alone, completely ignorant of the terrible loss she had just suffered as she slept. Her mother, a child herself, disappeared, covering her tears and carrying nothing but her secrets. I cannot find words to explain what I have just witnessed. This little girls’ world just passed away as she slept. She had a name, a mother, a history, a birthdate, that all suddenly melted away in the chatter and cold of the bus terminal. She’s so tiny, just a week old, and even her identity is at the mercy of others. I, having seen her mother’s tears roll down her cheeks, know more about her origin than she ever will.” (September 4, 2010)

We would love to think that family is an indestructible fortress; that we can always take refuge in, at the very least, the bonds between parent and child. There’s no way to soften the truth: that shame, poverty, jealousy, violence, illness, desperation, substance abuse, and any number of circumstances can shake a family apart.

Today I answered the door to a woman with scratches on her face and a sleeping little boy in her arms. She and her husband fought, frequently and violently, and she didn’t know what to do to protect her son. She needed to work, but wanted her son to be safely out of reach for longer than the free day care run by the sisters was open. She wanted her son to live with us Monday through Friday, and with her on the weekends. No hogar can take a child that hasn’t been given up to child services, while no internado (temporary boarding home) will take a child that young. Should she abandon her child to the state in hopes of protecting him, or keep him at her side despite the danger?

There’s a little girl, about ten years old who lives down the road and stops by to visit me sometimes. Her parents fight over whether they should send her to live here or not. Her dad argues that she’ll be better fed and cared for here, while her mom worries about who will take care of her younger siblings during the work day if she goes.

Despite the terribly discouraging reality these little ones face, I find hope in stories of familial resiliency and sacrifice.

One of my dearest friends here in Bolivia, at twenty-one, is moving out of the transition home connected to the hogar to assume guardianship for her twelve year old brother who lives in a boy’s orphanage in Cochabamba. She knows it’s going to be tough, especially as she finishes her social work degree, but she’s determined to give him the life her mother couldn’t.

Last weekend Hna. Anglita went to find the family of a young woman with traumatic brain injury abandoned when she was twelve years old. They stopped in the little town listed on the few documents she had, and began to search. That very day she was crying in the arms of her father, meeting siblings she never knew she had, and resuming life with a family she hadn’t seen in over twelve years. The family welcomed her with open arms. After her mother died, her aunt brought her to an orphanage, hoping she would be brought to a center for children with special needs due to brain damage suffered as a very young child. Later, when the aunt returned to Santa Cruz, she told the family that this little girl could not be reunited with her parents or even visited in the hogar. She disappeared to Argentina and the family had no idea where to begin searching for the girl. Now, having spent half her life alone, her family has been restored to her, and she to her family.

That’s all for today.
Now go call your parents.