After a few days of valiant fighting, I have finally succumbed to “el gripe.” Really, that just means I have a cold, but “gripe” sounds so much more dramatic, don’t you think? My wise and generous community has banished me to bed for TWO WHOLE DAYS. I thought a better solution would be to work it off. My plan was to take a fifteen minute snooze, then be back at it as good as new. Five hours later I woke up to MP bringing me lunch and I realized the sisters were probably right. Now that I’ve started sleeping, I can’t stop, it’s too glorious! My room is small and dark, my bed has a big dent in the mattress, giving it a lovely nest shape, and I have almost-but-not-quite too many blankets. The girls have no homework and the sisters aren’t teaching due to the transportation strike, so I’m not even shirking responsibilities. The girls can’t come bang on my door because they can’t even get in to the dorm where my room is. It’s like crawling back in to the womb for a few days, only better because I can leave Coldplay’s Parachutes on repeat all day long.
And now, randomly…some fun quotes!
Yesterday afternoon, Melody (5) and I were both sniffing and coughing and one of the girls sighed “oh how sweet, mother and daughter sick together”
“Melody, did I get you sick?” I teased
“noooooo”
“Well then who got us sick?”
Throwing her arms up and grinning proudly she shouted “Meeeee!”
Our youngest girls have an older girl who washes their clothes as part of her chores, but each one is at least responsible for her own socks and underwear. The other day I was taking our kindergartners out back to help them wash and Melody was swinging her tights around. As her wad of dirty clothes passed her own face she yelped, shook her head, and thrust her fist of laundry as far as she could away from her nose. Watching her blink in mute astonishment at the smell of her own dirty feet, I almost fell over laughing.
“Uh oh. Does that smell bad?”
“ahuh!” she nodded, eyes still wide.
“what does it smell like?”
“It smells like me!”
“You have to whip the tree in the springtime, otherwise it won’t bear fruit. That’s why, when I was in formation, the superior smacked each one of us after we finished whipping the avocado trees one day. So we would be fruitful.” –Hna. Aida
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Pesadillas
Sleeping downstairs with the girls now means that every so often I wake up to hear sniffling coming from somewhere in the darkness of the dormitory. I can feel how long I’ve been in the hogar because I can usually recognize the girls just by the sound of their crying. Last night the youngest in the dorm, Melody (4), was sniffling from the corner of the room. When I laid my hand on her cheek and asked “are you crying, little Melody?” she threw her arms out and buried her face against me.
Rocking her back to sleep, murmuring and humming to her as her tears dry and her breathing slows to the steady, rhythmic sighing we adults often lay awake craving, is one of the simplest but most important parts of my day. My dorm is full of girls who were beaten, abused, abandoned, rejected or forgotten. Tiptoeing past their beds at night, or stopping them in the hall to ask about their drooping expression, or settling down beside them in silence when I find them hidden, staring glumly at the ground in the garden, is a way of reminding them that, despite whatever they were taught by their families, the world does see and care and sometiems even respond when they are hurting.
I feel so powerless and overwhelmed by the world sometimes. I want to change the circumstances these and so many other children are growing up in. I want not only to offer these girls everything they need to succeed and find peace in this world, but also to change the very systems that make their pain a possibility in the first place. So often I feel weak in the face of poverty, exploitation, violence, and human selfishness. I love my work but still sigh at night, longing to do more about this broken world we live in. Rocking Melody back to sleep, feeling her fingers, which she had wrapped around a fistful of my own pajamas, slowly relaxing and uncurling, I was struck by the knowledge that in this moment I was changing the world she lived in. She awoke in the night to a world that seemed lonely and frightening. Now, nestled in someone’s arms, her surroundings were changed to seem safe, warm, loving. Even if I didn’t change the world, for a few precious minutes, I changed hers, and for a moment I feel satisfied.
Rocking her back to sleep, murmuring and humming to her as her tears dry and her breathing slows to the steady, rhythmic sighing we adults often lay awake craving, is one of the simplest but most important parts of my day. My dorm is full of girls who were beaten, abused, abandoned, rejected or forgotten. Tiptoeing past their beds at night, or stopping them in the hall to ask about their drooping expression, or settling down beside them in silence when I find them hidden, staring glumly at the ground in the garden, is a way of reminding them that, despite whatever they were taught by their families, the world does see and care and sometiems even respond when they are hurting.
I feel so powerless and overwhelmed by the world sometimes. I want to change the circumstances these and so many other children are growing up in. I want not only to offer these girls everything they need to succeed and find peace in this world, but also to change the very systems that make their pain a possibility in the first place. So often I feel weak in the face of poverty, exploitation, violence, and human selfishness. I love my work but still sigh at night, longing to do more about this broken world we live in. Rocking Melody back to sleep, feeling her fingers, which she had wrapped around a fistful of my own pajamas, slowly relaxing and uncurling, I was struck by the knowledge that in this moment I was changing the world she lived in. She awoke in the night to a world that seemed lonely and frightening. Now, nestled in someone’s arms, her surroundings were changed to seem safe, warm, loving. Even if I didn’t change the world, for a few precious minutes, I changed hers, and for a moment I feel satisfied.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Revolution Jazz Meets Hogar Maria Auxiliadora.
The Jazz Academy where I dance had it's summer recital during the four nights leading up to Christmas Eve. It was a blast! I never imagined I would be dancing in a beautiful old theater (dancing on a wooden raked stage was an adventure) in downtown Cochabamba. The best part, though, was Christmas Eve. A few weeks ago I talked with a few of my friends to see how they would feel about dancing in the hogar. The girls knew we were performing in the city, but they also knew we wouldn't be able to bring them all to the city to see the show. The dancers I talked to were on board, so Luis, our director, agreed to bring the Cuerpo de Baile to the hogar.
Neither the girls nor the sisters had ever seen anything like jazz dance or a dance recital. They kept asking me things like "are you going to dance Christmas carols?" and "are you all going to dress the same?" and "can you teach us all the dances tomorrow morning?" Knowing most of them would never get a chance to see something like this, I was a little bummed when Luis announced the line-up. Fame and Africa. That's it? Only two dances? It was better than nothing, but I went to bed after our last show praying that God would move his heart and help the group to see what a beautiful gift their presence would be for the girls.
The next morning, when I showed up at the terminal to bring the group to the hogar, there were already a handful of guys from the Street group waiting.Luis had recruited them late the night before to come perform for the girls as well! When Luis and his sister and co-director Patricia arrived, my duo partner Alicia had made sure they had everything we needed to dance our own piece as well. Overnight our show had doubled in size and length. Before half of us climbed in to a trufi, I told them how excited the girls were, that they sprang out of bed when I reminded them we were coming to dance today and were scrubbing every last corner of the hogar at that moment. I think that image stuck with them, because when the last of the dancers arrived ten minutes behind us in Luis’s car, another duo was ready to perform as well. As the girls peeked timidly around corners giggling and blushing and running to line up their chairs Patricia walked in to the dressing room and announced “girls! Someone go tell Luis we have to dance Salsa for them too! I think they’ll love it!” Wow, God had answered my prayers. He had inspired the group to offer their talents to these girls as an unforgettable Christmas gift!
And their generosity was not unrewarded. The girls were a dream audience. Every leap and extension and pirouette was ooohed and ahhhed and applauded enthusiastically. By the end of the show the girls were essentially star-struck and are still talking about the dancers by name. They remember what they wore, what they said, who they talked to, which dances they were in, etc. The experience has really stuck with the dancers too. They snapped pictures with the girls, put them on Facebook, and left comments over the next few days like:
“This energy, this group, and the happiness on the children’s faces was the best Chrstimas present. Everyone put in their part to make this poassible. What a beautiful memory! Congrats to everyone!!”
“everyone put in their own Little grain of sand to make these girls from the hogar so happy and give them a great Chrstimas gift. I feel so proud and so happy. Merry Christmas, everyone!”
“Super! Really, we have to do it again, and we don’t have to wait until Christmas or some special occasion things like this.”
All of these comments were written by teenagers and 20-somethings, most of whom live miles away from poor rural towns like Itocta and a few of whom showed up that morning hungover and apathatic.
Not only did the girls have an unforgettable experience, but I think the dancers became more aware of the tremendous gift that their talents can be to others.
Neither the girls nor the sisters had ever seen anything like jazz dance or a dance recital. They kept asking me things like "are you going to dance Christmas carols?" and "are you all going to dress the same?" and "can you teach us all the dances tomorrow morning?" Knowing most of them would never get a chance to see something like this, I was a little bummed when Luis announced the line-up. Fame and Africa. That's it? Only two dances? It was better than nothing, but I went to bed after our last show praying that God would move his heart and help the group to see what a beautiful gift their presence would be for the girls.
The next morning, when I showed up at the terminal to bring the group to the hogar, there were already a handful of guys from the Street group waiting.Luis had recruited them late the night before to come perform for the girls as well! When Luis and his sister and co-director Patricia arrived, my duo partner Alicia had made sure they had everything we needed to dance our own piece as well. Overnight our show had doubled in size and length. Before half of us climbed in to a trufi, I told them how excited the girls were, that they sprang out of bed when I reminded them we were coming to dance today and were scrubbing every last corner of the hogar at that moment. I think that image stuck with them, because when the last of the dancers arrived ten minutes behind us in Luis’s car, another duo was ready to perform as well. As the girls peeked timidly around corners giggling and blushing and running to line up their chairs Patricia walked in to the dressing room and announced “girls! Someone go tell Luis we have to dance Salsa for them too! I think they’ll love it!” Wow, God had answered my prayers. He had inspired the group to offer their talents to these girls as an unforgettable Christmas gift!
And their generosity was not unrewarded. The girls were a dream audience. Every leap and extension and pirouette was ooohed and ahhhed and applauded enthusiastically. By the end of the show the girls were essentially star-struck and are still talking about the dancers by name. They remember what they wore, what they said, who they talked to, which dances they were in, etc. The experience has really stuck with the dancers too. They snapped pictures with the girls, put them on Facebook, and left comments over the next few days like:
“This energy, this group, and the happiness on the children’s faces was the best Chrstimas present. Everyone put in their part to make this poassible. What a beautiful memory! Congrats to everyone!!”
“everyone put in their own Little grain of sand to make these girls from the hogar so happy and give them a great Chrstimas gift. I feel so proud and so happy. Merry Christmas, everyone!”
“Super! Really, we have to do it again, and we don’t have to wait until Christmas or some special occasion things like this.”
All of these comments were written by teenagers and 20-somethings, most of whom live miles away from poor rural towns like Itocta and a few of whom showed up that morning hungover and apathatic.
Not only did the girls have an unforgettable experience, but I think the dancers became more aware of the tremendous gift that their talents can be to others.
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| From Cosechando Talentos / Hogar Maria Auxiliadora y Revolution Jazz Dance |
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:
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:
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| From Paseo December 2010 |
Monday, December 27, 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!
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!
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| piojitos |
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| October 10 |
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| Cosechando Talentos / Hogar Maria Auxiliadora y Revolution Jazz Dance |
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| Christmas 2010! |
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| December 10 |
Monday, December 6, 2010
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!
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.
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.
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