Another beautiful day in 'The Paradise'

I returned to Bolivia mid-week after an all-too-good stay in Ecuador and The Galapagos with my Ma. Already it feels like I never left…appropriately so, because a week in the Galapagos was kinda like all the other fantasies I concoct and think happen, but that my doctor tells me are lies.

Well, there was no Antonio Bandaras to go skipping down white sandy beaches with…

But, there were penguins, sea lions, sharks, sea turtles and fishes to snorkel beside.

I didn’t so much frolic underwater with the sharks and the penguins, which look more like tuxedoed torpedoes because they zip past you in a flash, but the sea lions did love to play with you in the water.

In fact, the first time I figured this out I was snorkeling with the group in one of the first areas that it is common to spot them. I was one of the last to spot one, so I was still, floating and looking all over the place when one came up from behind me and swam along my belly. Well, this is what the others say that saw the whole thing happen. I didn’t see or feel anything so by the time the little buddy showed up 4 inches from my face I was so surprised that I screamed. This became a running joke with another guy on the boat and he thought it was hilarious that of all the animals that would cause me to scream would be a docile sea lion. He even went so far as to alert the scuba dive master before our first dive that, as a doctor, he should inform everyone that I had an involuntary screaming problem aggravated by encounters with marine life…not far off, actually.

Also, it was neat to be with a group of strangers and quickly form relationships over new-found appreciation for the islands’ natural beauty or the day’s events of a bull seal chasing a passenger down the black sand beach, an involuntary screaming problem, etc. Most of the cohesion was thanks to our charismatic naturalist Ivan or I-BAN. Sure to shout, “oh my gosh”, “look at that”, “you are the best” and to wake up the passengers in the morning with imitation seal calls and a soft voice in high register saying, Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to another BEAUtiful day in The Paradise.

Some afterthoughts:

It can’t be easy for any Galapagos National Park naturalists to remain charming for an entire week while looking after twenty bumbling American tourists, but Ivan’s charisma and optimism equipped him with the know-who to handle all the moments when ethnocentrism or cultural insensitivities surfaced.

I think his optimism stands out to me because before this mini-vacation all incidents at my work of abusive behavior, medical problems and management mess felt like they were piling higher and higher into a toppling tower of un-fixables. Needless to say, this had me down in the pessimist dumps. No matter what, I felt really hard to motivate because I was in a close-minded about whether I was really accomplishing anything or was just spinning in circles and offering empty hope to a community that needed more than someone to put on a happy face and carry a positive, well-intentioned personality to work each day.

The best thing about Ivan’s optimism is that it wasn’t founded on ignorance or complacency. As a twenty-eight year old and soon to be father, his optimism has been his defense throughout real-really tough life experiences that as young child without sandals or running water these circumstances didn’t, for him, mean than he didn’t have a bright future. Or that as teenager when he tried make it within the system on minimal musical talent even though it would’ve been easier to rebel against a system that didn’t promote any future besides drugs and stealing for the poor kids. It roused me from my pessimist slumber just thinking how powerful it is that for someone in Ivan’s situation (which is reminiscent for me of children within the Bolivian community that I’m working) who is given little-to-no reason to embody optimism would make it his mission to do so.

Then, by the same standards, who I am with privileged life experiences to harbor pessimism when I approach a seemingly-similar problematic at my job?

Note: Unfortunately, my trip to the Galapagos has inspired no grand theories of species and such...yet. I await my divine moment of inspiration with bated breath.

Tearin' Down the House

A big day at the Comedor as the kids in the morning class stole the show at Father Pani's birthday celebration. Pretty darn sweet having an entire day's activities revolve around you and pretty great to give these kids something to beem about. The kids in the morning arranged and coordinated their outfits themselves. This may not seem like such a big deal, but for one family of five this was an covert opperation which consisted of sneaking their only white clothes out of the house this morning in garbage bags after their mother refused to let them wear their nice clothes to school. At the risk of sounding like THAT MOTHER who self-identifies as obsessive over her children and writes the 4 page long Christmas card letters every year- I'm gonna go ahead and tell you to check out the rest of my pictures from today in my smugmug Photo Album.

Leaning into Discomfort

The theme of embracing discomforts continues to be pertinent for me whether I think about managing a class of 32 youngsters at one time today, learning to dance cumbia with old men at a traditional birthday party in the countryside this past Sunday or riding a moto with a melting cake last Saturday.

This idea sits well with me because I like to think that, even in the smallest way, leaning into one’s discomfort is really expanding one’s comfort zone and brings an openness to unique moments for growth.

This story begins because I wanted to get some big projects done before I leave for my two week trip to Ecuador and decided to work on a Saturday morning.

So… it’s Saturday morning and I arrive at the Comedor to work on a numbering system for the classroom library. I have asked Katie to join me so that we can tackle the project in little time, but obviously for selfish reasons as well i.e. her company and great conversation.

Project “let’s get a library” began this September; first with books ordered online and later with a generous donation from a supermarket (I think). Having three shelves of books is extremely exciting, but also a site for mayhem. Solution: Organize the library. Besides the creation of a numbering system by reading level, my main (and unspoken) priority was to create a filing system which would differentiate the beautifully illustrated storybooks with positive themes of women protagonists and cultural diversity from the supermarket’s donation of books like “Barbie Rocked All Night”.

With Katie’s help I was sure that we would finish the project in time to meet at Dina’s house for our luncheon. I had been pressing Dina for weeks to make time to teach me how to cook Bolivian food and Saturday was my BIG day.

So Katie and I start working and start talking.

A quick note: Katie and I are both the type of person for whom it is dangerous to leave in a room, unattended and both colored construction paper and great conversation because the combination of the two get us so riled up that we lose all track of reality.

And sure enough it happened.

I know what you’re thinking… “Ella, you’re never on time, so I’m really not surprised.” But really -believe it or not I have become quite punctual here in Montero. If you still don’t believe me, then for sure you’ll understand that it is and has always been out of my nature to pass up a commitment involving food and certainly it is rare for me to go for 4 ½ hours without getting uncontrollably hungry. Agreed.

That… and I should have noticed that time was passing more quickly than I thought as Mariano, the red pick-up driver, sat in the classroom watching The Lion King, MVP: Most Valuable Primate (a classic, chimpanzee turned high school hockey star kind of a movie) and started Ice Age.

However, despite various time-keeping methods, Katie and I failed miserably to keep in check.

It wasn’t until 1:00pm when I finally looked at my watch- making Katie and I now an hour late for our luncheon with Dina. And unlike other Bolivians, Dina runs a tight ship and measures the character of others in terms of two things: presentation and punctuality…Ella 0-2.

First Move: Call Dina and apologize, but she doesn’t come to the phone because she is already eating.

Second Move: Scramble to clean-up, run in 90 degree weather only to hitch a ride with a truck to the market and decide above all else that I must remove wrist watch.

Third Move: Arrive at market sweaty and look for a cake in order to play to Dina’s weakness for chivalry and sweets. In a frenzy of swearing, find only cakes with writing and hope to find one that says, “Is it pitiful that this store-bought cake is our plea for your forgiveness?”

So, we’re set right?

Katie and I jumped on a moto. I held the cake and Katie held on to me. It was then I was really leaning into my discomfort and the cake was leaning too. Back and forth it slid on its little cardboard plate, ever so slowly melting in the freakishly warm sun. I couldn’t help but think, “if and when I fall should I salvage myself first… or the cake?”

So, we arrive and were surprised be greeted with a smile of all things.

Dina and her housekeeper, Selma had prepared for our lunch to be served on a beautiful table with a crocheted, white table cloth which sat below the shady canopy of Dina’s tree.

Together we ate broiled eggplant, cauliflower, chicken, salad and had the best of conversations as we jumped from topic to topic, discussing the growth and change of Montero, the politics of Bolivia, poverty, taxes, Bush, hurricane Katrina, School systems and old people that move to Florida.

Lessons learned: Colored construction paper is disorienting, stereotyping another’s behavior is presumptuous, obvious pleas for forgiveness are sort of endearing and being cared for by hospitable hosts feels pretty freakin’ good.

Without internet

Sorry for the delay in blogging.
I am currently without internet in my house and have decided that I would rather not use the internet than use the one i´m currently sitting in. I can´t quite put my finger on why, but i´m thinking that it has something to do with the little boy looking over my shoulder, the bugs crawling on my screen and more so the bugs crawling all over my body that i feel, but can´t find. I think I could put up with the ones on the screen and on my legs, but its the one i keep trying to squish in my bra that´s making the kid at the other computer (the only other) look at me funny...can you blame him, though...really?

A mini update: the kiddies are good and we choreographed a dance that brought a Catholic priest to tears. It brought me to tears as well, but that was because teaching it was painful and i will never attempt such a feat again.
My good friends and fellow University of Puget Sound Loggers, Molly Downey and Charlie Kashiwa visited this past week which gave me the opportunity to see my job and this city with new eyes again. It was unbelievable to give those two travellers a place to stay, share great stories, eat the amazing meals that Charlie/ninja martha stewart prepares and play some guitar.
Also, I´m travelling this Friday to meet up with my mom in Quito, Ecuador for a day before heading to the Galapagos where I hope to see many large turtles and have less bugs crawling all over my skin.

Often Dragons are Princesses in Disguise

Taking my toothbrush out of my suitcase to brush my teeth tonight I am paused thinking about some over-looked insight contained in my surroundings.

My living out of a suitcase is in part due to my need for more storage space than my room provides, but also signals the impermanence of my presence here in Montero, Bolivia.

Since being here, I have been losing sleep over creating literacy programs involving creative participation for these kids that I think will change their outlook, over communicating with aggressive mothers whom I’ve decided need to take more accountability in their children’s lives and over ways to change, develop and improve the current structure of the Project itself.

Over what?

As more and more factors of this community’s racism, family dynamics, health infrastructure, defense mechanisms are revealed, I am paused thinking about the shallow, but well-intentioned plans that I posture day-to-day. What- given my limited experience here, lack of real cultural understanding and over-zealous assumptions of development- am I expecting to do in 5 months?

It is no wonder that I have been struggling to relate to Yimy, the other afternoon coordinator with a quiet, closed-off personality, but also with depths of insight. Until I had convinced Yimy of many things, chiefly- that I valued his input- conversations were one-sided which made all the communication involved with running an after school program more than difficult. Since the first week we have struggled to see eye-to-eye with regards to our roles and the overall purpose of our after school program. I now realize that what I had over-looked until recently is that within this struggle (that I so wanted to just dismiss) lays an enormous opportunity to see my place within this classroom, this project and even the community.

How great to be idealistic and to generate ideas, but how just and reasonable is it to listen closely to the voices of others albeit a slower more labored method.

Yimy’s greatest un-spoken complaint of the Gringas (American girls) that have work and have worked at Etta Projects before is of their impermanency their stay in Montero and to the project itself. This well-intentioned energy brings new ideas and new idealism temporarily to a community which needs sincere and un-ending commitments. My inability to pledge myself to this mission inherently means that I have two hearts, two lives and that my self-less impermanent efforts in the end make me selfish.

Of course knowing that my input is worth a grain of salt at this point does not discourage me and I am feeling like I have raveled a great misunderstanding that I can begin to fix by putting more time into the interpersonal relationships here. Just because it is more challenging to do this in Spanish does not mean that making new effort to understand the women’s customs, values or perspectives is not important, just harder.

Pummeled by the Bolivian Sun

After a week of nearly 100 degree weather, I still seem to be the only one that can’t take the heat. When I complain, people laugh as if to say this is nothing... and then they tell me that “this is nothing” and that it will get hotter still.

I’m working on accepting this new climate through various measures:

First, I think cold thoughts, like happy thoughts except cold ones like Eskimos, frost bitten toes in the mountains, frigid ice baths in the trainer’s office after lacrosse practice, etc.

Also, I plan to buy a third or even fourth fan for my room.

Last, I will learn to love the way that my body responds to this climate by slowing down to conserve energy for basic body functioning thereby removing my peripheral body skills like talking, thinking and reasoning.

It’s a rather funny coincidence that both the sun’s heat and working with this particular population of youngsters leaves me with the same catatonic-like feeling.

Playing the Bolivian Game

This was last weekend, but is too telling of travel in Bolivia to leave out:

Begin in Montero with bags packed for a festival in the cool mountain village of Valley Grande

Ride moto to station and catch a ride with 5 others in a compact car to Santa Cruz

Be asked to pay 300 Bolivianos for a ticket that should cost 35 Bolivianos and set daily record for exaggerated price scam

Proceed to take new taxi to other, honorable bus stop

Arrive at 9:04; four minutes late for the last bus to Valley Grande and witness new record: The first bus to ever depart on schedule in Bolivia

Re-group and settle for traveling to see a smaller festival in the hot and humid mountain village of Buena Vista without a pair of shorts

Catch ride to new bus station with a careless driver who nearly hits 3 pedestrians, 2 cars and 1 bicycle…at the same time and all the while multi-tasks by combining his day job with some family time (wife and child are in the front seat of the van AND by doing some personal family shopping along the way; herbs, toilet paper, fruit and a beer

Once in fully-loaded car for Buena Vista return to Montero, pass through Buena Vista and arrive in the town of Yapacani after heated discussion involving arm flapping

Rejoice over poor communication by having fried chicken for lunch in Yapacani; a Bolivian staple that you ate yesterday and the day before

Look up Yapacani in Guide Book, realize that there is no reference to any such place and quickly discover why

Refuse to play the Bolivian Game any longer and demand that 5 Bolivianos is all you will pay to travel to Buena Vista

Discover dream ride; a brick red 1980’s Toyota van with 15^th other people, but four wheels to bring you safely to Buena Vista

After my housemate Jaclyn and I arrived in Buena Vista everything was smooth sailing…or it could be that so many miss-managed situations allowed us to realize that Bolivia had a greater plan in mind for us that day and that flexibility or forced laughing would be essential to having a good time?

We stayed in little cabins, took a long walk to a river around sunset, had a great dinner and woke up the next day to have a traditional meal prepared by a local family and be two of four foreigners in the town to celebrate the tradition of the town with around 100 others.

The day was complete with processions, music and good food. It also exceeded my expectations to be asked to dance in front of my 100 new friends and be gifted a hand-woven palm leaf pouch by a man with a mullet and tapered jeans.