Monday, November 7, 2005, 10:33 AM
Excerpt from Lost in Translation
CHARLOTTE: Do you remember when we met at the bar?... You were wearing a tuxedo.
BOB: But the first time I saw you was in the elevator.
CHARLOTTE: Really?
BOB: Yeah, you don't remember?
CHARLOTTE: Did I scowl at you?
BOB: No, you smiled.
CHARLOTTE: I don't remember.
BOB: I know, I kind of blend in here.
You would think it kind of hard for a 6'5" guy in a canary yellow long sleeve shirt and a wide brimmed hat to blend into Bolivia. But alas, I go unnoticed, despite my best efforts at traditional fashions and immaculant spanish speaking skills. Perhaps with my cholita skirt and mouth full of coca leaves I look local, regardless of the canary yellow shirt. Perhaps Bolivians take it for what it is, a fucking freak show, and move on about their business.
Nine gringos and 4 bolivians in a local #17 truffi heading up to the mountains must seem like a traveling freak show. Especially with some tall guy with his head poking out the roof like a giraffe trying franitcally to keep on his wide brimmed hat.
The #17 doesn't usually head to the mountains, but travels a set route day after day in the city. It is in fact the bus we take to get to Colonia every week. The end of the line happens to conicide with the front step of Colonia. Kiko had made arrangements with one of the drivers to take a group of gringos up to climb Mt. Tunari. WIth the help of Dan and Carlye signing up teachers, we were raising money for Colonia by acting as a tour company of sorts.
Carlye, Dan, and I had all climbed Tunari the previous year and had assured everyone that the hike (more of a walk really) was actually easy and the altitude was the only hard part. We'd drive to about 4100 meters and walk up to the 5200 meter (~17,000 feet) peak. Kiko on the other hand takes 10 or so kids up to Tunari every year on a 4 day climb, which involves technical skills, rope, and equipment. Some of the kids are 10 years old. They take only some blankets, food, and water.They sleep under the stars or under rocks where some natural shelter has been formed.
At 7 am on Sat. Nov. 5th, all nine gringos and Kiko, his son Favio (17 years old), and his niece Monica (15 years old) all pile into the #17 with excitement and trepidation. 3 hours later we arrive at the side of a high mountain lake and start heading up the first hill. The gringos are gasping for breath within the first 15 minutes of the hike. Kiko, Favio, and Monica are actually running up the hill at some points and will continue to do so the rest of the day.
At this point some folks want to know which peak is Tunari and what route we'll take to get there. I have no idea and so pass the question on to Kiko. He tells us that you can't, in fact, see the peak at all, and we're not going up Tunari at all. Tunari takes 4 days (2 minimum) to climb. We're going up another peak.
Rumblings and grumblings about paying to go up Tunari begin. I'm thinking, "Oh shit, I promised these people we were going up Tunari, what do I do now." I had mentioned Tunari to Kiko many times. I was positive we were heading up Tunari. THE Tunari, not a minor peak behind it. So I offer people their money back if they want, but the place we are at is in fact much more beautiful than the Tunari route, which in truly was. There were lakes everywhere contrasted by bare stark cliffs and mountains. Everyone agrees somewhat reluctantly to continue on and that the money is going to a good cause anyway. I'm a little embarassed to say the least.
Not only was the scenery much more beautiful, but the easy walk we had talked about turned into climbing up vertical chimneys, chutes, and scrambling up steep scree slopes. Just about nobody in the group had done this type of climbing before and were for the most part scared shitless. Traversing eight inch wide ledges that drop straight down 60 feet onto sharp rocks tends to cast a doubt or two into your mind about just what the hell you're doing.
So several hours later we are exhausted and walking (slowly, very slowly) up to the highest point on our journey. A lone cross made of 1X4's stands looking over the world below. It looks hauntingly familiar. I've seen this cross before, I'm positive. I'm walking next to Favio and ask him in Spanish if he and his dad had put the cross on the hill. He responds that yes they had. With a group of street kids that they had brought up. That's when I realize where I had seen the cross. Kiko had shown me a video that week of the trip they took with street kids hauling a cross up all the steep chutes and chimneys and slopes we had just climbed. He had in fact been showing me exactly where he was going to take us. I had just assumed he was showing me an interesting video of one of their climbs. He probably assumed my comments of "increible" and "que lindo" were stamps of approval for the trip.
And what a lucky stamp of approval it turned out to be. The climb was challenging and probably the most difficult thing most everybody on the trip had ever done. I don't remember how many times I heard somebody say, "We're going where?" "We're going up there?" "Uh uh, I'm not going up that!" "Are you fucking crazy?" And then proceed to do it, to look at their fear and fatigue in the face and to overcome it. To climb down a steep crevice at the end of a hard days climb when the legs are shaking and the arms feel like noodles. When you just want to sit down and sip a handcrafted Portland microbrew. To support and help each other when it was needed like teammates who'd been together for years.
Then I began to appreciate a little more what Kiko, Carmen, and their extended family are doing. They take young kids on trips like this every year. Much harder trips actually. Kiko has been up on the mountains with kids almost every year since 1978. They are teaching kids about life and shaping their character. Showing kids what it means to push themselves physically and mentally.That it is ok to be afraid as long as you don't let it conquer you. It is intensely powerful to take a child that most likely feels abandoned, neglected, and worthless and show them the true power that resides within them. That fears can and need to be dealt with. And that by working as a team and together you can accomplish even more than one person alone can do. That there are people to support you and that you can rely on and in return that they can rely on you.
So I'm learning that being lost in translation is alright, if not very challenging. Across multiple languages the inherent flaws in communication tend to be overpronounced. It is the universal truths though that transcend communication. Character resides in the body, mind, and spirit and these have a language of their own that everyone speaks.
BOB: ... the more you know who you are... you don't care about things the same way.
CHARLOTTE: I just don't know what I'm supposed to be. I thought maybe I wanted to be a writer... but I hate what I write, and I tried taking pictures, but John's so good at that, and mine are so mediocre... and every girl goes through a photography phase, like horses, you know dumb pictures of your feet...
BOB: You'll figure it out. I'm not worried about you. Keep writing.
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( 3 / 1349 )Friday, October 14, 2005, 08:00 AM
Bolivia has received quite a bit of media coverage as of late. This is mostly due to the large social movements in the last few years dealing with water and nationalization of the enormous hydrocarbon reserves that are found here. Both of which have led to large scale protests, violence, and the removal of more than one president. The folks at Narconews have taken the story much farther than most media outlets, both commercial and independent, and dealved into what may very well be the heart of issues here in Bolivia, land. And the struggle through which the campesinos have gone through, and continue to go through, in order to have a small piece of what is historically theirs. Through the use of land reform laws, civil disobedience, and plane gritty determinism the campesinos are fighting for what amounts to a piece of land on which to eak out an existance on their own terms.
On a more positive side of land use Bolivia has recently been praised on the world stage for its progressive forest management and certification of these forests, both for commercial and national reservations. Considering what most roads are like here in Bolivia I'm pretty sure there are no worries, just yet, that the national reserves and forests will become crisscrossed with roads as is the case with the US.
;)
Picture I took of a condor in the foothills of the andes in Samaipata, Bolivia.
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( 3 / 1234 )Wednesday, October 12, 2005, 05:28 PM
I'm sort of a giant here in Bolivia. Not in mental status or reputation like I'd like to believe, but rather, in physical stature. I was standing on the corner downtown one day looking quite a ways down on my 5'3" friend I was talking to at the time, when I noticed how tall she was next to the Bolivians walking past her. My height has prompted many a question from Bolivians on what the hell my mother fed me as a kid. In the US we tend to say we were given a lot of milk as kids. A very clever marketing strategy by the US Dairy Farmers I'm sure. In Bolivia it is very funny for the person asking to suggest you were given eucalyptus tea, eucalyptus being the very tall and rapidly growing trees that never are quenched of thirst. I usually have nothing to say to this. Nothing at all. But the Bolivians are laughing hysterically. I may not fully grasp the subtleties of the joke, but hopefully we can infuse Charity Bolivia with a little bit of this special giant growing tea.
The initial paperwork for nonprofit status has finally been filed today with the state of Washington. For those on the east coast that might read this, Washington is on the west coast and not in fact Washington D.C. It's above that other state you've only heard mention of, maybe, in an old western movie......Oregon. California does not in fact take up the whole Pacific Coast of the US. And Oregon is not, contrary to popular eastern US beliefs, a territory anymore either.
So now we wait a day or two until WA processes our paperwork and makes Charity Bolivia an official charity. Then the process begins of registering the charity in the state in order to be able to solicit donations from its good residents. Then a whole bunch of paperwork gets submitted to Uncle Sam for what, we hope, makes Charity Bolivia a 501 (3) C corporation. Tax exempt and all the goodies and work that go with it.
I understand from a friend of ours that there are companies set up that do this exact thing for new nonprofits. For a percentage of the proceeds that the charity collects the company not only sets up and files the paperwork, but also takes care of financial filings and accounting that is required. Fortunately, I'm semi-retired and have the luxury of a little time to do the legwork. So all of the proceeds go directly to Colonia Ecologica. Details coming soon on how to contribute. We will be working closely with the Dutch and English based charity by the same name, Charity Bolivia (link is on right). So you can contribute now if you like and a Bank of America account will be set up soon as well.
Lately, I've been working on the construction of the next new and greatest building at Colonia. The brand new housing development for 15 new chickens that will soon be joining the Colonia extended family. I will learn how to make the the grass and mud roofs that are traditional in Bolivian campesino lifestyle. I'm actually pretty excited about it. I'm also pretty construction naive, my construction experience being solely that of screwing in galvanized pipe and sprinkler heads. Not exactly technical. Fortunately there is no brick or technical work involved. Mostly just sticks, nails, chicken wire, mud and grass.
In other news from Colonia, the one and only beat up old Toyota station wagon that Kiko and Carmen use to ferry the kids around was in an accident this past week. (It is rumored that upwards of 15 kids have fit in this car at once!) It is rare that both Kiko and Carmen both go to drop kids off in the evening. But last week they both decided to go. After dropping the kids off at their respective homes Kiko fell asleep in the passenger seat and close to home Carmen did the same. Eucalyptus trees make really bad alarm clocks. Fortunately, there were no kids in the car and neither of them were badly injured. Bruised and sore but still doing well. Kiko made sure to let me know that Bolivians do not wear seat belts. Unfortunately, their one car is now in the shop and will cost almost $100 to get fixed. On top of that they now have to pay for buses for the kids to and from Colonia each afternoon.
But neither Kiko and Carmen can be blamed for the accident. How could you blame them for sleeping the first chance silence sweeps over them. Usually they just pass out each night for 5 hours. And more often than not they are woken up in the night to kids. Alone, together, with silence surrounding them like calm ocean waves, the thrum of the engine and constant vibration of tires over cobble stones, exhaustion you aren't even aware of due to 20 hours of being "on" every day creeping up your legs with the vibrations, your husband already snoring fitfully in the seat next to you..... Damn, I've got to go to bed. If Carlye whacks me with a Eucalyptus branch in the morning I'm gonna be pissed.
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( 3 / 1168 )Thursday, October 6, 2005, 10:55 AM
Sometimes large rocks are hurtled off overpasses into the screaming rush of traffic that we call life. They come smashing through windshields, sometimes crushing us under their immense momentum and sometimes just scaring the shit out of us as the windshield shatters and the rock whizzes by our fat swollen heads. Those that survive these scares are left with a physical high like none other as adrenaline and endorphins pump through our systems and emotions shriek like rockets into the sky. Just as suddenly they plummet to extreme lows in an attempt to balance the body's chemistry. Sadness ensues and you think that maybe the rock was indeed meant for you. To impact you, to connect with you, to crush you. Not to kill you but to change you forcefully and powerfully. To mold you into something you weren't before the impact. But alas, there is no control over the rock or the way it is thrown.
Carlye and I have friends here in Bolivia with three adopted Bolivian kids ranging in age from 2-19. Over the last few months we have expressed to them our interest in adopting a Bolivian child. Nothing too serious mind you. We just wanted to know what the process was like, how it had worked for them, and hopefully dispel some of the rumors surrounding US citizens adopting Bolivian kids (which is that it is pretty much impossible right now). The US Secretary of State and the Immigration Dept. statistics show only 4 Bolivian kids being adopted by US citizens in 2004. This is down from 60 in 2001. The decrease has nothing to do with demand for Bolivian babies by US citizens, but it is apparently related to the US's slowness to sign the ratification of the Hague Convention on International adoption. Bolivia is certainly not lacking for orphans and kids that need families. Please don't quote me on that. The US gov't websites dealing with adoption are very confusing and misleading on the subject and I am extracting what I can.
So this week our friends tell Carlye that there is a baby whose mother died in child birth, the baby boy is number 7 or 8, the father is unable to take care of him, and he is in Cochabamba right now at his maternal grandmothers. What do you think about trying to adopt this baby? Well........HOLY SHIT! We initially just wanted information and now here is this possibility to not only adopt, but to adopt a baby under 6 months old, which is rare. So we decide to think seriously about it. We talk with friends, family, anyone really that will listen. Carlye is calm and excited. I'm F-F-F-Freakin out. The chance we could be parents and perhaps even have the baby living with us within a couple weeks really really freaks me out. I've wanted kids for so long that the idea of having one in a couple weeks, well, it scares me...bad. I'm excited as well, don't get me wrong, very excited at the opportunity.
Our friends helped us make an appointment for this Saturday to sit down with the lawyer that helped with all three of their adoptions. The lawyer assured our friends that it was indeed possible for US citizens to adopt a Bolivian. The requirement is that the US citizens be residents of Bolivia for 2 years. So we have decided to go ahead and see what happens. The odds are against us, but we decided to go after this baby boy.
As I was writing this post our friend called. He had made a visit to the family of the baby boy this morning. They gave him a response, which for us, was negative. An uncle of the baby boy had stepped up to take on the responsibility of raising the child. And it was only this morning that I had whole heartedly become excited and ready to take on not only the process of adoption but the great responsibility of fatherhood.
So the sadness starts. It wasn't what I was expecting. Sadness lives in me as a constant companion, an old friend, but he rarely comes for a rowdy visit. I tried to be logical all week, knowing that the chances were pretty slim. But the heart has a way of engaging regardless of what the head is doing.
You never expect a baby in swaddling clothes to come crashing through your windshield. A child raining down on you from an overpass towards your rushing vehicle. You can see it coming although there is no time to react. Time comes to a standstill, in fact. The face of the child becomes crystal clear. Its hair and cheeks blowing gently as the air rushes past. Oddly, there is time to think. "Strange that somebody would throw a baby off an overpass. Stranger still that it is headed directly for our windshield. Oh... shit!" And Wham! Just like that the baby is hurdling past your head. I just wish this one had obliterated me instead of passing by.
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( 3 / 1600 )Sunday, October 2, 2005, 08:07 AM
This week we had the honor of having our blog mentioned on Global Voices Online. If you haven't heard of Global Voices Online (which I hadn't) then be sure to click on the link. Your time will not be wasted.
"Global Voices is an international effort to diversify the conversation taking place online by involving speakers from around the world, and developing tools, institutions and relationships to help make these voices heard."
Global Voices is a project sponsored by the Berkman Center for Internet and Society at the Harvard Law School.
The author of Barrioflores, Eduardo Avila, was asked to write an article on the state of Bolivian blogs. The resulting article was excellent. Eddie's online writing was very influential in the starting of this blog, and we hope to maintain his level of quality and insightfulness. Not an easy task.
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