Merry Christmas

On Christmas Eve after Mass at the Bishopric we walked through the Plaza Colon and watched a variety of Navidad-related activities, such as posing for photos beside nativity scenes, riding horses, riding in kid-sized battery powered cars, jumping on trampolines, sliding on slides, dancing, watching street performers, just looking at the lights and feeling good. We saw many happy families there.

After making the circuit around the Plaza, we walked north on the Prado, past the booths for silpancho, pasteles, and jugos and other refrescos (yes, lots of Coca Cola, and on one of the taller buildings on Avenida Heroinas there is a US-style Coca Cola billboard of that iconic jolly figure in red rather than a Father Christmas/Santa Claus or elf. Whatever opinions there may be about this secularized Santa icon--and there is a great history of these images at the following address:  http://www.thecoca-colacompany.com/heritage/cokelore_santa.html --it seemed a better billboard subject for mixed audiences than a previous one in the area depicting a man and a debriefed woman glaring at passers by as though they ought to mind their own business.) We passed more people riding horses at a walk--up one side of the block and down the other--and I noticed that the children riding seemed especially absorbed in the activity, maybe transported into dreams of galloping on the open range, and one horse making a turn on a tiled area lost its balance for a moment, the steel shoe of one rear hoof skating suddenly out wider than expected, but a quick sidestep and recovery, and the young rider never seemed to notice.


Despite being summer here, the wind was chilly and damp. This promised to be a colder Christmas than two Lynn and I spent years ago in Beaumont, Texas.  (Those years taught me that I really am better acclimated to an environment with four distinct seasons despite my love of puttering along on a motorcycle in the warm sunshine, remembering when it felt just as good to run.) By the time we were approaching the restaurant Brazilian Cafe, I was already thinking expresso. We sat at one of the tables on the deck close to the street.  The double lanes were bumper-to-bumper with vehicles, but the wind must have been blowing away any exhaust fumes, and the sidewalks both in front of the restaurant and on the avenue's inner esplanade remained full but not jammed with pedestrians strolling or hustling and lots of colored lights.  We talked for about an hour about our past semester's activities--what things worked and what needed to change--and what we might be doing in the coming one.


When we left, we decided to walk back across the Plaza and up the three or four blocks to Heroinas where it seemed we might catch a cab more easily for home.  On our way to Heroinas it began to sprinkle, then drizzle and finally to settle into a steady but not heavy rain.  When we reached Heroinas, we saw that the usually busy avenue was virtually deserted, to the point that we felt a little vulnerable waiting there for a cab.  We wanted a radio mobile, a driver actually working for an established company, because it would be more secure.  None came after a ten minute wait so we decided to return to the Plaza and the Prado.  With all the activity there--even if we had to wait to clear the traffic jam--we would catch a cab and be home in no time.


When we reached the Plaza, the rain had already worked its magic.  As if everyone had been made of sugar or salt and had been melted by the rain, the people in the plaza and most of the colored lights were gone.  The restaurant was still open, so we took our place in front of it and soon were on our way back south to our house below Laguna Alalay. The cab was warm, and the red, yellow and green of the street lights we passed spread a reminder on the wet pavement of the happy crowd we had seen in the Plaza.  We looked forward to returning to our place and checking on Blondie the dog and Kitty the cat who was just beginning her recovery from the sterilization operation.

That Time of Year

Christmas: Somehow the handful of ornaments Lynn and I brought with us from our Christmases together as a family in Tennessee¹ were powerful enough to bring back to life many memories and to remind us of the good will we experience in our lives here in Bolivia. Lynn and I celebrated our second and perhaps final Bolivian Christmas. (We are about to enter our third year of this contract period with Franciscan Mission Service.)  As with the preceding Christmas season, we are far from our families but hardly alone. Family, friends, and other mission supporters in the United States have stayed in contact through the many communication modes available in modern mission (email, Skype, Magic Jack, Cell Phones, prayer). Our Bolivian circle of friends, which includes not only Bolivians but many of the broad-based community of missioners from other countries grows as we extend ourselves through our work and social relationships.² We also sometimes acquire new friends on the fly as we suddenly find ourselves displaced and in need and discover that people recognize this and unbidden respond when they can.

Teaching: I'm pleased that our English classes in Carcel Abra continue to stimulate interest among the original students who began to study with us this past February.  Their pronunciation has improved, and they make appropriate responses in English when we look at photos and can construct grammatically correct short sentences. We have also attracted and retained some new students, some with previous exposure to English (one or two with some formal study, and others with exposure to U.S./British film and music).  For those interested, we (Lynn and I) continue to use the textbooks Top Notch Fundamentals and Top Notch Level I and to supplement that with some grammer handouts from the American English Files, some of the downloads and other activities from the BBC's Learning English website and other English language-related websites, some songs in English with lyrics in English and Spanish (very roughly translated with Google translate, but that too becomes an exercise). To add variety(and broaden the language use during discussion to include as much Spanish as they care to use), we still are trying to offer one film per month in the carcel library either in Spanish with English subtitles or vice versa.  The most recent offering was El Laberinto del Fauno (Pan's Labyrinth). We had good discussions about the cruelty of Vidal, the depiction of the Catholic church, the affection for fantasy and values of Ophelia/Princess Moana, and the implications of the conclusion.³

Our Growing Family: A couple of months ago we were adopted by a small calico cat.  She was maybe a year and a half old, dirty and hungry, and had a divot out of her left ear. She first appeared on the roof of the empleada quarters by the kitchen.  She had probably been surviving off of bits of dog food, and that probably also explained the occasional piles of bird feathers I had seen by the garden.  She never came very close, and never allowed us to approach her. We decided to leave her some tuna on the top of the wall, and pretty soon she began to eat that.  As we watched her, it seemed that she might be pregnant or might have had kittens.  Eventually we learned that she was sleeping in the woodshed, a real eyesore of a structure on the property that is filled with stacks of lumber, piles of lumber, dust-coated power tools (well, everything within is dust coated) pieces of broken furniture, steel rebar, chicken wire, pieces of pipe with one end encased in cement.  Eventually we caught sight of kittens in the woodshed.  We tried to catch them, but they were already up and darting faster than I could move to catch them, and the woodshed was a perfect shelter.  Eventually we convinced the mother cat to let us approach and then to touch her.  Over the course of a month we eventually captured the kittens and took them to a nearby vet to be wormed and have their first shots.  (Lynn got a nasty bite from one, so just as a precaution we couldn't give them away for ten days to be sure they didn't have rabies.) We were worried that we might not be able to find homes for them, but surprisingly we quickly did, for them and two more (that's another chapter in this burgeoning kitty ministry). The grey and white one went first, then the cream and white one.  The last one, a calico like her mom but long haired, sneaked back into the woodshed and eluded us for another week until we could capture her and award her to a young, very patient woman up the street.  I think all of the kittens got good homes. Then Lynn and I resumed trying to make friends with the mother cat.

She is definitely a cat of the streets--eats anything without hesitation, does not purr, does not particularly care to be touched.  After a week of cat taming, we began to hear the howling and wailing of cats either killing each other or swearing their undying love. It proved to be the latter in a case of dueling toms: one grey and white old boy and a cream and white younger, lighter weight but feistier looking lad.  For several nights they threatened death to each other out by the lavanderia, and it seemed like we were headed for Kitten Time Redux for sure.  Lynn and I took action. We lured mom into the house with a can of tuna, threw her in a plastic trash can,⁴ slapped on the lid, and hailed a cab for the Garfield Kitty Hospital in midtown, right across the street from the Viedma Maternity Hospital. That was a week ago, and now she's back at the ranch, no longer able to bear kittens, and wearing a belly sling for the next few days while she recovers from the operation. The recovery seems to be going well, and we hope Kitty will stay with us at least for a while.

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¹ The big glitter-encrusted snowflake still has six points.  One of the two angels broke a wing, but we repaired this with super glue purchased from a street vendor at the corner of Heroinas and España. I've lost my touch with this stuff and while attempting to pick up tools and also close the tube of glue managed to glue various fingers to my Swiss army knife and a pair of folding pliers.  I looked like a bumbling Edward Scissorhand until Lynn liberated me with her bottle of acetone.
² I think we're on friendly terms with the various groups of evangelicals who knock on the outside gate and leave pamphlets and talk about the Bible with us, and likewise with our meetings with the pastor of the evangelical church inside Abra Carcel where we teach English.  The carcel has two churches inside the grounds, the other being Catholic and erected by former missioner in Bolivia Michael Johnson, OFM, who led one of our formation sessions in Washington, DC in the fall of 2009.
³ We have had equal interest in this film after showings to the university-aged group of students at Pastoral Juvenil in the film series Filmanía that Lynn assists, and at the hospice in Santa Vera Cruz where I work on Tuesdays. The Calcutta Sisters who operate the hospice have also said that they would like to see the film. In each case our goal in showing this and other films has been to use  popular media to promote discussion.
⁴We had tried and failed earlier with a cardboard box.

Reminders of Many Good Things

We're all challenged to do the good things we can where we are. The challenges abound in all our lives. When I write about my own activities related to the people I work with here, I always feel a little self indulgent, so I remind myself that many people have contributed to my being here and that they might want to know more about what I'm doing and how that's going. I also remind myself of the good work going on back home, and that leads me to my favorite example of a boring blog entry--writing about brushing my teeth.  I'll be brief.

I was brushing my teeth and stroked my way to a crown¹ where once a mighty molar had stood.² The crown is faring well, and for some reason I remembered at that moment that my dentist in Nashville who had installed the appliance had remarked when he heard that Lynn and I were becoming lay missioners with Franciscan Mission Service, "you know, I believe Arlo Guthrie became a Franciscan a while back." So, when I had a free moment today I poked around on the internet and found the website for the Guthrie Center, a physical and virtual site for the promotion of spiritual positivism. What a great idea to sponsor interfaith dialogue and respect for indigenous cultures, especially within a nation of such diverse beliefs. The philosophy and activities relate directly to what Lynn and I have been doing here, especially regarding some of the activities in October.

On October 8 the Franciscans in Cochabamba held the first annual national song festival to encourage contemporary musicians to compose songs that relate to the spirituality of Saints Francis and Clare. On the evening of the eighth the best entrants from around Bolivia performed their songs live.  The opportunity to perform their songs was an award in itself, but the performers also received plaques of recognition, and the winner, an individual singer and guitarist, was also proclaimed. (I'll try to post a brief video clip here of some of the performers.) The idea for the contest and concert came from Juan Antonio, a Franciscan brother from Mexico who said that this is a very popular activity in Mexico as well.  When the concert for Franciscan spirituality in Bolivia was first being announced Lynn and I displayed one of the posters in Carcel Abra, the prison where we teach.  Unfortunately, I believe no one from the
prison submitted an entry despite there being a number of able musician/song composers there.

From the 11th thru the 14th of this month Lynn and I also attended several evenings of the local conference celebrating the 50th anniversary of Vatican II. As I look back on the presentations, I think what affected me most was the large attendance--more people than could fit into the large lecture hall.  It felt good to see so many people there, and among them to recognize the faces of people we've had the good fortune to meet and work with while we've been here--friends we made while we were students at the Maryknoll Language Institute but hadn't seen since we returned from Carmen Pampa, friends from our worksites, friends from our own Franciscan Mission Service, friends from our barrio--and some had been here in Bolivia only a few months, and others had been here for a few decades.  Overall, I think the talks emphasized the increasing role and responsibility of the laity and also reminded me that I had some reading to do on the documents of the Vatican II Council.

This past Tuesday we completed the course on Franciscan spirituality that focused on selections from the Admonitions. Here, we met more of the young bothers and sisters of the Order. The course was taught by Sister Ada Galioto, an Italian Franciscan. Despite our arriving late several times, she always welcomed us and included us in her congenial attack-mode style of teaching to be sure that we were listening and understanding.  On the final evening of the class we received our Tau-encircled diplomas. And, unexpectedly for me, she also called me to the front of the class and presented me with a beautiful old volume of the writings of Francis and Clare of Asisi in Spanish.  She wished Lynn and me the best of luck in our spiritual journey and asked me to read the bookmark card she had included with it. It depicted a payaso, or clown, above the following words:

Vive Mas Intensamente
Rie Mas Facilmente
Mira Mas Claramente
Ama Mas Profundamente

or, as many of us more commonly know it,

Live More Intensely
Laugh More Easily
Look More Clearly
Love More Profoundly

Of course, when included as a directive with the Franciscan Admonitions it seemed to me at first inappropriate, but I thought of the Apology of Socrates, and for that matter, the description of Socrates--I think by Alcibiades--as being like the image of a silenos, or lascivious creature on the outside but with the image of a god on the inside.  I think Sister Ada was alluding to the paradox that through the Admonitions one might embrace life more fully.  What a wonderful gift. It reminded me of two other unexpected gifts: once in high school when as a sophomore I was given a trophy for my effort in running for the track team (completely unexpected), and once at the end of our son Norbert's senior year when the head of the English department selected him to receive the award for outstanding writing and gave him a beautiful old volume of Shakespeare's history play Henry V. Norbert bore the honor well, and I hope Lynn and I will too.

Before ending this post I need to thank an old friend, Peter, for calling to my attention the History Channel's program about the prospect that outlaw Butch Cassidy survived to return in his later years from Bolivia to the US. With that in mind Lynn and I perused the bins of the street vendors here and found a copy of the film Blackthorn (Sin Destino). It does a good job, I think, of emphasizing the hazards of action or inaction in a morally ambiguous universe and will probably become one of the films in the next series of Filmanía at Pastoral Juvenil here in Cochabamba.

Enough for now.

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¹ I was brushing with a generic toothbrush with "extra suave" bristles and using Aquafresh paste. No, there are no stars in my crown.
² Was this the place that crunched a thousand chips? (Thanks and apologies to Chris Marlowe.)

Around Our Barrio, October 25, 2011

I intended to take a photo of our street, Colibri, before the paving process began.  Unfortunately, I laggardly missed that by a day, so I took a photo just after the street had been sprayed with a thick oil in preparation for the trucks with hot-mix asphalt, the spreader crews, and the steamroller.  I know that aphorism the road to hell is paved with good intentions may not seem to apply to this instance of my failed intent, but the pre-sprayed street was a worthy photo subject because here many of the roads, our own Calle Colibri¹ included, are paved with carefully arranged-by-hand stones, the sections delineated by continuous lines of stones about 5 feet² apart, the broad sweep of which on a gentle curve is--despite the jarring effect if you're fortunate enough to be passing quickly over them in a cab--a pleasing sight. I would romanticize this paving if I said "alas, poor _____," and so, no more; however, the stone streets can be a beautiful example of the manual arts and as sensible a use of abundant stones as are the walls between fields on the island of the white cow³.

The pavers did come to Colibri, and I was on hand with camera in hand to preserve a glimpse of the interment of the earlier paving technology, thus:

The paving process was followed by, on election day for judges here in Bolivia, another Dia del Peatón, which brought many of our neighbors (and Lynn and I as well, see photo) out to celebrate pedestrianism with a good walk on a fine, sunny afternoon.

Once paved, the street needed a line to demarcate right-of-way for two-way traffic. This brought an interesting series of events.  First a continuous double yellow line appeared.  Then it vanished.  Some said it was the work of the ladrones (and most probably Peruvian ladrones, I heard) who could be expected to steal just about anything. A close look at the pavement, however, revealed that black paint now covered the area where the double yellow line once had been.⁴ And then a day or so later a single white dashed line appeared on top of that, and shortly after that crosswalks demarcated by lines of raised caution-yellow reflectors and a speed limit sign of 10 kilometers per hour (kph). This was an excellent idea because the new paving seemed to have instantly increased the average auto speed by about 30 kph, a real hazard because at the top of the block there is a school and almost always there are groups of children going to or from it.

The name of the school, 26 de Octubre, is an important part of these goings on in this barrio as well. That date--tomorrow's date--is also the birthday of President Evo Morales.  Tonight the residents of the barrio have been preparing for a big celebration (see video) of President Morales' birthday. Lynn and I walked up to the school, which will be the center of the fiesta, to chat with neighbors (Marcela, our favorite tienda lady, hit me with a wad of confetti) and celebrate the improvements (in-ground natural gas lines, asphalt streets, speed limits, crosswalks, a beautiful school) that all together will make life in the neighborhood easier and better. Happy Birthday, Evo, and thanks!

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¹ more formally, Cerezos del Colibri.
² or 1.524 meters.
³ Inishbofin, where building stone walls also clears more land for planting, though plowing still is probably best done with a short coulter.
⁴ I did not remove any of the black paint to determine whether the yellow line was still beneath it, but, the character of the Peruvians aside, I believe it to be so.

Nostalgia

Yesterday morning Lynn put a card with this quote from St. John Chrysostom at my place at the table:

Do not fear the conflict, do not flee it.
Where there is no struggle, there is no virtue.
Where Love and Faith are not tempted,
it is not possible to be sure whether they are really present.
They are tried and revealed in adversity,
in difficult and grievous circumstances.

It's a nice reminder.

Mid-October

During the last couple of weeks Lynn and I have been busy with teaching during the day and with various learning activities at night, such as a short course in Franciscan spirituality and a 1-week symposium celebrating the 50th anniversary of Vatican II. My favorite teaching sites are at Abra, a men's prison on the other side of the mountains to the east of where we live, and at the Santa Vera Cruz hospice of the Calcutta Sisters, which is on the other side of the mountains to the west of us. Cochabamba has excellent weather, so while going to or from either worksite, just the ride itself is uplifting. On the way to either destination, the various sections of road change from dirt to rock to asphalt and back again as they jolt and wind from neighborhood to city to community.¹ We are approaching the rainy season here, but the weather is almost always sunny, cool in the mornings and evenings, and hot at midday, but always with low (30-35 percent) humidity. So getting there is a time to reflect on how lucky we are to be able to volunteer our labor in such a beautiful place.

In Abra we (Lynn and I) are not allowed to take cameras inside the prison with us, so I won't be sharing any photos of the students there.  We have a hard enough time getting our electronics in on the occasional days when we try to work in popular songs or video in English. As frustrating as the entry process can be, I understand the need for the caution, and from my limited experience with the interior of US prisons, this one is far less bleak--with flower gardens, pet dogs, visits from wives and children--and even a food court with tiendas and the occasional waft of chicken or beef kebabs on a grill.  This, of course, belies the reality that the money allotted for food in the prison is very low, so those inmates with more money will have a better time of it.

My forearm with a day's worth of entry stamps.  The three
friendship bracelets are, from right to left, one given to me by
Sandra, a student at Carmen Pampa, a green and brown one
I bought because the design and colors reminded me of Emer,
our daughter, and one with my name on it, made and given
to me by José, a student at Abra.

To enter with audiovisual equipment, we have to present a list of the equipment, have that checked against the equipment itself, then wait to see if the approval for entering with the equipment is there at the front desk. Frequently it is not, and I begin the process of entering without the equipment, seeking the delegate who has the approval form, then requesting that he visit the outer office to verify that I have permission to enter with the equipment.  That being done, I then can return to the outer office, have a pat-down search to be sure I'm not sneaking in drugs, weapons, phone cards, flash drives, cameras, etc., (this is sometimes more thorough, sometimes more challenging, because the personnel always changes) then have my forearm stamped with approval, then re-enter the main gate of the prison, verify that I have the pat-down approval stamp (black), then receive my second approval stamp (red) to enter the yard where the men can congregate.  Of course, during the time we teach we can always hear a loud speaker blaring orders for individuals to report to various locations.  Sometimes there is more than one class in the teaching space (sanctuary of a Catholic church within or a small classroom/library) or more than one teacher vying for the one whiteboard.

I just took a sip of coffee and read over that last paragraph. I laughed because while all of the details about the inconvenience are true, I cite them with full knowledge that at the end of each class-day I will gather up my things, make the usual kinds of "next time" remarks, note the requests and comments, and then leave.  Of course, I understand that's what prison is all about, sitting with one's wrong doings in an environment of deprivation. And I don't question the men about what things they have done that resulted in their being where they are, so maybe I shield myself from that shock and horror.  But in the eight months that I have been going there to teach I think I have begun to see a different kind of risk or addendum to the punishment of the time sentence. They all want to be more than just the person who committed the crime, and they all seem to be at risk of a kind of decay of their own individuality.

This last element seemed most apparent to me recently when Lynn and I decided to show a full-length film to both of our groups--the beginners and the advanced--on one day and to discuss it with both groups combined on the following day.  To hold their interest and to stimulate discussion, we decided to show the film² with Spanish subtitles and to allow the discussion in Spanish as well.³ On the day of discussion everyone had something to contribute, and by the end of the hour and a half class it seemed like the whole class felt closer together, and this despite the usual disagreements as they contributed and worked through their differing perspectives. They saw in the film no perfect cultures, the need to learn from all of them, the vulnerability of youth, the pain of being parents, the pain of being children, the way incidental incursions of one culture into another can have great consequences.

I didn't come away from the session feeling that anyone was being wrongly punished. Fortunately I wasn't in charge of meting out sentence time. Without questioning their characters, I simply recognized that they needed a chance, a safe forum from which to express their opinions and learn from each other. Despite the deviation from our curriculum, Lynn and I decided to repeat the film/discussion format once a month if possible.
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¹Sometimes it seems like Bolivia is the elephant graveyard for all the world's clunkers--heavily polluting, frequently without brake lights, often without any lights at night--but spanking new beamers and hummers are out there as well.

²The film was Babel, which, along with 4 others ( A Beautiful Mind, The Adjustment Bureau, Spirited Away, and Madeinusa) comprised the first episode of the film series Filmanía that Lynn is coordinating with the group Pastoral Juvenil in Cochabamba.

³I remember my own difficulties during language school when I needed to respond to something but my vocabulary or sense of grammar wasn't sufficient to relay my perceptions in the new language.

Plaza Principal

Yesterday I visited the Plaza Principal here in Cochabamba where, among other errands, I paid our monthly bill¹ for the cost of water for sewage. The streets around the Plaza were more crowded than usual--even for midday--because a large group of people was demonstrating there.  As I approached, I noticed that many of the demonstrators wore white lab-style coats buttoned over their street clothes. The demonstrators were too old to be colegio students, and as I walked closer I began to hear the chants and read the banners as the people marched around the corner to parade rest on the north side of the Plaza. This demonstration represented the pharmacists and doctors united against--as best I could determine--the distribution of pharmaceutical products and medical services by non-licensed agents. I wasn't sure if this was a response to pending legislation, but it was good to see that people had the freedom to express their opinions and protect their interests.

Plaza Principal is one of a number of plazas and parks in the city.  As its name implies, it is at the center of Cochabamba's municipal life with the Cathedral, Interpol, banks, and shops skirting the perimeter and a tranquil interior quad of palm trees, flowers, a fountain, and street vendors. Two weeks earlier (Sunday, September 18th), Plaza Principal was the start and finish site of a 7k race for young people sponsored by Monaco, one of the local sports equipment vendors. An estimated 3,000 people participated, most of them under the age of 25.^2,3

On the night of Tuesday, September 27th, Plaza Principal was the site of protest marches and a Franciscan ecumenical community prayer service, both in support of indigenous residents in their ongoing conflict with the Bolivian government that has made international news: the residents of TIPNIS (Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro Sécure) continue marching to oppose the construction of a highway directly through the land to which they have title. Government actions to halt the TIPNIS marchers have resulted in protest resignations in President Morales' cabine, skirmishes, several tear gas-related hospitalizations, and the reported death of an infant due to tear gas inhalation. On that Tuesday night Lynn and I had to make a choice between attending the second hour of our Franciscan Spirituality class or the activities in the Plaza.  With the teacher's permission we opted for the latter and thereby had both theory and practicum in the Franciscan way of peace. Following a slide presentation featuring reflections on the struggle for equitable peace from the words of Mother Teresa, Luis Espinal, Dorothy Day, Mahatma Gandhi, the 

Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Albert Nolan, Richard O'Barry, Salvador Allende, Cesar Romero, Margaret Mead, Martin Luthor King and others, we heard from a representative of the indigenous people in Cochabamba and from local clergy. One of the latter was our mentor and longtime Bolivian resident Ignacio Harding, OFM.4 Fortunately, I had a camcorder with me.

On the day following the activities in Plaza Principal the Government suspended its activities to restrain the TIPNIS marchers.  However, a headline in yesterday's Los Tiempos indicated that construction work on the disputed highway continues.
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¹ 12.8Bol = $1.85.
² My race number was 3494. I was one of the few well above the age of 25 and was also jogging although I wish I still could have run it.  Regardless, the weather was beautiful, as it usually is in Cochabamba, and the young people around me seemed more excited to be participating rather than worried about speed or place.
³ This event was in advance of the actual celebration of the Day of the Student, September 21, which was a very busy weekday.  Besides this celebration, on the Bolivian calendar the 21st was packed with celebrations: International day of peace, the first day of spring, the day of the student, the day of love, and day of the doctor. Staging the running event on the preceding Sunday was a good idea.
⁴ As Ignacio spoke I was reminded of a photo from a much earlier blog entry in our mission here in Bolivia because he was indeed taking steps and encouraging others along that road to peace as depicted in the mural.

The Higgins Connection

This past June, when Lynn and I returned to the US for a visit we had lunch with Bitsy Thompson, the younger sister of Jack Higgins. We had a pleasant time exchanging information with her about Jack's experiences as a Maryknoll missionary priest from the '50s and '60s in Bolivia and our own current experiences there. Since we had moved back to Cochabamba from Carmen Pampa in January, we had closer contact with members of Maryknoll. And since we would be returning soon, she asked us if we would mind presenting the Mary of the Mountain to members of the Maryknoll Society there in Cochabamba. Of course, we were happy to do that. At that time the centennial celebration of the Maryknoll Society was only a few months away, and Jack was one of the first Maryknoll missionaries to serve in Bolivia.

This copy of the Mary of the Mountain¹ picture was a significant gift because it had first been given by Jack to his own mother and was perhaps a reminder that their separation was a great sacrifice for both of them undertaken for a noble cause. Lynn and I thought of this as we remembered our separation from our daughter, Emer, while on mission and our need to work for the needs of others in honor of our son, Norbert. When we presented this picture to the Maryknoll Society in Cochabamba at a plenary meeting, we could see that all of us--from multiple generations--were accepting various levels of separation from culture and family in order to carry on good works begun by others. Only one of those present at the meeting was old enough to remember Jack, so we shared a few details about his life.
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¹ We also discovered that the Mary of the Mountain was created by a Maryknoll sister, Marie Pierre Semler, and that she also happened to be a relative of Nora Pfeifer, one of our fellow Franciscan lay missioners here in Bolivia.

Earlier this month the Maryknoll Society celebrated its 100th anniversary as a mission organization. Here in Cochabamba, Bolivia at the Language Institute Maryknollers celebrated that as well as the 60th anniversary of their mission work in Latin America. Lynn and I were able to attend two days of the festivities (speeches, focus groups, reflections on missiology, and of course, some feasting and dancing). One of our friends from the Maryknoll House in the Sopacachi District of La Paz, Michael Gillgannnon also made a presentation (he is now in the United States on a speaking tour) about the US role in Latin American politics and social change.  It was wonderful to see the intensity of commitment among these people, some of whom have been living in Bolivia, dedicated to their mission work for decades. It also felt good to return to our alma mater where we had begun our first phase of in-country mission--learning Spanish--just a year and a half ago. We knew we were not as experienced in the field as many there, but we already had our own mission experiences to speak of, and the numerous Maryknollers of all ages welcomed us.

As lay missioners of Franciscan Mission Service, Lynn and I felt honored to help celebrate the Maryknoll Society's longevity. We understood from our participation that a part of achieving that longevity was the continuing renewal--within individuals, their communities, and their organizations--while remaining true to their values. We were also honored to participate in this renewal in a very special way. It was our privilege to present to the Cochabamba Maryknollers one more reminder of the mission spirit that first brought them to Bolivia. This was in the form of a picture of Mary of the Mountain that John Joseph (Jack) Higgins, a Maryknoll priest from our hometown of Nashville, Tennessee, had once given to his own mother while he was serving on mission in Bolivia.

Old Mission

Augusto Pinochet

Recently at San Simon University here in Cochabamba, Lynn and I viewed the Michael Winterbottom film based on Naomi Klein's book, The Shock Doctrine.¹ This was our first  experience with this work, but we are aware of the protests at the School of the Americas in Georgia (we heard Roy Bourgeois speak, I believe, one evening at the Cathedral of the Incarnation in Nashville, Tennessee), have heard in retrospect about the horrors of the Pinochet regime in Chile (I saw an excellent dramatization of this in Costa Gavras' film Missing (1982) and certainly can understand the father's anguish in seeking answers about his son's unexplained disappearance), the adoptions in Argentina of disappeared parents' children by couples allied to the ruling elite, and so on.  Regarding the film on The Shock Doctrine², I learned about the relationship between the electroshock experiments of Ewen Cameron and the CIA's resulting Kubark Manual). The film's thesis that power elites maneuver populations by capitalizing off of engineered (such as inflationary economic policies) and natural (such as Hurricane Katrina in the US) catastrophies was interesting.  However, I think that in the film the case for this would have been better presented with more detailed evidence for the level of connectedness that it suggests. I don't say this to challenge the truth of the film's position. Naomi Klein's objections about the film's documentation of its assertions were published in the UK Guardian.

Regarding the presentation, I was amazed at the large number of people that turned out for the film on a mid-week night. The film may have been a for-credit assignment in the Sociology Department of San Simon University.  I believe it was sponsored by the office of the Vice President of Bolivia. Regardless, despite a two-hour delay in starting (delays are common, I hear) the classroom was filled, additional seats were shoved in through a window aside the adjoining corridor, and people were leaning their heads in through the doorway to hear. ³ If the film were a register of anti-neoliberal policies and anti-capitalistic sentiment in the UK and US, citizens of those countries should be concerned about the extent to which those elements serve as their dominant representation in foreign countries.
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¹ It is difficult for me to resume topics from an earlier blog post because by the time I sit down again I have other activities I want to write about or other work that must be done. However, maybe this will force me to be concise. Besides, I'm listening to Old Mission, a nice cut from the album Alone I Admire, by Auburn Lull.
² A full-length copy of the movie The Shock Doctrine is available for viewing on YouTube. Also a shorter, Spanish-subtitled version is listed there.
³ I wish we could get this sort of turnout at the Filmanía series that Lynn and I are assisting with at the Pastoral Juvenil here in Cochabamba.

Anticipating Expanding a Few More Moments . . .

Proponent of shock therapy, Dr. Ewen Cameron. The
extrapolation of his methods and the economic theories of
Milton Friedman are the subject of Michael Winterbottom's
film critique of neoliberal economic policy implemented in
Latin America and other countries. The film is adapted from
Naomi Klein's book The Doctrine of Shock.

I thought I'd have more time to write this morning before going with Lynn to clean up at Pastoral Juvenil after Friday night's installment (Madeinusa, see it if you haven't) in the Filmanía film series we're assisting with. So, when I return I'll write about that and some other topics: the film based on Naomi Klein's 2007 book The Doctrine of Shock, the 100-year anniversary celebration of the Maryknoll Order, the arrival of asphalt in this one of three Barrio Magisterios, and how we spent our second Dia del Peatón here in Cochabamba! (I can't wait either!)

Expanding moments

Edy Leonet, between bites of an ice cream bar as we take
 the tram up to see the Christ statue and the view of
Chchabamba below

Lynn and I had a guest last week, Edy Leonet, a young man we first met when we were teaching at UAC-Carmen Pampa. Edy is from Caranavi and at UAC-CP was studying in the Ecotourism program.  Along with about 5 other young Bolivians he was selected to study English in the US.  When I last saw Edy we were were sitting together at a picnic table, shaded from the intense (for me) sunlight by a small roof of palm fronds.  My pupils dilated to pin pricks, we talked about the essay portion of the application he was about to submit.  As I recall, he seemed both enthusiastic and a little doubtful. It felt good to see him and the others applying. I knew that they couldn't all be selected, but I did hope that at least some of them would be, and not because the lives of young Bolivians would be incomplete without encountering US culture directly.  This scholarship was a necessary part of sustaining idealism, a tangible benefit to work toward, a peg up for his future. So I asked him some questions, and we talked. He was still working when I left him to hike back up to our apartment on the upper campus.

When we were midway in the process of relocating to Cochabamba, in a minibus with Rhegan Hyypio, Hugh Smeltekop, and the remainder of our belongings from UAC-CP, we received a cellphone call that Edy had reached the interview stage.  When we were beginning our search for a place to live in Cochabamba, we received a call from Edy himself he had been selected along with 35 other students from various countries to study English language  in Philadelphia at Drexel University. Lynn and I thought he was a good choice because of his ability and enthusiasm.  And last week, picking him up at the Cochabamba bus terminal after his experience in the US, we felt that our opinion was affirmed. He graduated beyond his first encounter experiences through media such as photos, film, and music.  He seemed impressed by the cleanliness and the processes by which work can be accomplished efficiently. He did not return with a sense of rapture that everything is better in the US or that he should live there rather than in his own country. He seemed instead glad to be back, glad to be visiting friends--us and others he knows in Cochabamba--speaking both Spanish and English and moving comfortably through the culture.

It felt very good to see him again.  It felt very good to see a young person work for something, achieve it, and not be disappointed by the result. We hope that Edy can use this for making his next steps toward completing his degree and that all of the other scholarship applicants will also find their opportunities.



 

Challenges

Holding 1) a commemorative heart from
the Day of Retreat on July 31, 2011, Santa
María de los Ángeles, "El perdón de Asís"
and 2) new ID from Archbishop's office,
used to enter Abra Prison

For completing work, this past week was more challenging than the preceding one.  Tuesday was a public holiday¹ so I did not visit the hospice at Santa Vera Cruz (SVC). I tried to make up that visit today by attending Mass at SVC, and congratulating one of the young hospice residents for joining the Church. This was the confirmation Mass for him and about 20 others from the surrounding community. Unfortunately, however, I was not able to accept his request to serve as his godfather. Having just met him, I was not prepared to fulfill all of the responsibilities accompanying that.

Our weekly teaching schedule at Abra Prison was also disrupted.  Ordinarily we have classes Wednesday through Friday.  However, this week the inmates held a strike in support of a fellow inmate who was not allowed to have a needed surgical operation.  (I don't yet know what operation was needed.) So, on Wednesday, the head of the education program at Abra called us in advance to tell us that we shouldn't bother to make the trip to the prison because we wouldn't be able to cross the protest lines. On Thursday and Friday we called to see if the strike had resolved. Both times we were told that we had better wait until the following week.

So, we had free time and tried to use it well. We examined our teaching materials and planned ahead for several sets of classes.  We also began planning a simple website for teaching English that would provide some on-line support for those San Jose sisters who are unable to continue meeting on Tuesday evenings. Periodic readjustment seems to be a regular part of life and work here. Also it looks like we will be teaching a new English class in our house for two students (Jose Luis and Adrian) on Thursday night after we return from work at the prison. We know Adrian from attending the La Salette Church in our neighborhood. We know Jose Luis from our days of attending the Maryknoll Language School during our first 5 months in Bolivia. Both Adrian and Jose Luis seem to be well educated and are studying English because they want to, so working with them is a pleasure.

I was also able to continue work on a website for a group of women who meet and work at the Franciscan Social Center in Cochabamba. They have difficult family situations and create gift cards as part of their effort to promote environmental consciousness and also to be self-supporting.  The name of their group is T'ikas Warmi, which means Flower Woman in Quechua. Each of their cards is a unique creation from recycled papers, paint, and dried leaves and flowers.  Their results are pretty amazing, I think, and they've amped up production for Navidad '11.  During our June trip to the US, Lynn and I distributed a number of cards in Nashville (The Scarlet Begonia, Logos Bookstore, the gift shop at St. George's Church) and Bloomington, Indiana (Howard's Bookstore), and they were enthusiastically received. More information about the women and their enterprise is available at tikaswarmi.weebly.com.

Yesterday I had an interesting talk with Max, a friend who owns a hardware and building supply store on Avenida Guayacan, a street just a few blocks from our house on Colibri.  Max has interesting ideas about increasing water supply in some of the under-served neighborhoods in this part of the south zone of Cochabamba.  He also wants to create a local business council to better represent the large number of small entrepreneurs here and find new markets for their wares.  Possibly I can help him communicate these ideas. Especially regarding the water project, it would be an achievement to increase or better distribute the supply of potable water in the Cochabamba Valley.  I remind myself that this is the dry season and that the rain will come. However, even with settling the dust currently in the air, Cochabamba will not fully return to the verdant, eternal primavera of its epithet. Max too acknowledged the impact here (hotter, drier, dustier) of climate change.

Our garrafa, hard at work, containing natural gas until we
need it to cook up yet another taste fest.

For residents of our neighborhood, the water problem was complicated recently by another sign of progress, the installation of in-ground lines for distributing natural gas. For cooking, most residents use natural gas in large cylinders called garrafas.  Like many people here, Lynn and I keep a second garrafa so we can continue to cook until we can trade the empty one for a full one.  This is usually done early in the morning when a truck loaded with garrafas circulates through the neighborhoods.  While sometimes the driver sounds a loud horn to alert people that he is near, more often a worker in the back of the truck bangs a metal bar on an empty garrafa to send that unique clang-clang-clang-clang through the early morning air.

That tune will change soon with the installation of the in-ground gas lines.  Bolivia has the second largest known deposits of natural gas in South America. Installation of the new gas lines is a government-sponsored program, and residents here are understandably enthusiastic (cost and convenience) about the progress. However, with growth come growing pains.  It seems that the workers digging the ditches for the new gas lines have also punctured more than a few of the water pipes leading onto people's property.2  These pipes carry water pumped in from the community well.

With inadequate pressure, water will not flow through the pipes to reach people's sinks, toilets, and so forth. Apparently because of the low pressure and the number of punctured water lines, the administrators of the community well have had to shut off the pump until the leaking lines are located and repaired. Some houses, such as the one we are renting, have reserve tanks for water. When those are depleted or for those without a reserve tank, the recourse is to purchase water from one of the tanker trucks that drive through the neighborhoods. Of course, if we conserve, we have enough water, but not everyone has a reserve tank.
__________

¹ The holiday on Tuesday followed the weekend festival of the Virgin of Urqupinia (There are a bunch of video clips on YouTube about this).
² I think that this would be a likely outcome as the workers must dig all day, day after day, through rock and dirt down to shoulder height, producing a trench that is little more than shoulder width. I later learned another possible incentive--the workers are paid per meter dug.

Another Good Week, cont'd

A poster on the wall of the
Exaltation Chapel in our neighborhood. It
reminds me that in being alive I have both
rights and responsibilities.

Not recalling the street names on the way to the hospice in Santa Vera Cruz, I splurged on a taxi and then quickly remembered the location as the cab passed south and then turned west toward Petrolero. We passed a large open warehouse surrounded by a wall of wooden crates. The driver said this was where many tomatoes arrived and were disbursed for market throughout the Cochabamba area. At Petrolero we turned south again and in a short time we arrived at the church, Santa Vera Cruz.  I paid for the cab (about $2.10, which included a tip) and made my way into the enclosed grounds through the door and along the open corridor between the church and the school, which was in session. The passageways were old but clean, a welcome contrast to the littered roadsides around Cochabamba.¹

When I emerged from the corridor I recognized that I was beside the retreat house. The three-story brick structure appeared to be empty at the moment, but I couldn't tell for sure, just because of closed doors and an empty parking lot.  The hospice was a short way down a dirt road at the bottom of the hill.  As I walked, I saw an old swimming pool off to the left and lapsed into a reverie about swimming pools in my past. I think they represent people's idealism when there actually is time and money enough to relax and enjoy jumping into cool clear water. Maybe the circumstances always change, but for the moment there's that time of enjoyment. Not a bad thing for those lucky enough to have it.

At the gate to the convent and hospice I was welcomed by one of the Calcutta Sisters whom Lynn and I had met there when we first returned to Cochabamba.  She was still cheerful and led me through the sun-filled hallway on the first floor of the hospice. We walked past a young man mopping the floor and exchanged greetings. I was then led into a waiting room until the sister in charge of the hospice could come to speak to me. At this point I really had no idea how I could benefit anyone.  The facility was only recently completed and blessed. It has only three or four residents and also has almost as many volunteers to assist them. I couldn't exactly wish for more terminally ill residents so I could feel good about trying to help them. I wondered if I would spend the morning talking to the other volunteers. Fortunately, that was not to be.

I talked for a while with one of the hospice residents, a Bolivian man older than I. He wanted to know where I was from, how long I had been in Bolivia, and what I was doing here. Beyond that, and wanting to know whether I were a priest, he seemed indifferent to my presence and anything I had to say.  His eyes drifted away or half closed as I talked, and occasionally he drew a long breath and coughed in a way that seemed to unsettle his whole body.  I sensed that he was the one that the head of the facility identified as not wanting to live anymore.  His disease, HIV (here called VIH), was apparently well advanced by the time he sought medical help. According to Sister, he had once had money, and now he was without money. Also, apparently because of the social stigma associated with the disease his family did not want to take care of him.  This unwillingness to care for their own breaks the custom here that families care for their own aged and infirm.  What a powerful disease that it can destroy individuals and social custom. In this guy I could see, from the Franciscan standpoint, my leper.² While I might not expect to restore his will to live, at least I should be able to interact with him in a way that would declare my own acceptance of him.

The other two residents whom I met there were younger, more mentally agile, and friendly.  When they found out that I taught English language classes they enthusiastically declared that I should teach them.  I agreed to do that, and we set up a plan for me to teach them two hours each morning, using various DVDs that we have and also one of the texts that we bought during our June trip back to the US, Ingles para Latinos. This book is less formally structured than a textbook for a course in English. It focuses on useful phrases and also includes a pronunciation guide for Latinos, a very beneficial addition I think. I had not planned to teach language at the hospice, but I had decided before going there to just see what the interests and needs were and to let my activities develop from that.

After chatting awhile, the four of us--the older man, the two younger ones, and I--had lunch together. The two younger ones kept cracking jokes, and the older guy would respond either with a deadpan look   (I don't believe it was practiced) or a brief remark in what I presumed was Quechua. By the time I left I was convinced that this was going to be a good assignment for Tuesdays. I caught a trufi back down Petrolero toward Suezia, a cut-through street to the other side of the mountains to the west of our neighborhood.  It was a beautiful, sunny, big blue-sky afternoon (you can safely use that tag for 95% of the days here) so I decided to walk the short distance from Petrolero to the east end of Suezia. The air was full of the smells of food from the street vendors, children shouting and the general mid-day hum-a-drum that rises up as gradually more people and vehicles enter the world of transit. When I reached the airplane, the one that marks the east end of Suezia and that was converted into a library for the children, I caught a bus for home.

On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday Lynn and I taught at Cárcel Abra, the men's prison on the other side of the mountains to the east of our neighborhood.  Because we take a taxi there and sometimes travel on the road over the mountain, I wanted to take some photos (these included below) from the crest as the road passes from one side  over to the other.  I used a Flip HD video camera for these and exported the still frames that were best.  This was hardest on the ascending side because I didn't want to ask the driver to stop, and believe me, image stabilization doesn't do a bit of good if you're trouncing along a rocky, unpaved road. More importantly, however, our days of teaching at the prison this week were good ones:

• The guards at the entrance were kind enough to let me pass through the checkpoint despite my having left my ID from the Archbishop's office at home.  Since we teach there each week, they know us, but the rule still that no one enters without first leaving their permanent ID there at the checkpoint.  In addition, we also have to leave behind items such as cell phones, phone cards, pocket knives, any medications.
• The beginners group (we teach two groups, beginners and advanced) seemed to loosen up some, respond to jokes, and contribute more. They get credit for being in class, but they also seemed to want to be there.
• Three of the men from the advanced group turned in their examinations over the first half of the textbook and did very well. They're learning English grammar, and their pronunciation is good.
• A group of the soldiers and at the gate into the prison and their commander suggested that we should have an English language class for them as well.  We're going to try to do that.

I can't say that we're changing the lives of the men in prison, but our interactions indicate that we've been accepted, and gradually we begin to know when various ones are feeling up or down, and they likewise seem to detect our moods as well. We don't expect everything to be positive, but it feels as though we can work through the problems there that come our way.

Oh yes, and today at Mass, I was pleased to see that Minh, our friend who is a Maryknoll lay missioner, was with her brother Peter, a Christian Brother who is visiting from New York. In addition, Maggie, a Maryknoll sister, received a blessing before her trip that will take her first back to Ossening, NY and then to Tanzania to visit with her parents. Also at Mass I was struck by the representational figures--muñecas or dolls some might call them--in the chapel. Here there are more of these symbolic figures in church, especially around festival days, such as the current festival, the Virgin of Urkupiñia (Virgin of the Mountain--It is believed that in the 1800s Mary appeared to a young girl). I was also impressed by the far-reaching power of the American cinema and animated film because in one very happy young Cochabambino's arms Buzz Lightyear (see below) seemed to be assuring him everything was A-OK.

And to top it all off, today I had this terrific lunch at the house of Juan Carlos, Lupe, and Lizbeth in which I was served zapallo soup, mote and ispis, and a fine main course of sorubí (breaded) , arroz, plátano, yucca, papas fritas, and all the llajua I cared to drizzle on for extra zest! Now for some photos. Click the photos to view larger images.

Looking northwest toward Cochabamba from the road over
the mountains. The green area in the foreground is the golf
course of the Country Club. Most of the area around
Cochabamba is arid now. Some residents tell us that 20 years
ago it was verdant. The water is part of Laguna Alalay, the
last of 3 lagunas around the city. 

Looking northeast just across the summit from the same road
 over the mountains. Below the slope are the walls and buildings
of Cárcel Abra, the men's prison where Lynn and I teach.
Beyond that is the community of Abra and the city of Sacaba.

Peter and Minh, brother and sister from the United States,
receive communion from Padre Juan Carlos at Capilla Exaltación.

Juan Carlos, a native Bostonian and La Salette priest, gives a
benediction to Maggie, a native Tanzanian and Maryknoll sister,
a couple of days before her trip to the US and back home.

A young parishioner at Exaltation Chapel holding an image
of the Madonna and infant Jesus.

Another young parishioner holding Buzz Lightyear. If you
press a button on Buzz's control panel, his wings pop out.

________
¹ Today at lunch our friend Lizbeth told me that Sucre, known here as the white city, is much cleaner than Cochabamba. I'm not sure why people in Cochabamba litter as much as they do.  To me it seems a little like people feeling that it is their right to drive while drunk if they want to, and apparently there's a lot of that here too among the professional drivers.

² "One day while riding through the countryside, Francis, the man who loved beauty, who was so picky about food, who hated deformity, came face to face with a leper. Repelled by the appearance and the smell of the leper, Francis nevertheless jumped down from his horse and kissed the hand of the leper. When his kiss of peace was returned, Francis was filled with joy. As he rode off, he turned around for a last wave, and saw that the leper had disappeared. He always looked upon it as a test from God...that he had passed." From Catholic Online.                                                                                                                                         

Another Good Week

This has been a good week for me because I feel close to the people I work with. Monday was a day to prepare for the classes that Lynn and I teach Wednesday through Saturday.  Admittedly, some of this is just reflecting on what we've done and where we'll go next. (We seem to have developed some credibility at the Archbishop's office, well with the head of Penitencial Pastoral in that we've been reimbursed for photocopying books and handouts, purchasing minor supplies like markers for the whiteboard.) We also consider the problems our students are having, look for examples to help them, create handouts, and  generally get to know our spoken language better,  the way you usually get to know a work of literature better if you read it to teach it rather than just reading it for yourself. Most of this is actually fun because we remember things we've forgotten, discover patterns we never knew, and create material for handouts. The goal is to have a more definite direction when the time for class arrives. After all of these years it still feels good when Lynn and I plan together because we challenge each other's ideas.  Generally this leads to more productive class time, which means, I think, that we spend less time talking about language and more time in teaching practical use of a language and guiding the students' use of it.

Yesterday morning (Tuesday) I made my first trip to the hospice at Santa Vera Cruz (SVC)recently opened by a group of the Calcutta Sisters, Mother Teresa's order, at about kilometer 5 on Petrolero, on the other side of a row of hills to the west of us. This was a good step for me because I have been unsure about the best way to use my service time on Tuesdays:

• in the Apoyo Escolar (school help) program in Nueve Vera Cruz (a bit further down the road from SVC)
• in a comparable program in the La Salette Church in our neighborhood
• begin teaching in another prison, but one with worse conditions for the prisoners, such as San Sebastian

There are good reasons to choose any one of the specific sites because volunteers are needed in each one. However, in the end I chose to work in the hospice at SVC. Actually, serving in the hospice was one of our original prospective service sites when we returned to Cochabamba following a semester of teaching at the Unidad Academica Campesina-Carmen Pampa in the North Yungas. In the search for mission sites in January, we decided to spend the bulk of our time at the prison, partly in honor of our friend Harmon Wray (we observed the anniversary of his death on July 24th), and also because we know that volunteers from the free world are always needed and appreciated by the society within walls.  We also were less certain about what we might be doing as volunteers helping terminally ill patients. Maybe we were afraid of them or more accurately the risk of contracting tuberculosis or HIV.

Regardless, after working a few months in our other sites, this didn't seem to be an issue for me because I knew so little about the populations I was working with.  I just had to remind myself to take appropriate precautions in all of them. After I understood that, working with the hospice population seemed like an interesting challenge.  (More about this week later this week. Oh yes, and if you're headed this way, here's a nice welcome from Marcela who owns and operates the tienda just across the street.  Her bread is always fresh!)

Around our Barrio, cont'd.

A few regulars at the Wednesday morning Breakfast Club

On Wednesday mornings Lynn and I walk about 6 or 7 blocks to the La Salette church.  After Mass we attend an informal breakfast of coffee, tea, bread and warm milk at the priests' house  Mostly this breakfast is a time for fellowship.  We talk about our activities and what we plan to do.  Left to right in this group photo are Lil (Maryknoll sister from Louisville, KY, a vet of the SOA protests, with years of service in Peru and Bolivia), Adrian (a lay Franciscan who sings well, usually heats the milk for breakfast, and recently said he wants to start learning English), Willa (a Maryknoll lay missioner from the United States and a 3rd-year law student at Notre Dame specializing in immigration law), Padre Juan Francisco (a La Salette priest originally from Boston who speaks very good Spanish and always makes everyone feel welcome), Padre David (also a La Salette priest but from Tareja, Bolivia, incredibly always in a good mood, and a specialist at delivering homilies that draw in the whole congregation), Maggie (a Maryknoll sister originally from Tanzania who runs the apoyo escolar program at the comedor and school behind the La Salette church. She's experienced at keeping order among the children, and she welcomed Lynn to help her), Lynn Myrick (a multi-talented FMS lay missioner who loves the children and works in the apoyo escolar program in the mornings on 4 days each week).

Lynn and I on either side of Sister Jacqueline

After breakfast, Lynn and I meet with Sister Jacqueline of the Hermanas Misioneras del Santisimo and several young students who also wish to learn English.  We use the same textbooks for the course as we do for the men at Carcel Abra, Top Notch, and we progress at a rate comfortable for them.  In the few months that we have been meeting with them, they have gained confidence.  Their pronunciation has improved, and it's amazing to see how at first a sound seems difficult to produce and then suddenly they get it right. They especially like to hear songs with words in English.  This is a good break from grammar. When we can, we try to provide them with a copy of the song lyrics so they can practice after class and form questions about the meaning of particular phrases.

Padre David with the children at almuerzo

The apoyo escolar program at La Salette Church has been run by the La Salette order for about twelve years.  Before that it was run by the Franciscans. In its present form children can attend before or after school, depending on whether they attend school in the morning or afternoon.  After completing school assignments, they have a light meal of freshly baked bread, soup, and a drink such as api.

Around our Barrio

In June Lynn and I made a trip to the United States to visit family and friends and then returned to Bolivia and our mission work here.  Even though it was difficult to separate ourselves temporarily from Bolivia, it was a good trip, and we won't go back again until the end of our mission term in December of 2012. I think every mission experience has phases of involvement in projects and self reflection. The latter seems to me the way we spent our time away from mission work here.  We were able to think about what we have been doing and why.  We were able to have the direct encounters we needed with the people we are so far away from. It amazes me how quickly all of our lives change and complicate.  It's good to know that people can get along without us, but it also feels good to know that we have been missed.

Before leaving for the United States, we took photos of places where we work and the people we work with.  We also reviewed some of our other photos since moving from Carmen Pampa to Cochabamba (Cbba) in January of this year. I'm glad we did this.  Besides the fact that it makes it easier for us to share the experience with others, it does me good to remember that we really are only here for a short time.  We want to be able to remember the experience ourselves, and while we're here we want to keep at the forefront of our plans the need to make good use of our time.  To me that means enjoying the process of building relationships and also staying focused on the ministry of presence that is central to us as Franciscans and members of Franciscan Mission Service.

Lynn, Joel, and Clare during a board meeting in May 2010

In passing, I have to say that it was hard to say goodbye for a while to fellow FMS missioner Clare Lassiter. She performed excellent work for her volunteer site in Cochabamba (Cbba), Niños con Valor (dedicated to caring for infants with HIV and/or serious birth defects), and that her mission spirit will continue to benefit many whether continues to volunteer in Bolivia or returns to her own family and friends in the United States. We had a lot of fun as classmates during our five month session at the Maryknoll Language Institute, and she was always an insightful contributor to our weekly gatherings after Lynn and I returned to Cbba from Carmen Pampa.

I am also grateful to Clare, Camilla and Kate for house and dog (Blondie) sitting while we were in the US. It's never a good idea to leave a house unattended, but her in Barrio Magisterio, people tell us to be very careful about leaving any valuables unguarded.  Despite the high wall around the property, the barbed wire and broken bottles atop the walls, the deadbolt locks and bars over all the doors and windows, professional thieves seem to view these types of security efforts as enticing problems to solve.

Before I write about our trip to the United States, here are some of those photos of our world in the south end of Cbba. In March, the Diocese of Cochabamba held a day of celebration in which all parishes were invited to celebrate the richness of their culture and faith traditions.

Along with field games of building human pyramids, blind man's bluff (yes, an occasional "Marco!" and "Polo!" could be heard), tag, and numerous types of traditional dancing, all participants could learn more about each other's local churches, share lunch and see how exhilarating it was to be together outside on a beautiful day.  The celebration concluded after Mass was celebrated by Bishop Tito and numerous co-celebrants from the holy orders serving in Cbba.

In April we witnessed a Dia del Peatón here in Cochabamba. This is one of three days during the year in which--for about 7 hours--motorized traffic is not allowed on the streets.  The pavement is then free for more relaxed and less-polluting modes of transport such as scooters, bicycles, skates, and shoes.  There also is no age-limit for the drivers.  It's a very relaxed time, with more refreshments than usual along the way such as vendors with fresh-squeezed orange juice. Peaton days are an enjoyable way to make people more aware of air pollution.

Circuito Bolivia, the road around Laguna Alalay during the dia del peaton in April.

In Cochabamba, many of the cars and minibuses are powered by natural gas rather than gasoline.  Bolivia's large deposits of natural gas make this a less expensive way to power vehicles. Auto mechanic shops that convert vehicles from gasoline to natural gas can be found throughout the city. I'm not sure if the emissions are any less polluting than engines that burn gasoline. On a regular day of traffic, the vehicle density in Cbba is far less than in a US city. However, of the ones on the road, a larger percentage are old and probably pollute more heavily.

We are in the dry season here in Bolivia.  Recently, because the pump for our community well was being serviced, we had to buy water from one of the tank trucks that pass through. On this occasion, when we filled our below-ground reserve tank (there is also a smaller one on top of the house) it cost 60 Bolivianos, about $8.00. This doesn't seem expensive, but it is for some people, and it is also more expensive than paying for water from the community well.  We try to keep our reserve tank filled when there is a good supply of water coming from the community well.

No matter where we go there always seems to be a pack of dogs.  Some have owners. In March or April crews circulated through neighborhoods and vaccinated the dogs against rabies.  The ones vaccinated had a yellow plastic ribbon (Lynn says that it is green, but I think that at most it's yellow-green) placed around their necks.  We put out some food on the sidewalk for the dogs near our house because some of them do not seem to get much food.  I think when they're weak they're more susceptible to attack from the other dogs. Somehow, the children of the neighborhood seem to move through the streets without being bitten. I should say that I haven't heard of anyone being bitten. For fear of that, I'm probably more cautious than the local people.

I have run out of time and will continue with Around our Barrio tonight or tomorrow.