Friends and/or Readers : I will try to blog more regularly in the next few weeks. Some of this will be what I have written earlier but not yet posted. After a very busy semester, Lynn and I are preparing to attend a retreat with our organization, Franciscan Mission Service, in Cochabamba. After that, we will be moving to Cochabamba where we will live closer to our community. We will continue our mission there and believe we will be able to accomplish the same goals that we have worked toward here in Carmen Pampa. As seems appropriate for the new year, I will reflect on past events, write my way to the present, and then think about where mission will take us in Cochabamba and beyond. Please stay turned as I add installments in writing, photos, and video.
(Written November 14, 2010)
In October here in Bolivia the coca growers blockaded the road into and out of the Yungas. During that time Lynn and I had to remain in La Paz for a week and a half longer than we had expected. Others at UAC (Jonas Grossman, Sarah Mechtenberg, Sister Jean Morrissey, Ximena Villa Iñiguez: thanks, all of you) filled in for us in various ways during that time. While furloughed we thought about our experiences leading up to our being there.
The academic term at UAC-CP flexes to accommodate a broad variety of extracurricular activities (campus clean-up days, occasional mandatory lectures, birthday parties, discussion to elect Mr. and Ms. Carmen Pampa, 4 days of intramural competitions, and 2 days of faculty staff retreat). Of course, this was our first experience with teaching in Bolivia, so Lynn and I were fresh in this phase of learning and probably in need of reminding ourselves more than once that differences do not necessarily equate to deficiencies. We also had learned a great deal during our formation period as Franciscan lay missioners, so rather than judge, we observed to better understand the philosophy and methods there. We were also glad that the semester had several more weeks than one in the United States, which made it easier to accommodate these activities.
When these events were occurring, I was thinking of them as unnecessary disruptions and was reminded of a passage from the Maryknoll handbook for missionaries, Maryknoll Spirituality, about how societies visited were apt to have a very different--more relaxed--attitude toward time than that in the United States. For those who have some experience with life in Bolivia, this may be referred to as Bolivian time. However, I reminded myself that this was a university and not Bolivian society in the perhaps more traditional sense that may have sponsored that term. So why did I seem to be observing it here? I looked to the fact that the students and faculty alike are busy at the work of teaching and learning throughout the year, so what fair-minded person could begrudge this time to focus their energies on other equally important activities that revitalize campus unity and spirit?
Lynn and I were also trying to attend back-to-back retreats, the latter with our fellow Franciscan lay missioners in Cochabamba. Leaving the first retreat early (thanks, Sister Elena, for loaning me a towel even though there wasn't any water for a shower), we took a cab back around the mountain (Uchumachi) from Cochuna to Coroico to Carmen Pampa.2 We did this to shower, change clothes, and--fortuitously because of the coming blockade--to dispose of our recyclable organic waste from the kitchen. We were planning only to be away for three days, but the blockade turned that into almost two weeks.
Since first arriving in Carmen Pampa in June, we had been trying to plan a time when we could have a reunion with our fellow FLMs back in Cochabamba. After these interventions in the academic calendar, we saw only one weekend opportunity to have a retreat with the other FLMs--leave the faculty retreat early so we could take a flight from La Paz to Cochabamba on Friday night and then return with an early flight on Tuesday morning.
I think the retreat in Cochabamba was beneficial for all 5 of the Franciscan lay missioners (Catherine, Clare, Nora, Lynn and me) and for Hermano Ignacio. For the missioners, this was our first chance to see each other since parting company in June. We had all endeavored to discern and had entered into different work assignments, and by this time we all had stories to share. Lynn and I also had time to attend Mass, presided over by Hermano Ignacio, at the monastery of the Concepcionistas just outside of Cochabamba. The Concepcionistas have a beautiful chapel full of natural light, and you feel the sincerity and devotion in their voices.
The Concepcionistas invited us all to lunch (the chuño wasn't half bad!) and afterward the sisters who played stringed instruments treated us to an impromptu concert. I remarked to their newest member (we had attended the service for her final vows this past June) that hearing her play the charango reminded me of the song "Say" (admittedly, repetitive) by John Mayer from the film, The Bucket List. She said she would like to hear it. I happened to have the song on my music player and had that in my pocket. Mother Superior said it would be all right, so I gave her the ear buds. She plugged in like a pro (she had to work these around the headgear of her habit) and started the song. She listened to it, and apparently a couple of following cuts by James Brown, and said that she would like to learn to play it. (I later purchased another copy and emailed it to the monastery.)
Early during our visit we had lunch with Sister Kathy De Vito from the Maryknoll Language Institute. We caught up on the activities of our classmates when we were taking the basic course and to hear about some of the new students. I am very grateful for the patience and work that all of the professors put into helping Lynn and me gain our basic knowledge of Spanish.
Early on Monday, Lynn and I went to the immigration office and picked up our carnets (national ID cards). That was the culminating act of a process that had begun back in February. They probably were ready for pickup in late June, but by that time we had moved from Cochabamba to the Yungas.
On Monday evening--our last night in Cochabamba--we were all to go out for dinner together. Lynn and I had also planned to visit our host family that afternoon. However, I came down with a fever at midday. After sleeping for about four hours, I was feeling better but still a little weak. The others went out to have dinner together. At about 7 pm, there was a knock at the door. It was Henry, our host father. After some phone calls and knocking on doors, he found out that we were staying at the Franciscan Center for Social Services, and tracked me down. I was glad he did. We talked and swapped stories until I felt so good that I said we should go and see Lily, his wife. (They are an amazing couple. They have hosted students from the Language Institute for 25 years.) As we were sharing more stories about what we were up to, Cathy, their youngest daughter, and her friend Carlos dropped by. The conversations all felt comfortable and natural, and reminded me of just how fortunate we had been during our five months of introduction to Bolivian society there.
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| Sister Moon Morrissey |
The building where we were to sleep had an insufficient number of beds, but Carlos Fernandez and Padre Freddy borrowed enough mattresses and linens from another facility–the colegio across the road–so that everyone had a bedroll. Three Sisters of the Immaculate Conception work at this colegio: Marleny (from Colombia), Elena (from Ireland) and Helen (from Papua, New Guinea). We had first met Elena and Helen after Mass in Coroico shortly after we arrived there in July. Helen seemed the more gregarious of the two–more chatty, enjoyed beating the drum during hymns for Mass, but Elena makes great pizzas. Marleny we knew better from the Thursday evening pastoral sessions we assisted on the Leahy (upper) campus at UAC-CP. They were all members of the same order as Sister Jean (from Boston), who lives at the convent at UAC-CP on the Manning (lower) campus. Each was unique in temperament and personality and committed to working in the Yungas to give young camposinos practical education, a sense of self worth and support for their Christian faith.
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| View from Convent Garden, Manning Campus, UAC-CP |
I passed several small groups that I presumed were tourists. Like me, they had light complexions and quick-dry clothing. We usually exchanged greetings. Two were young women from Switzerland, they said, walking to see the cascades. Others in school uniforms were teenagers, walking back probably toward the colegio. There were men wearing tire tread sandals and holding adzes with the handles propped on their shoulders, or dangling machetes loosely, walking to their terraced fields on the slopes.
After several bends in the road I passed some children. I waved as I trotted. One asked why I was running so quickly (a real compliment for my pace). He had a serious look on his face, and reminded me of Nelson, one of the children who often come to the little library where we volunteer time in Carmen Pampa. I probably gave a non-committal "no se" response and trotted on, but I carried his question with me. It was simple, innocent, like "how are you doing?" or "'what's up?" but questions like that have become harder for me to respond to.
Why was I running? I was a little tense or tired from the encounter sessions in the retreat. At some point I just wanted to be in the sunshine and see the green plants bending as wind spread from the long ridge at the summit to the valley below and–I imagined–up again on the mountains beyond. Why was I running? For that matter, why I was on mission away from my home country, and where did these moments fit in that grand scheme? Probably I'm here because it feels right–precipitous moral ground maybe, but sometimes that's where you find yourself.
I trotted on past several small cascades, scorched patches of ground on the slopes made ready for planting, past dogs the color of dust and mostly indifferent to my passing , occasional collections of small buildings, mostly with adobe walls, some unplastered and eroding, but some newer ones made of ladrillo.
I reached that second mint-green house, my mark for this out-and-back run. I regarded it only for a moment. It sat exposed and weathered on a rise to the right. I nodded, checked my watch, and realized that it had taken me longer than expected to get there. I would have to hustle to be back in time for the next session. That felt good–to be determined about something–even though it was only about returning in time. I did not want to insult the planners of the retreat, so I tried to hurry back.
The clouds thickened. A light rain fell. It felt cool. My skin felt hot and sticky but with splotches of cold. The rain made the return run easier. I smiled and kept shuffling along, trying to hold the rhythm, keep the knees up, keep the arms relaxed and pulling straight ahead. I looked out across the valley. The clouds were lower, more solid. This rain would clear the air of the haze lingering from fires to clear land along the slopes. And later the sky would be that cool blue again at least for a while.
The road was more or less level and meandered along as it traced the spurs flaring from the base of Uchumachi. By now, however, even a rise felt steep. I was late for the next session when I returned. Sister Elena loaned me a towel and I was grateful for that. Later in the day, Desiderio Flores (Agronomia) informed me that the same road I jogged circled the mountain and could be walked in about three days. That sounded like it could be an interesting trip. Others said it was risky for a gringo to try that. I remembered Sister Margaret's experience in Cochabamba and thought that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to solo it.
2 I apparently donated my cell phone to someone along the way. Since there's no cell service where we live [a story worth a paragraph later, but now cell service is functioning as of Christmas Day], I use it as an alarm clock. The irony is that I lost it just when I was going to an area with services and would need it - Coroico, La Paz, Cochabamba, and back again. Still, when I use it now, it's the same as when we were a family-- Emer, Norbert, Lynn and I--trying to stay in touch with each other.
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