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| 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. |
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:
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.
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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.
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.
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.
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| 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. |
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| 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. |
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| Peter and Minh, brother and sister from the United States, receive communion from Padre Juan Carlos at Capilla Exaltación. |
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| 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. |
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| A young parishioner at Exaltation Chapel holding an image of the Madonna and infant Jesus. |
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| 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.
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