Anniversary

Today Lynn and I are celebrating our thirty-sixth wedding anniversary!

Proceed with Caution

The current conflict between the police and the government in Bolivia is making headlines around the world. That some police are striking—and rioting as was the case in La Paz on Friday—may be viewed by opponents of the Morales' government as proof that civil unrest may be on the verge of toppling the standing government, as occurred in 2003. As a guest and bystander I can only say that strikes, blockades, and protests seem to be a part of everyday life here although more frequent in the last few months. During that time I have not felt that my personal safety was at risk except for once. That was about a month ago when I passed through a barricade across the highway toward my teaching site at the men's prison in a nearby town.  The barricade had been erected by students from San Simon University who were protesting in support of Bolivian health care workers who opposed the government's increase in their mandatory number of work hours. Within  about five minute I was surrounded by rapidly retreating student protestors. About the time that I spotted the shoulder-to-shoulder line of police advancing rapidly I also was engulfed in tear gas. I joined the retreat and had no class that day.


I retell this story because it emphasizes my own need to proceed with caution.  Protests are common enough here that I can mistakenly presume I am safe because I do not have a stake in the conflict. The previous incident occurred when the Cochabamba police were acting in support of the government's law that blockades end by 1 pm.  In the current situation, when the police themselves protest the blockades will probably last until they decide to end them or the government decides that it will risk ending them with military support.  In either case, discretion really does seem the better part of valor. I will hold class when there are no lines to cross.

In Cochabamba today there was no violence in the protests in the city center.  In Plaza Principal I listened to a large group of campesinos/as reminding the crowd of the many good things that the Morales' government has done for the poor in Bolivia.  A block away on Heroinas Avenue (one of the main streets in the city center) between Espana and Baptista, traffic was detoured and hand-lettered signs around and in front of the police station proclaimed the demands being made by the police: a living wage (about $300.00 per month), the right to retire with full benefits, and the right to protest if they have grievances (which legally they currently do not have). The protest was peaceful. Small groups of police and/or civilians talked.  Two out-of-uniform policemen spoke to me. They were not threatening.  They simply wanted to state their demands and to emphasize the legitimacy of them. Along with a number of others there, I took a few photos (below), and only one person objected, at which point I stopped taking photos.  I hope the Bolivians can resolve their differences peacefully and that I can discern when it is safe for me and other bystanders to pass through.

Morning Walk

This morning I walked with Blondie the cocker spaniel and also with my cane. Unfortunately I have to learn that small things can become challenges, like doing some toe raises to strengthen my calf muscles and discovering the next day (this actually happened last week) that I have probably given myself the third case of plantar fasciitis (left foot) in my lifetime and the first instance that did not occur while I was running.  So Blondie and I slowly made the circuit of the small park a half block up the street from us and just in front of the school named for Evo Morales' birthday.

School is in session for a few more weeks before the winter break. As usual, each morning women set up various carts and tarps to sell food and school supplies. At the crosswalk I waited until the student traffic guards gave me the nod to cross the street.  I was glad to see this because one of the consequences of paving the barrio streets is vehicles traveling at higher speed. The traffic guards were a community response to this, a good one, I think, because many of these students are in the primary grades and probably do not think that much about watching for speeding vehicles.  It is also good to see parents and grandparents walking hand-in-hand with children on the way to school. The traffic guards greeted us, and one asked if we had heard from the Cuthberts, the family of Maryknoll missioners who lived in the barrio for 6 years and returned to the US in January 2011.  I said we had not heard from them but would tell them hello if we did.  This was a comfortable encounter.  I felt like we were accepted as part of the barrio. 

Blondie was finding much to inspect as we circled homeward—calling cards from the street dogs (they are all wearing collars of yellow plastic tape, proof of recent vaccination against rabies) and lots of plastic litter. The sun topped the ridge an hour ago, and the pavement not blocked by the school building was warm. Walking away from the school, we crossed the street and came to the opposite corner.  This corner looked clean and new from all the changes: paving the street, replacing the outside adobe wall with brick and cement, planting several flowering bushes and then surrounding them with branches cut from thorn bushes to keep the street dogs from over-watering them.


Against the wall a large rock sat on the sidewalk.  It had been one of many before the construction began. Now it seemed out of place.  I wondered why it was still there. Then I remembered: a tiny old Quechua woman usually sits on it in the morning, warming herself in the sunshine, silent to me except for a good morning as I pass.  I had not seen her for the last two or three mornings and wondered if she were ill, or maybe away visiting family or friends,  or maybe sleeping in. The air was still cool, but the sunlight was warm.  I stood with my eyes closed. The sun was on my face. I had a day to get on with, but this moment opened up and welcomed me in.  I thought about sitting on the rock, but that would have been trespassing.  This was still her rock. It was enough to appreciate why she might sit there, watching a generation of children pass by, getting warm in the sun.                                                   

Father's Day

The sign behind me says "Do not touch the monkeys -
They can bite!" but my little friend can't read.

Yesterday was Father's Day in the United States. For the last three years I have acknowledged the Bolivian counterpart, celebrated on March 19. However, I also have intense Father's Day memories, both of my father and my children, on each third Sunday of June.  So it was yesterday when I remembered how much patience my father showed toward me.  I also thought about how far away Lynn and I are from our children and about how lucky I have been to be a father, learning through them more and more about life.   Yesterday I reflected on the close relationships our daughter and son had with each other, with their dogs and cats, with us.  I remembered that in college our son chose a campus job of working in a child care facility.  He remarked that they--the two- and three-year-olds he cared for--were great to be around but a little hard to relate to.  Lynn and I understood that and also that being a parent will make you want to do everything you can to understand them, set things right for them (or show them how)--even if it's an unexpected phone call with news that you would rather not hear.

Lynn and I once visited that facility where our son worked. We arrived at nap time, and it was a treat to see the children slumbering with their blankets and stuffed toys and the music of waves and whales. We knew that wasn't all their lives were about. We knew that those who had such a tranquil place for naps were fortunate. As a contrasting experience, here in Bolivia we know the difficulty of being among a large number of abandoned or orphaned toddlers, all eager for attention. I wondered what will become of them and the many more to come after them. I hoped they would not end up living and working on the street. 


I don't know, but I think the problem of abandoned or neglected children is not as great (not as great a percentage of the population) in the United States as it is here. However, we have our own problem set to contend with, that being that children disadvantaged from the outset may have little opportunity to rise from poverty throughout their lives. Obviously these children represent a lot of potential talent and leadership that may be lost because not enough attention and direction was given to them during their early years.  In the US we are fortunate to have a variety of programs that can benefit the care and education of disadvantaged children and parents, but for the programs themselves to survive budget tightening they must demonstrate effectiveness in preparing children to accept/qualify for any opportunities that may come their way. 


Yesterday, with these thoughts in mind, I read the first chapter (the free download chapter) of an interesting study published by the Brookings Institution Press: Investing in Children: Work, Education, and Social Policy in Two Rich Countries, by Ariel Kalil, Ron Haskins, and Jenny Chesters. The two rich countries are Australia and the United States. From what I could determine from the first chapter I think the study attempts to evaluate program strengths honestly for the purpose of influencing policy decisions affecting the futures of individuals in this population group.  Just as wellness education and wellness care seek to reduce rising healthcare and insurance costs centered on preventable maladies related to lifestyle choice, effective investment in childcare for the disadvantaged should offer more future citizens an option other than legacy poverty and comparatively greater expansion of the social safety net. The study Investing in Children seeks to determine what areas of investment have been effective.

Paving Guayacon Avenue

The south side of Guayacon, a broad avenue just to the south of Barrio Magisterio where Lynn and I live, gets a first coat of asphalt.  This is a welcome addition because the businesses bordering the south side of the street have been interrupted because of the construction.  The new paving will bring additional traffic and customers to the area.  The eventual plan is for Guayacon to pass through the mountain to the east by way of a tunnel.  This will divert truck traffic that currently passes along the highway that runs through the northern part of the city. This should improve the flow of traffic in and around Cochabamba.

Solemn Vows

Last night five Franciscan OFM brothers professed solemn vows at San Francisco Church on 25 de Mayo in Cochabamba. Hereafter, some may also become doctors, teachers or priests. The total process takes about 9 years to complete. Although the service was celebrated at night and in the middle of the week, the church was filled from front to back as well as the vestibule, the entranceway, the porch outside and the sidewalk by the street. The lay people joined in the recitation of prayers and hymns to celebrate the life commitment of the five young Bolivian men: Juan Carlos Narvaez, Leónidas Román, Wilder Barrientos; Wilber Sejas y Calixto Vallejos. Among those assisting in the Mass were most of the student friars that Lynn and I teach on Tuesdays and Fridays. (The photo is a frame grab from a short video taken using a Flip video camera from the back of the church. It does not capture the detail of the altar and the interior of the church, the second oldest in Cochabamba.) 

Closing Businesses for Non-payment of Taxes

When customers leave a business police may ask if they received a receipt, indicating whether tax was paid, which benefits the government and, perhaps, society. If customers cannot produce a receipt, the police may enter the business and close it for a period of three days as a penalty for not charging the tax.  Some negative chatter says that mostly small businesses in high traffic public places are targeted and that large businesses or corporations may pay no taxes at all. This photo was taken outside a coffee shop just off the Plaza Principal where Lynn and I meet with several other people for a weekly English conversation group.

Rurrenabaque and Madidi and Copacabana, Oh My!

It's Friday night in Qhochipampa,¹ and I feel so good I almost moseyed down to 6 de Agosto for a shot-ito of burro's milk...give my old lungs a new lease on something or other. The traffic on Heroinas has slowed since 6 pm, but it's still thick enough that the motoboys jockey for position at the intersections. Looking both ways twice, I walk on.  Not for me—it's time for a rest. I'm between class and meeting Lynn after the first feature (the Argentinian film El Secreto de Sus Ojos) of Filmanía, season three.² I'm taking a break at Cafe Paris on Plaza Principal. Yes, the double espresso is working just fine. I'm looking back. I see...I see... not only a forest of words but, there, flickering and chittering about in the underbrush, a rare idea or two.

A few weeks ago Tucker Daniel, Lynn and I took a trip to Rurrenabaque, Madidi, and Copacabana. All aspects of the trip went well. We were grateful about the expertise of the guides, both in navigating us up river into Madidi National Park and in conducting our day and night hikes on the trails around the lodge and in the canoes on the lake. At Chalalán a mix of mostly European travelers as varied as the wildlife hooting in the surrounding ecosphere gathered day or night at the main hall before disappearing into the dense forest to see the abundantly differentiated plants and animals flourishing in this preserve. Of those groups we saw return to the lodge, the individual faces beneath perspiration streaks and fumes of bug repellent always seemed to express quiet, pleased amazement that such natural beauty really exists, a world apart from their own routines, necessities, obligations and aspirations. Our own faces shared the amazement.

[Time passes....Different cups of coffee come and go....Two days later and just now after a dash (well, with joint pain, more at shuffle, but with much focus and flailing of arms as though my intent were a toss-up: jog or fly, or, conflatedly, flog) to round up and hustle out the garbage³ to the passing truck before the ding of its bell fades around the corner (the truck arrived early today, but it did arrive!), I can jot a bit more.]

Our Chalalán guide walked us through a brimming catalogue of Madidi wildlife. A native of the Tacana-Quechua community there and an experienced guide, he broadened our understanding of the complex, interrelated balance of the plant and animal life surrounding us. He told us about the uses of the plants for food, for health, for hunting, for building dwellings that seem to spring up organically from the surrounding forest, just as the Incas formed a stone city in the shelter of the mountains at Machu Picchu.⁴ Slowly we all experienced a tremendous sense of peace as we stood still to gaze at random shafts of mid-morning sunlight touching the forest floor, or to isolate the sound of a bird call from the wind in the tree branches high in the canopy.

Is finding paradise—let alone holding on to it—ever easy? Our journey into Madidi lasted only a few days. It had none of the life-threatening experience of President Theodore Roosevelt's brave but apparently reckless trip to the Brazilian Amazon region a century earlier.⁵ Lynn, Tucker, and I were there just to experience the environment, respect it, and to appreciate the way the Tacana-Quechua community worked together to create an environmentally low-impact tourism business that benefitted the people.  We understood from our guide that through taking the risk to build Chalalán and sharing the labor to reward the visitors, the community had a new school and a small hospital. We also understood that the survival of the Madidi environment was once again being threatened by the current government's renewal of plans to build the Bala dam, a project that would generate hydroelectric power to sell to Brazil at the expense of submerging most of Madidi National Park. I preferred to think that Chalalán, its people, and this region would stay above water on their own power, without even the intercessions of a Santo Daime, just pristine natural beauty.

So, if a trip to Bolivia sparkles on your horizon, don't just pop in to extract the lithium and be on your way. Saunter by the old albergue at Chalalán, and ask for Norm.  He'll show you a great time. He'll make you want to come back. He'll make you want to keep it so there's a place to come back to. Ah yes, and Copacabana? That's a better site for a big lake, and they've already got one:

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¹ Yowsa-yowsa-yowsa-cowabunga-yeehaw-woohoo! And may we all avoid becoming parodies of ourselves.
² A film study/discussion group held at Pastoral Juvenil, where Catholic students who attend San Simon University live and work. San Simon is state supported, so religious ministry cannot take place on campus. The Pastoral Juvenil building is about five blocks away from campus. L, a young friend from our own Barrio Magisterio (there are three in Cochabamba), is doing well in her first semester there.
³ Those acquainted with the "Thou shalt not flush the papel hyginico" rule here can appreciate the necessity and wisdom of timely disposal.
⁴ Thanks to E and T for accompanying Lynn and me to that wonder of the world, and worth several blog posts.
⁵ See Candice Millard's River of Doubt, a good read, sin duda.