Address and Adventures (yes i can wear shorts)

So sorry it´s been so long. Exciting things have happened, and for me, not many exciting things happen with an internet-ready computer nearby. Therefore, this posting will be like the Reader´s Digest of the last week and a half.

The Address

First things first: my address (for mail or packages, money is welcome too. :))
Aimee West
c/o Silvia Sinabria
P.O. Box 1073
Cochabamba, Bolivia

Then, at the bottom, if you can, put my home phone number here. If you don´t know it, shoot me an email. I´d rather not have some internet creeper call my host family here, but if they want to send money or gifts, I´m ok with that. ;)

Oh, the 35

So, last time I posted, I spoke of a worrisome public transportation experience. Well, the very next day, Valentine´s I had an even more exciting experience. I blame it on the Best Friend Express, the only public transport I truly knew before my time here.
It was the 35 microbus. I catch it at the corner and get off 4 blocks from my classes downtown. And this particular day, I was feeling brave and had decided to catch it back home as well (versus taking a taxi). So, I figured I´d catch it where I left it. Buses just go on routes that are circles, right? I figured I´d eventually get home, even if it took a bit longer than it needed too. The ride would be nice.
Well, 3.5 hours later, I did get home.
Let me explain.
The 35 happens to run all the way through La Cancha, the largest outdoor market and mass of human bodies in Cochabamba (during which the bus simply turned his engine off at times b/c there was no hope of moving any time soon). Then, we went down to the South side of Cochabamba, which I was told to stay away from in general. I guess it could be compared to the ghetto. But I was safe as long as I was on the bus, and at this point I figuered it´d take me about an hour to get home, as long as the bus turned around soon.
No such luck. Instead, we leave paved road and journey onto cobble-stoned road. At this point, there are only me and Cholitos on the bus. (Cholitos are the natives, they wear the traditional outfits, and are, in general, poorer than most of the population.) I thought, this is neat, but it defintely means we´re going out of the city.
We did. We, in fact, entered the foothills. I finally, for the first time here in Bolivia, saw poverty. But these people were the poor, but happy kind. The cows sustained their families, and they lived off the land. Not rich by my standards, but defintely having a good life. At this point I put up my 15 dollar sunglasses that could have provided food for most of my fellow bus riders for the week. However, we then passed the poor, but happy, and got to the just plain poor section, farther up in the foothills. And, as I looked from behind my plexiglass tour on the bus, I pitied them, and thought, someone should do something for these people, no human should have to live like this. The Cholitos left one by one, and, after a while, it was only me and the bus driver. It was at this point that I was allowed the opportunity to act out on my thoughts. The bus driver parked the bus, and motioned for me to get off. It was as if someone had said, okay, so you pity them, and someone should do something? Well, what are you going to do?

I´ll tell you what I did. I nearly panicked. I pulled out my map and asked the bus driver ´donde estamos?´(where are we?). He mumbled and waved me off and went to pee on the wall.

Ok, so the night before I had been alone and lost while it was dark, but then I was downtown.
Now, I was alone, lost, far away from any kind of transportation, and knew that no one here spoke a lick of english. AND it was getting dark. Hah, God has a funny way of showing us not to worry about the small things.
So, mercifully, I had obtained a cell phone 2 days before, and I called Jean Carla, our program coordinator and explained my little situation to her. I handed the cell over to a very kind nearby Cholito (the woman looked like she had never held a cell phone before) who had a conversation in Spanish with Jean Carla, and then Jean Carla told me that the buses simply stop for a bit there. They would be returning to town soon.
*whew*
So, I had a very awkward 10 minutes during which the woman spoke a mix of Spanish and Quechua to me, even after I made it quite obvious that I only understood the most simple form of Spanish. And finally, a 35 was headed back our way, my old buddy, the bus driver. We hail him, but he just waives us off, signalling as if, no I don´t want that freerider on my bus again.

well, crap.
Thankfully, the next 35 driver (3 minutes later) was much kinder, and had a good laugh with the Cholito about the adventures of this gringa, and kindly said , yes, he was headed my direction.

Well, I had a nice long time (1.5 hours) on my way home to think about the way I had reacted. Pity without the willingness of action is worthless and degrading. If I truly believe that all men are created equal, I would not have thought desparately only of my own safety when I was placed in their world. Yes, I know that it was a normal reaction to worry about my safety at that point, but still, the lesson remains.
And that is why I am very grateful I took the bus the wrong way home.
This was defintely a trip worth 3.5 hours and about 20 cents.

The Weekend
Last weekend was the first free weekend we had, and we took advantage of it. We went out Friday night, and I met some Germans who dance in very odd ways as well as a Swedish guy. It is funny how much a common language (english, in case you were wondering) can bond strangers. Here, the people party late. Bolivians don´t start until about 2 am stay out until about 6 am. (no, mom, I did not stay out that late, dont worry. :)) Saturday, I ventured into La Cancha. I couldn´t even buy anything, the mass of bodies and goods was so overwhelming. But it was a thrilling experience and a great piece of the culture. Saturday night I met up with some complete strangers, friends of Anna (a missionary kid who grew up here) and went to their youth group. It was great to have some Christian community, and it was fun to have people practice their English on me while I practiced my Spanish on them, but long prayers in other languages are very hard to pay attention too. :) Regardless, I´m glad I went and met those people. I hope to join them again sometime soon.
Sunday, I had another trip to the country-side. This was for lunch. Lunch on Sunday took 5 hours. Yes, five hours. But it was great. We went out on the road to Santa Cruz and stopped for some Empanadas, the best in the region. We then went and ate these by a nearby Lagoon (lake) that was packed with people and their parked cars. When I asked why there were so many there, my host mom informed me that they were all there to see if the lake was really as high as the news said. Apparently, if it rained 5 more centimeters, the lake would overflow the dam and all of the low-lying farmland below would be flooded, and the price for food would shoot through the roof. Just another example of how amazing it is how inter-connected these people are, because they are so dependent on one another.
I had some fried fish for lunch, and tried a fried sardine, head, eye, tail, and all. ugh. The things you do to be polite. :)

The Orphanage
Tuesday was my first day volunteering at the baby orphanage, millinium. The simple name, "baby orphanage" is heartbreaking, and I prayed that I would not burst into tears when I first got there. I did not, in fact. There are 25 kids there from the age of 2 months to 5 years. And, I was doing fine until snacktime. All the workers and my fellow volunteers were downstairs feeding the kids, and I walked upstairs to check on the babies. And the 2 month old was lying on a bed, crying alone. I went to comfort her, and I picked her up saying, "it´s okay, precious" but I chocked on "precious". The idea that this being I held in my arms was more precious than any other thing I can think of, and yet that her mother, who had bore her not 2 months before, was perfectly fine with giving her up, not caring about this precious thing I held in my arms, was heartbreaking. That something that precious had to cry alone, was so unjust, I broke. And I cried for the first time with a baby in my arms, and had a talk with God. But he told me, yes, Aimee, she is precious, but I want you to know that I love her, and my love is enough for this precious thing. And my love is more than enough for you, as well.
A great lesson, but still heartbreaking. But, the good news, is that the toddlers at Millinium were more full of life than many I have seen before, and that was so comforting. To see that, even when one spends some of their most formative years in an environment where they sometimes cry unheard, they can still keep that resilient spirit.
Ah, I´m so glad I´m getting this chance.

Fullbright and the CIA
I hope that title doesn´t attract the government to my blog. But anyways, Wednesday, we got to meet the Fullbright scholar that got the US Embassy here in trouble. Well, let me explain.
Fullbright scholars are students who recieve a grant to go to another country and study there, not like study abroad, but to do their own research, as far as I understand. The idea of the Fullbright program is to foster international realtions with the US and participants are requried to be politically neutral while in the program. Well. When this particular scholar arrived, the US Embassy gave him a safety briefing. During the briefing they asked him to report back to them any Cuban or .... Indian, I believe... doctors he encountered while he was in the field, because they needed to keep track of them. Well, this is essentially asking him to spy for the US government, which is against international laws as well as the concept of the Fullbright program, and this guy, Alex, was not going to let that go on. So, after that meeting, he talked with a journalist from La Paz, who, with him, discovered that the Peace Corps here have also wrongly been asked to do some of the same things. So he and the journalist published this article, and he got on abc news.com, and all kinds of exciting things like that. The US Embassy is currently dealing with the problem, and the guy that asked him to do this has been sent back to the US. And we had this guy, Alex, come and chat with our class of 6 people, just because our professor happened to run into him at an anti-facist art showing.

Crazy how real life and the news actually run together sometimes here.

I´m a brick mason
yes I am.
This weekend we went into the foothills of Cochabamba (again, for me, but a different place, and this time, with a guide) and stayed in a community called Mallco Rancho. We stayed with some families there and helped to build rooms for a school there. To tell you the truth, the houses here are more like what I expected all of Bolivia to be like. There are cows in the backyard, and running water is relatively new. The grandma only speaks Quechua, and as I walk down the street, people talk to me and stare, because they´ve never seen me before. The old man across the street knows that his neighbors happen to be having a drink down the street at the moment, and all the children play freely with one another in the streets.
This was an awesome experience, and I so enjoyed being able to work for this community and give the children much nicer classrooms than the ridiculous conditions they had to deal with before.
But, just so you know, I suck at throwing the mixed concrete (mesa) with the trowel. It definitely is an art, and I´m still drawing stick figures.

Well, I hope you´ve enjoyed this reader´s digest version of my week. I´ll try to stay a little more in touch. And don´t forget to send those letters my way!

btw, I guess reader´s digest always has those nice little jokes and puzzles in the back. Here´s a riddle I was told this weekend, and I´m still working on it myself:
If you have a bee in your hand, what´s in your eye? (note that it was spoken, not written, so spellings can be changed, I presume)