Dogs and Bolivia

Bolivia has a different relationship with dogs.  Fact.  There are lots of street dogs.  They are generally viewed as a nusience nuisence nuisance or potential danger.  But they generally don’t bother people.  Going for a run is a different story…once I enter their “territory” they will bark at and possible also chase me (usually for a few strides until I’ve left their territory.  Like in those adventure video games.)  But for the occasions where dogs actually continue the chase (often in groups) the only way to get rid of them (I’ve tried others) is to bend down and mimic picking up a rock and throwing said imaginary rock at the dogs.  This almost always works, except for once or twice where the dog noticed that I was not actually throwing a real rock.  At that point I picked up a real rock and threw it in the dog’s general direction, and it backed down.  I’m not sure how I feel about this.  Maybe it makes me feel a little superior, that dogs know not to mess with me.  After all, it’s not like I actually hit them with rocks, right?  But the thing is, the only way they’d react like that was if someone actually had hit them with rocks.  And that makes me sad.

So on to another dog-related theme.  I have 2 dogs in my house here.  Coco is the “well-behaved” dog who nonetheless barks at everything if he’s outside.  Lukas is the dog my family found on the street, who has bad manners and bites everything, but just wants to befriend the stray dogs that go by.  I have decided to teach Lukas “manners,” starting with “sit” and “down,” but now including “leave it” which I think will help him behave better.  I’ve enlisted my host sister to help me, and we’re really excited because Lukas is a fast learner.  He also loves food, so that helps him learn better.  But in the 2 ½ weeks (WHAT?!?!) that I have here, I think we can get Lukas to be much better behaved!  So there's my legacy to leave with my host family.  Ayni!

The Mines of Potosí

Today we went to the mines in Cerro Rico (Rich Hill, roughly translated).  Cerro Rico has come to represent the exploitation of Bolivia, because during the colonial era, the Spanish emptied the mines of all the silver at the expense of the indigenous people.  It’s still an active mine today, but there is no more pure silver.

We started out by each buying a bag of coca and a bottle of soda.  Coca is really important to the miners, because they used it in the colonial era to stave off hunger and fatigue while working 14-24 hour days.  The Spanish learned to let the indigenous people use it because they could work longer.  Coca is still chewed in the mines (and all over Bolivia, really).  Our tour guide told us that now the miners make their own hours, but they need the money, so they aren’t really free to work only when they want.

Before entering the mine, we all had to put on baggy pants, jackets, rubber boots, and helmets with lights.  Then we put the coca and soda in jackets and walked into the mine, after waiting for a guy pushing a cart to pass by.  We walked in a long line (10 of us and the tour guide) along the cart’s path.  The ground was covered in a few inches of water, and occasionally we all would have to move to the edge to let a cart pass.  When carts came by on their way out, filled with rocks or bags of minerals, one of us would put our coca and soda on the cart for the miners.  Some parts of the mine were pretty wide and I could walk normally, but in a lot of places I had to hunch, and in two spots I had to crawl.  It was incredibly dark, as you’d expect since we were underground.  Three or four in our group had broken headlamps, so we alternated to help those people see.  It still was pretty tricky, since they were walking in their own shadows.  I can’t imagine being in that darkness for fourteen hours.

We went to see the Tio, an indigenous god.  Technically, he is the devil, but he isn’t evil like the Christian devil.  He is the god of the underworld, and can bring good fortune or bad.  The miners offer coca and alcohol to him in a ceremony.  I did the ceremony, which involved taking a sip of 96% alcohol—that was pretty gross.  The miners also sacrifice llamas to him, but our group didn’t do that.  When they sacrifice the llama, everyone has to be outside the mine or the Tio will take their lives instead of the llama’s.  The Spaniards didn’t know about the Tio, since they gave orders from outside the mine.  There are a ton of Tios in the mines, but we only saw this one.

One of the wider sections

El Tio, with cigarettes in his mouth

After leaving the mine, we went to Wayna Pacha, a children’s center for the miners’ kids.  School-aged kids go there to play games and do educational activities, as a way to keep them from working in the mines.  Technically kids under 18 can’t work in the mines, but many do as a way to help their families.  We saw one boy who was 13 when we were in the mines.  He told us he started working there at 12.

So after hearing the history of Wayna Pacha, we played with the kids!  I played with the older kids, preteen aged.  I played chess with one boy, and then we all went downstairs.  The kids get meals at the center, so they had bread, gruel, and tea and we goofed around together.

Afterwards, some of our group went to a miner’s house.  We walked four or five blocks in the rain until we got there.  Only the miner’s wife was there.  She knits sweaters to sell, but she told us after buying yarn she barely gets any money.  The family had 8 or 9 kids, and lived in a one-room house.  Most of the room was beds, with blankets on them to combine them into one big bed.  There was an electric stove in one corner and a TV in the other.  The two oldest siblings had moved out to work (I think they were 19 and 16 years old).  The family rented their house, like most miners, and said that the owner was not very nice.  The parents speak Quechua, but the mom told us her kids don’t like to speak it.  The mom told us that she can’t read, so she can’t tell if her kids are doing their schoolwork.  She said whatever jobs her kids want, she will support them, but when someone in our group asked if she wanted them to be miners, she said no.

Taxis don’t go by the miner’s house, so we walked a few blocks to a corner where we could catch them.  Luckily it had stopped raining, but the streets were like rivers.  The street the miner lived on was mud, with a 2-foot wide river of water running down each side.  It was great to get home and be dry!  Then I ate the most delicious pizza of my life and it had mushrooms! 

Summary of the Week

I’m going to try to sum up Monday through Friday in one post, since I’m obviously struggling to keep up the 1-post-per-day thing.  So Monday, I had no school in the morning, so I worked on the large amount of homework I had due Tuesday.  I also didn’t have school Wednesday morning, as a last minute change.  That ended up working out perfectly, since I had to schedule a last-minute Skype interview Wednesday morning for a summer job.

This week in Spanish class, I saw a video about cargadores, or carriers.  Cargadores are men who you hire in the market to carry goods.  The video was particularly about potato carriers.  They carry 45 pound sacks of potatoes.  Cargadores always work in groups, and have regular customers they carry for.  Most of them are from the country, and moved to the city to help their families.  But the cargador culture is that they go out to a bar and drink alcohol with their coworkers.  When the men were interviewed about this culture, they (individually) said that they were torn between their family and their new friends.  They could not survive without their “brothers” or the men that they worked with, so they felt they couldn’t refuse to drink with them/ buy them drinks.  The cargadores sleep on the street, or if a bar-owner takes pity on them, in the bar.   Part of cargador culture is not going to the doctor for sickness or injury.  The video was really sad and showed how important culture and community is—aren’t we all products of our culture and friends?

The Spanish classes also went to the cemetery, and talked to the kids who work there.  This cemetery was made up of little drawers in the wall, where the bodies go, and the kids are paid to clean the glass front.  Some of the people have tombs, but it costs more money to be put in the ground.  The people in the little drawers are removed after 5 years (after they’ve decomposed) and their bones are then burned.  In the cemetery, we met 4 kids who showed us around—Kevin (11), Walter (13), Julio César (13), and Joseina (14).  They told us about the important people buried there, and showed us the tombs of a girl who was kidnapped and killed and a boy who was killed in the water war.  People always leave them flowers and pray to them because they have good souls.  Kevin and Joseina are brother and sister, and both started working in the cemetery when they were 5 years old to help their family.  Kevin goes to school in the morning and works from noon to 6pm on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.  Joseina works every day in the cemetery and goes to school at night.  Walter started working when he was 10, to help his 6 siblings and his 2 nieces.  He also goes to school at night, and wants to be a mechanic.  Julio César has an older brother who works in the cemetery too, as a guard.  His brother is 15.  The kids told us that they make 30-60 Bolivianos a day (US$4-9).  They sing or pray for people as well as washing the glass.  They said some people are nice and give them a lot of money, and some people are bad and don’t want to pay them.  When people ask what they charge, they say, “depends on what you want to pay.”

We saw another movie about “cleferos,” or glue-sniffers.  These are kids who come from bad homes or are abandoned, and live in the street.  A former student on this program did a documentary on them.  All of them said they didn’t want to sniff glue.  A lot of the young women had babies, and wanted a better life for their kids.  They all had cuts and scars from the violence in the street.  Many of the women were hit by their husbands, and the police was very violent towards them.  There are some homes for the street kids, but a lot of them lock the kids in and don’t let them leave, so the kids know not to go there.  Even while they were being interviewed, the cleferos were sniffing glue.  It was so sad to see—and once they get addicted and become part of that community, it’s so hard for them to stop.  It’s hard to imagine living in that much violence and hardship.

So finally caught up on my blogging!  I actually stayed home sick from school today, since my stomach keeps cramping up like someone’s twisting it around.  Not fun.  But I got to sleep 4 extra hours, and my host mom made me tea and maizana, which is like thick, clear soup.  My friend Ali just told me what it is—corn starch.  (She called me to see how I was doing—isn’t that nice?)  I ate it with crackers and sugar so it was pretty good.  I’m hoping to be better by Monday, when I leave for Sucre and Potosí.  This will be my third day feeling crummy, so if I’m still not better by tomorrow I’ll go to the doctor.  Hoping it won’t come to that!

Climb Every Mountain…

I guess I should give a run-down on our house.  It had 2 stories, with the stairs outside the house.  There were maybe 3 rooms downstairs, and a little kitchen in a separate building.  Upstairs were 2 rooms, Eliana and my room and our host parents's room.  There was a little tiny courtyard with a clothesline, some benches, etc.  The house did have electricity, but for cooking our mom started a fire in the little stove.  That's why the walls were black in the kitchen, from the soot.  There was a little hole for the smoke to go out, but clearly it didn't always cooperate.  There was running water from a tap in the courtyard.  One thing that struck me as funny was that all the storage room doors had locks.  It seemed like only the people of Tocoli would be this far out on the mountain.  I wondered who the locks were there for.

When I woke up at 6:30, no one was home!  Eliana and I were worried our parents had left for the day to go farm or something.  Around 7, our host mom Rosia came back, and told us our host dad Sixto had gone to La Paz.  Rosia gave us pito for breakfast, which came in the form of a bowl of brown flour, a cup of hot tea, and some sugar for us to add.  When we combined them all, it made a sort of brown gruel, which actually was pretty tasty and VERY filling.  Rosia taught us words in Aymara, but they were really long and when we asked her to repeat them so we could write them down, she would say something else.  (I did learn “yuspajara” for thank you, “kala” for rock, and “wawa” for baby.)  When we tried to talk to her in Spanish, she would mostly just say “yes,” even if it wasn’t a yes/no question.  Her Spanish was hard to understand, probably from the Aymara accent, and I’m sure our Spanish was hard for her to understand from the English accent.

We kept trying to help with cooking or cleaning, but our host mom kept telling us she didn’t need help, so when her nephew Rene came by we opted to go hiking with him and his host students Annie and Kate.  Rene took us all around the mountain and showed us cement water things (tanks?) and told us how the water came down the mountain and was distributed to the houses in pipes.  We saw a neighboring village in the distance (whose name was long and hard to pronounce.)  Rene told us stories about one of the previous students, Mateo, who was crazy and swam in the chilly lake and drank whiskey with Rene. Rene kept mentioning some sort of job we’d be doing after lunch that involved moving/removing rocks, but I wasn’t very clear what he meant.  We visited Rene’s other uncle, who was hosting Sophie and Katie.  The uncle wasn’t home, but the aunt was.  She was knitting a toddler sweater to sell in La Paz.  She was the fastest knitter EVER.  Sophie and Katie told us she started the sweater 2 hours before, and she was almost to the neck. 

Eliana and I went back to our house, for a lunch of potatoes, rice, carrots with onions, and cheese that squeaked when I ate it.  We talked to Rosia about the plants that grow, and potatoes seem to be the only thing.  The carrots and onions came from La Paz, and they don’t have fruit.  We brought two bags of carrots, flour, and oil for the families who hosted students, so they’d be able to feed us.  After lunch, Rosia told us she didn’t need help with anything and insisted we rest (that was a common theme of our stay).  Eliana and I napped for 2 ½ hours, and I dreamed that I kept trying to get up to help Rosia, and then I would “wake up” in my bed again and start all over.

We never did help Rene move rocks.  When we saw him the next day, he said he just napped too.  At 4pm, our family ate pito again and drank tea.  Eliana and I sat outside the house with Rosia and sang Disney/Julie Andrews songs.  We asked if she knew any Aymara songs, and she told us they didn’t have words.  We saw a cute dog, but Rosia threw a rock at it.  That’s the way people treat the dogs here.  It’s really sad.

Then Eliana and I “helped” (ie. watched) Rosia cook dinner.  She told us that only women cook, not men, and not little girls because they could burn themselves.  I’m not entirely sure how Rosia didn’t burn herself, since I watched her take a metal pot off the stove with her bare hands (and it didn’t have handles).  Eliana took pictures of the kitchen and showed Rosia.  Then she showed her some pictures from La Paz, and Rosia really like this picture of TONS of birds in the plaza (I think people were feeding them).  I said I would be scared to have all those birds around me, and Rosia said, “They could attack you!  And bite you with their little mouths!” and laughed.  Hooray for cross-cultural jokes!

Rosia asked us what stoves are like where we live, and what we eat.  I told her that my family loves rice and potatoes, and that we eat them with vegetables. Eliana and I are both vegetarians, but it wasn’t really a problem since they don’t eat much meat out here.  Next, bed!  I slept in jeans, a tank top, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, and a sweatshirt—inside my sleeping bag with two blankets on top.  It gets COLD at night.  I always had at least 2 layers on during the day, usually 3 or 4. 

The room I shared with Eliana

Our house

The bathroom

Eliana and me on the mountain

That's Lake Titicaca

Pito

Where Rosia cooks food

Trip to El Alto

Today, I traveled from La Paz to El Alto.  El Alto is technically its own city, but in a lot of ways it’s a barrio/burrow of La Paz.  La Paz is in a sort of valley, and El Alto is on the hillside (which is why its name means “the high”).  La Paz got its name when fighting broke out between the Spanish king’s people and the (Spanish) people already living in Bolivia.  The Spanish king told them they needed to make peace with each other or the indigenous people would overthrow them, so La Paz (“the Peace”) was created.  (It was an indigenous city before that, I believe, but I don’t remember the name it had then.)

I also had some mango for breakfast.  Can’t forget that!

So in El Alto, we visited UPEA (Universidad Público de El Alto/Public University of El Alto).  We talked to a bunch of human rights majors in their first year (of five) at university.  UPEA is only 12 years old, and the citizens of El Alto fought to get their own university.  I talked to two boys named Gustavo and Mario.  They were pretty cool.  I asked about differences between men and women in Bolivia, and they told me that now women have the same opportunities as men, and could go to university.  (I definitely don’t think men and women are equal here, or most places in the world, but it was interesting to hear their take on the issue.  I think women probably do have most of the same opportunities, there are just other structural issues that prevent them from seizing them.  Example:  Women can go to college just like men, but if women are more likely to drop out of primary/middle school to work, equal opportunities to go to college won’t do them any good.)

Next we went to Teatro Trono, an after school arts place for kids.  It was formerly a group of boys from an orphanage who performed in the street to survive, but now it’s an afterschool arts program for kids ages 7 to early 20s.  The kids there can chose classes to take, and write all their own skits to perform.  The whole building (it’s 7 floors) is made with recycled materials, so the windows all don’t match and the doors to the bathrooms are old bus doors.

There are 2 single-stall bathrooms on each floor, and since the women’s one was taken, I decided to use the men’s.  (There are 22 women and 2 men on my abroad program, so it’s a valid decision.)  This little girl who was hanging around told me “That’s the men’s room!”  Our presentation had already started upstairs and I didn’t want to miss it, so I asked, “If I go in the men’s room, can you not tell anyone?”  And she smiled and said okay.  Afterwards she told me her name was Alison and that she learns ballet and theater here.  I forgot to ask how old she was, but I’d guess around 8.  A new friend!

Also, there was an imitation mine under the building, so we walked around down there.

On the way home, we stopped at a park overlooking La Paz.  The view was gorgeous, but the houses there were a really stark contrast to the view.  It was some serious juxtaposition.  I’ll look for a good photo.

You might want to click to see this bigger

We learned about El Alto from our guide.  El Alto doesn’t have any 2nd degree hospitals, which from what I understand means that the hospitals here only deal with emergencies.  For anything else, people have to drive to La Paz.  Twenty-five percent of the people here don’t have electricity and 80% of the people living here are Aymara (an indigenous group).  Evo (the Bolivian president) promised to improve the services in El Alto, but the people are waiting for him to fulfill that promise.

For dinner in La Paz, I tried to find Thai food with some friends (tried REALLY HARD.  It was well hidden.)  Then we gave up and went to a Moroccan place.  We shared some couscous with veggies and chickpeas. Then we started talking to three Israelis on the other side of the room.  We ended up chatting for 2 hours (they spoke English).  They had just finished their military service and were traveling throughout Latin America.  I learned a few words of Israeli but I forgot them all. :)

Ministers and Artists

I woke up feeling much better, and I got free b-fast at the hotel—pancakes, French toast, regular toast, and fruit.  And of course coffee!  COFFEE.  Then we walked to a conference.  On the way I saw a lot of protesters in the streets and scary cops with their riot gear.  Nothing was happening, but a little ominous.  There have been a lot of protests/marches of disabled people because they want government to compensate them since they can’t work.  I believe they are asking for 1000 Bs, or about US$4000.  But also the city of La Paz is really hilly, and the sidewalks have steps.  Not very handicapped accessible.

The conference was by Fernando Huanacuni, who is a minister in the Evo Morales government.  F.H. is Aymara (an indigenous group in Bolivia) and the main thing he talked about was “living well” vs. “living better.”  The Andean culture (including Aymara) emphasizes community and living well, while Western cultures emphasize always trying to live better and get more material possessions/money.  TOTALLY relevant in so many ways.

Next we went to the workshop of Mamani Mamani.  He’s an artist, and happens to be one of my host mom’s favorite artists.  He told us that his mom and grandma inspired his paintings.  In his paintings, the women always have large hands to show that they work harder than the men.  His mountains always have many colors to show their energy.  His paintings and sculptures all connected to important parts of Bolivian culture, like the coca leaf (chewed as a mild stimulant like coffee) or the potato.

Then I went to a Mexican restaurant for lunch, went shopping in the (VERY tourist-y) market, and ate pizza for dinner.  (Fun fact: the bathrooms at the pizza place said “Varones” (men) and “Checkers.”  Weird.)

The Heavy Stuff

Bolivia's been totally a great experience, but life is tough here.  My US family would be millionaires in Bolivia, and my host family is in the minority in that they have plenty of of food, a house, and a car.  There are lots of people begging on the streets, like in all cities.  I'm ashamed to admit I only stop when I have change already out.  I guess it's an effort to rummage through my bag?  It's too much of a hassle to look through my stuff, even if it means helping someone?  It's probably a hassle for them to not have food or water or a place to live.  So I'm making a resolution, right here on the internet for the world to see, to always help these people and not take for granted what I have.  Even if I give someone 1 peso every day, 1 x 9 remaining weeks= 9 pesos a week= 63 pesos total.  That's 9 US dollars.  It won't pull them out of poverty, but that'll take structural changes, and I'm already thinking on that.

So here's what motivated my new resolution.  Today in Spanish, we had an assignment to go out into the city and talk to workers in the informal market (aka self employed vendors in the streets).  My friend Sophie and I talked to a woman selling gum, cookies, little packaged things.  I bought a peanut bar (which was good, but that wasn't the point).  Reciprocity is really important here, so it's important to not just interrogate someone and then walk away.  So we talked to this woman, probably in her 50s or 60s.  She comes everyday to the street from 7am to 10pm (a 15-hour day).  She's been working on the street since her husband abandoned her, 38 years.  She had to start working to feed her kids.  They are now in college.  She doesn't live too far, but after she pays for the taxi she had only 1-10 Bolivianos every day to buy food.  ONE TO TEN.  That's 14 cents to $1.30.  Bolivia is cheap, but know what I bought for one Boliviano?  A peanut bar.  Eight Bolivianos for two empanadas (bread with cheese inside) the size of my fist.  That. is. N.O.T.H.I.N.G.  So I've decided that this woman and I will be "caseras."  A casera (or caserita, which is more loving) is a relationship between a buyer and vendor--when the buyer always come to the same vendor.  (From what I understand, it's only street vendors.)  The vendor is your caserita, and you are her caserita.  I'm going to buy something from that woman every day that I'm here.  It's one thing to hear about people living on under $1 a day, but it's something totally different to talk to them and have them share a little bit of themselves with you.  My friend Sophie asked before we left if the woman liked being a vendor.  She told us, "I had to acclimate to feed my children."

Día de Comadres

Thursday, February 16

Today, we had a field trip to Colectivo Katari.  They are a group who pay tribute to and educate others about the indigenous groups of Bolivia.  The presentation was in a straw longhouse-type building.  There was also a kitty!  

This kitten was so snuggly!!

The presentation included some history, some music, and a video.  The music was really cool and the lyrics were all about the plight of indigenous people.  One of the songs went something like “I’m the owner of everything, but I always have nothing” (but in Spanish).  The video was about street and park names in Cochabamba.  A lot of plazas and streets are named for conquistadors or people who were cruel to the indigenous people.  Kinda sad, yah?

After the field trip, it was 5-ish so we got ready to go out for Día de Comadres!  Comadres is a holiday to celebrate godmothers, from what I understand, but it actually just entails ladies going out with their lady friends and partying a lot.  So to prepare for this big night, we ate some bread we bought on the street!  My house was a taxi ride away, so I stashed my stuff at my friend Sophie’s house and went to the party in my clothes from class (rain boots!).  Two of the girls had (Bolivian host) sisters who came out with us too.  We went to a café-type place and danced!  Getting a taxi back home was a challenge since the streets were so packed—finding one was hard enough, and then there was the traffic.  We crammed 10 people into a mini-van taxi!  No picture could capture that.

Attempting to get everyone in the photo

My "buddy" Ali and me