Quote

"'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.'" -- J.R.R. Tolkien

Friday, September 23, 2011

Community

I’m no stranger to being in multiple communities at once.  In fact, it’s something I really enjoy—it’s a chance to get to know many different people in multiple settings while doing a variety of things, all while coming together over some common bond that makes the community a community.  But I have to say, since arriving in Bolivia, my concept of community has been in a constant state of flux.  Certainly not because I’ve lacked for community, nor because I dislike the communities I find myself in; rather, what makes up my current communities is so unlike anything I’ve experienced before that I find myself constantly revisiting my own ideas of what it means to be in community, what it means to live intentionally with others, and what it means to seek a common purpose.


The first community that comes to mind is the most obvious: the people who live in the volunteer house.  And yet, what kind of people are they?  I live with a handful of Germans, several Italians, a girl from Austria and a girl from Peru, three Spaniards, and some Bolivians.  (There’s a Canadian too, but he lives in Barrio Juvenil—until he leaves Sunday—and so only passes by every now and again.)  One of the Italians also happens to be my “boss,” and most of the Bolivians I’ve never actually met.  People are coming and going all the time, whether they’re leaving for a short vacation or leaving for good.  And I imagine I can expect new housemates sometime between now and May; after all, three people have moved in since I’ve arrived.  And because there is no official “start” or “end” date for this volunteer experience, everyone is at a different stage of their work, everyone is staying in Bolivia for a different amount of time, everyone speaks Spanish (more or less), and everyone is of a different age.  (The Germans, for example, seem to come to do service work right out of high school, which makes most of them 19 or 20; the Spaniards and Italians, on the other hand, are all mid- to late-twenties.)  Everyone does different work, as there are six stages to Proyecto Don Bosco as well as NGOs, office work, and nearby schools to keep people busy.  Most interesting of all, everyone is here for a different reason: Karina, from Peru, is here for a research project that will help her complete her Masters program; Katarina, from Austria, hops from one Spanish-speaking country to the other to gain experience for her Spanish language program; others have received varying levels of degrees and education to work with children while others still are here as an in-between experience before the next ‘big thing’ or to add yet another volunteer experience to their growing list; and it seems that it’s not an abnormal thing for young Germans to go abroad for a year of service before entering university…I’ve met nearly more Germans in Bolivia than Bolivians.  And then there’s me, here to be challenged personally and to grow spiritually, to meet new people and to learn from them, to improve my Spanish and to learn what it means to live and work ‘on the ground’ in a developing country.  I have to say, no one has expressed exactly that as their motivating factor for volunteerism.


And yet, we all live together, we all laugh at jokes (when I understand them) around the same table, we all play games and share food and fight off the pigeons that hound our washing machine.  We all share joys and challenges from our days, and we all rally behind each other, whether that be in celebrating a birthday or supporting someone in a low moment.  What holds the community together?  Certainly not the house, because that might come down at any moment.  And I can’t even say it’s the work, because we all do such different things for such different reasons.  (I can’t say working with kids is what I was made to do, but it is the current way in which I manifest my love, learn from others, and meet God; others here specialize in working with the young.)  It must be, then, something more…a determination, perhaps.  A determination to work and live in Bolivia, to experience something new, and, most importantly, to encounter new people and experiences.  (I remember that first day, when I walked into the house with very rusty Spanish and no clue who I would meet and all I could do was walk up to people and say… “Hola, soy Eric…de los Estados Unidos,” and hope for the best.)


And yet, this is only one community in which I find myself.  I’m also a part of the Barrio Juvenil community; I’m a friend, a mentor, a companion to the older kids, (at least for 4 nights a week!).  Slowly, I learn their personalities, what they find funny and what upsets them.  I know that Alexander has a laugh that frightens me, that Louis loves movies and hates being called Pinche, and that Katarina thinks its hilarious when I say, “OOOO yeah.”  And each night I learn a bit more, and I expect that will only continue as I begin to sleep over at Barrio four nights a week, being a presence at night and in the wee hours of the morning.  The young people, though, aren’t the only ones in this community.  There are the educadores as well (a Spanish title that incorporates mentor/chaperone/friend/companion…each stage of Proyecto Don Bosco has several).  There’s Xavier who thinks I’m funny, who moves about slowly (perhaps because of his size), and tends to forget to give change when you pay him for something.  There’s Gabriel, a young guy, who dominates at fooseball and for some reason thought it would be a good idea if I played soccer.  And then there’s Bismark, who convinced me to help him paint the mural that now adorns the common room and who asked me to pray in English and then got upset when I didn’t translate.  And of course there’s Kevin, from Canada, who leaves on Sunday and whose place I seem to have been groomed for, although we’ll see if I’m able to fill those (dancing) shoes.


My presence in this community doesn’t stop at the barbed-wire fence.  Xavier and a consort of Barrio kids invited me to a soccer game between the two rival Santa Cruz teams, Oriente and Blooming.  (Your choice of team is apparently a very big decision; I felt like I was at a protest.)  I joined the Barrio group when all of Proyecto Don Bosco went to the fair (ExpoCruz—an annual event where Santa Cruz showcases its goods and animals, a majority of the ‘goods’ apparently being women and a good deal of the ‘animals’ being the guys who prowl about the fair).  I spent most of the night with Bismark, and couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that I was wondering around a foreign fair with a guy I had only just met struggling to speak in a language that constantly gets the best of me.  And yet, how interesting.  What holds this community together?  The young people?  A desire to be present to them?  I’m not yet sure…


And because I’m a member of Proyecto Don Bosco—a community in and of itself—I stumble into community after community each and every day.  For example, there’s the community of boys I eat lunch and some dinners with at Hogar Don Bosco (where I also teach English two days a week): Victor Octavio who is so excited to learn English; Juan Carlos who thinks he’s a big shot, but is a good kid at heart; little Luciano who bounces around the table.  It’s a wonderful privilege to eat with them, to be a presence at their table day after day, to talk at times and to be silent and listen at others.  It’s hardly easy; they’re young boys with an obvious sense of humor—go ahead and guess what they want to learn how to say in English.  But it’s also a deeply satisfying community to be a part of, to be missed when I’m not there, to be patted on the back when I am, to be greeted in the yard.  Food might hold this community together, but perhaps something else as well.


So this is but a glimpse of my ‘communities.’  I’ve written too much and hardly said anything novel, but I’ll close here.  Each day continues to be a challenge, but it is when I am surrounded by these other people, when I am able to have that person-to-person interaction, that it all seems ‘worth it,’ that I feel able to go on. God manifests Godself in people; where two or three are gathered…          

Monday, September 12, 2011

Daily Bread

Is it weird to say I have a ‘favorite’ part of the “Lord’s Prayer”?  Probably.  But I’m going to say it anyway.  And, as you may have guessed, the words that resonate most with me are, “Give us this day our daily bread.”  Why? you ask.  A reasonable question.  Say it like this: “Give us this day our daily bread,” emphasis on the ‘this.’  What’s the difference?  Well, really there is none; it’s only a reminder of the significance of the word ‘this.’  But for me, it’s significant.  It reminds those of us who pray the “Lord’s Prayer” that we have a God of the moment, a God who recognizes that in each day, in each moment of each day, in each breath of each moment of each day, we need something to go on, to move forward.  You encounter struggles, obstacles, joys, and unexpected turns.  And if we are to stay grounded, we need sustenance to take that next step, to address whatever challenge or demand has presented itself.  And while that sustenance may not be ‘bread’ in the literal sense, it is still just as real.  There is still a need for “daily bread,” whatever form it might take, and that need comes “this day”…this moment.

As you might expect, there have been many, many moments in Bolivia thus far when I’ve needed to remind myself to ask for that “daily bread;” it’s been a cornerstone of my prayer.  And as I’ve reflected on it, I’ve realized the uncertainty for which I ask, the inherent desire for flexibility.  Because each day is an adventure, and I rarely can see through the murkiness of the coming hours when I first wake up in the morning; I have to trust, ask for a healthy dosage of “daily bread,” and get up to face the day.  Sometimes my “daily bread” has allowed me to see more clearly the good in a situation, to stay with the kids just a second or two longer when I might have otherwise left and in so doing encounter something wonderful; sometimes it’s simply the grace to ride out a difficult situation.  In whatever form it’s manifested, a difficult morning may turn into a fun afternoon, or a sudden experience of doubt and hardship might potentially ruin an important moment. 

Let me paint a brief picture…

There is a young boy, Miguel, who stopped me after dinner the other night as I was leaving Hogar Don Bosco.  I rarely stay long after; dinner is usually enough of a challenge for my Spanish, and I like to stop while I’m ahead.  But Miguel came running up to me just before I left the property and said, “Hello, how are you?”  “Hablas ingles?” I asked, and he just smiled.  And for the next 30 minutes or so, we practiced English, and he told me how much he loves to learn the language.  I learned a little about his family, his passions, and he promised to teach me some karate in the future.  Had I not stayed, had I cut the conversation short, had I stuck to my original plan, I would have missed starting what might become an important relationship for both of us.

Give us this day our daily bread…

I had a great day last Friday running around the city with some Salesian Lay Missioner friends, trying to get the next step in the visa process together.  It was a great time with some great people, and I was on something of a high.  That afternoon, I had promised a sister of one of the employees at Proyecto Don Bosco that I would help her with her English, and so at 4:40pm I got on a bus to head towards the center of the city.  I hadn’t ever ridden the bus in this direction, but figured I could figure it out.  On Bolivian buses (micros) you just yell, “Pare, por favor,” (stop, please) when you want to get off.  Now, I wasn’t sure of the bus route or how close I could get towards the center of the city, so I kept assuming I could get a little closer.  Onward and onward we went, and I kept saying, “Just a bit closer.”  I said this until I no longer knew where we were and finally decided to wait for the bus to loop around.  Funny thing about Bolivian buses…they don’t loop.  I rode it until the end of the line and back, missed the meeting, and walked home a bit dejected after a 2.5 hour failed endeavor.

Give us this day our daily bread…

Yesterday I was invited to go on retreat with the young people from Barrio Juvenil, Fr. Ivan, and Giulia.  I was a bit uncertain as to my role and didn’t have much to say, but I was able to talk to several of the young people, learn a little about their families and backwards, and share a joke or two.  While I couldn’t say for certain what my purpose there was, I think my presence was important.  The more they see me, the more the young people will get to know me, to trust me, to share with me.  I’ve already had ice cream with one of the boys, Louis, and I’m hoping we’ll become better friends.

Give us this day our daily bread…

It’s still hard to speak and understand.  I easily get frustrated with my Spanish, and I’m afraid others get frustrated too.  They have to repeat themselves over and over again, and I feel like the dumbest person they’ve ever met.  But still they invite me out for dinner or ice cream or simply chat with me at the table.  I’m still included in different projects and given responsibilities.  And, with any luck, I’ll soon be teaching English to some of the kids at Hogar Don Bosco, an exchange of sorts.  So we’ll see…

Some of my reflections have been on the nature of the Crucifixion.  By human standards, the event itself was a complete failure.  Jesus was killed, his mission ended, his followers scattered, the end.  But for anyone who buys into the Christian story, the tale is far from over, and what is a failure by human terms is a great victory for God’s project.  I try to keep that in mind when I feel like I’ve failed—when I can’t understand what’s being said to me, when I can’t think of anything to say to one of the young people, when I feel overwhelmed with the size of the city or the task put in front of me, when I think about what I’m actually doing here (Am I doing, or simply being?  And which is preferable?)…  There is plenty of room for failure, at least by my standards.  But I have to believe that, at the end of the day, it’s not really my standards that are going to matter, and that my apparent failures will become something much more.  

Interested in seeing some pictures?  Check out this link: Santa Cruz 1

Friday, September 2, 2011

Projects


And here I am.  What an amazing thing to think of…what a difference a few days make.  Where as on Monday I was in the comfort of my air-conditioned, PA residence, now I’m in a small room (a small, HOT room) in Bolivia that I share with my German roommate, Phil, in a small community of volunteers from all over the world (Italy, Germany, Spain, Peru, Canada).  We all cross paths throughout the day, whether that be in the main house (which I can just about touch from my window) at one of the work sites (there are six), or maybe dinner somewhere in the city.  But we’re also pretty independent of each other, each having their own tasks and schedules and errands to run throughout the city.  And Spanish is the lingua franca, although all of the Germans I’ve met, whether those in my community or other German volunteers in the city, speak English, as does Paulo, one of the Italians (whose been to 27 countries and is only 27…whoa).  Unfortunately, my Spanish is something of a halting mess at the moment—at times I’m able to understand pretty well, hold my own in conversation; at other times I couldn’t even guess what people are saying and I have to stop them again and again (and the kids are even harder to understand...street Spanish, yikes!).  It’s exhausting trying to keep up in conversations: I’ve eaten most of my meals with the young people we work with, whether they be age 6 or 20, and each meal requires a tremendous amount of focus simply to stay involved in the table conversation.  But it’s good; I’m improving and I’m learning a lot about the people I’m working with.  I had a long conversation with one high school student about movies and soundtracks—it’s a lucky thing to stumble upon a person’s passion so early in the conversation!  And I’ve tried to answer the younger guys’ questions about U.S. pop culture.  (Who knew Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato were so popular in Bolivia?)

In the mean time, I’ve been getting a crash course in what it means to volunteer at Proyecto Don Bosco.  There are six different “stages” of the program, and each child is placed in a “stage” depending upon their situation.  There are two places for kids just off the streets—Patio Don Bosco, which is more of a day-time facility (and where I was only hours ago reminded yet again how miserable I am at soccer…futbol), and Techo Pinardi, where some of those boys will go to sleep at night.  This is definitely a more challenging environment as these kids are right off the streets, attitude and everything.  Mano Amigo and Hogar Don Bosco are live-in residences where the kids (younger in the former, older in the latter) study and play and have access to nearby schools.  Barrio Juvenil (where I will most likely be spending a good deal of time in the coming months) is for young people ages 15 to 20 (more or less) and is really just a place to sleep and eat—they all go to school or work during the day.  The other “stage” (and I haven’t seen it yet) is a farm outside the city where the kids go after the introductory “stages” to get far away from the streets that can so easily reclaim them.  They do farm-like chores (is my understanding) and live and play there. 

So what will I be doing, you ask?  If only I knew.  The thing about Proyecto Don Bosco is that there’s so much to do all the time and everyone seems to move around quite a bit.  It looks like I’ll be helping out in the administration office first…they’re doing a project now to assess the families from which these kids come and ways in which to educate the entire community about the rights of the young.  I’ll be spending some nights at Barrio Juvenil, and eating at least one of meals at Mano Amigo or Hogar Don Bosco.  And I’ll do whatever else Fr. Ivan (my director) says.  And in the meantime, I’ll continue to explore the city—I got a great crash course from Kevin, the Canadian volunteer, on my first day.  Between taxis, micros (buses), remembering that pedestrians DON’T have the right of way, tracking down street signs…we’ll see how I do.  So far, so good.

It’s tough; it’s really hard.  But I think that’s good.  There are some moments when I think, “Man, I’m really doing it; this is great,” and others when I think, “What have I done?”  (And yes, I do lie awake concerned about every little thing, the least of which is not figuring out the next step of the visa.)  But I’m moving forward; this ‘project’ of mine is moving forward.  My mantra throughout the course of my travel to Santa Cruz was, “This is God’s project, not mine; that’s where my strength and guidance and answers will come from.”  And so it has to be here.  I prayed (perhaps to fervently) on my retreat to Kentucky to be humbled, to remember humility, to live a humble life.  Well, I am challenged simply to communicate (and feel awfully stupid!), I’m surrounded my fascinating, interesting, experienced people from around the world, I’m reminded again and again that I’m not much of a soccer or basketball player, and kids have asked, “So, what can you do?” (after realizing I don’t play an instrument or dance).  That, then, is the question I think I have to answer moving forward.  What can I do?  I can love, yes.  But how?  In what ways?  I’ve realized that so often we say how each person has their own strengths and each person has their own obstacles but rarely do we put those concepts together.  I have to believe that my strengths—whatever they may be—are exactly what I need to face these obstacles of mine, that I need only keep moving in the direction I’ve been stumbling towards.  So we’ll see. 

Bolivia—tremendously difficult, but so far, so good.  And each moment is a step forward.