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…