Campo Bosco

A couple of weeks ago, at one of the Saturday night meetings in Barrio Juvenil, Padre Iván mentioned a trip to Cochabamba.  He said that there would be a delegation from Barrio attending an event called “Campo Bosco” from September 30-October 2, and that everyone should pray for those attending and look forward to hearing some good stories upon their return.  Now, selfish as it might seem, all I heard from the conversation was that there was a Proyecto Don Bosco-sponsored trip to Cochabamba, and I wanted to be a part of it.  So, on the car ride back to the Volunteer House, I asked Padre Iván if I could go. 

          “You want to go to Campo Bosco?” he asked.

          Yes, I said.  If I could.

          He smiled.  “I already asked Valentina—you know how good she is at taking pictures.  Next time.”

          And I figured that was that.

          It wasn’t though, and later that week I bumped into Padre Iván and Karina on my way to dinner at Hogar Don Bosco. 

          “Eric!” Padre Iván began.  And then he invited both me and Karina to Campo Bosco.  Things are always in a constant state of flux here in Bolivia.

          And so, I spend this past (extended) weekend in Cochabamba with 1,500 Bolivian young people—ages seemed to be anywhere from early high school to late college—a whole slew of educatores, animadores (these are terms they use to describe group leaders or anyone responsible for ‘animating’ the youth), Salesian priests, Daughters of Mary, Help of Christians, three other volunteers (Valentina, Karina, & Chinsia—probably butchered the spelling) and a girl associated with the Project (Maria), and anyone else who managed to get themselves to the Mary, Help of Christians Girls High School just outside Cochabamba.  We left Thursday night on the 8:30pm bus (or flota) and arrived in Cochabamba around 6:30am Friday morning.  (Yes—we did sleep on the bus; no—it wasn’t comfortable; and yes—somebody DID leave the window open, and I, of course, had only worn shorts and a t-shirt which prompted one of the girls I was traveling with, Maria, seeing me shivering, to give me her shawl out of pity somewhere around 2:00am for a bit of warmth.)  We started our day with some breakfast—fried bread with cheese in the middle and some coffee—and took a series of taxis to the high school.

          Let me paint a brief picture of what Campo Bosco is like.  For anyone familiar with World Youth Day, it’s a lot like that, on a much smaller scale, infused with Salesian spirituality and charisma.  A handful of the nine departments in Bolivia send delegations—there were people there from Santa Cruz (the department of Santa Cruz includes all of the surrounding pueblos as well as the city), Cochabamba, Sucre, La Paz, and others.  We were given fun little bags to throw over our shoulders, strips of fabric to designate our color (for me, yellow), a booklet of songs and prayers and questions for small groups, and a name tag.  I was in the yellow group, Moises (each group had a Biblical figure associated with it…for me, Moses), and my small group was Pio IX (I have no idea who that is).  There were 12 color groups in total, and about 5 or 6 small groups for each color.  Within your groups you played ‘dynamic’ games, shared in small groups, and sat with each other at bigger events, mostly, to cheer loudly for your Bible character (“Somos Moises, Somos Moises…MOISES!”).  Each day was full of singing and dancing (they can’t do one without the other here, so EVERY word of EVERY song had about 4 hand motions and dance moves to it, so there I am wiggling about in bleachers PACKED with the youth of Bolivia and every one of them knows the dances and I just keep spinning around knocking people in the head with my bag, which I naturally couldn’t put on the ground for fear that someone would steal it), talks and prayers, skits and small group activities.  Anyone who has been to World Youth Day will remember what an adventure meal time always was, and it was no different here.  They gave us pouches of liquid to drink (Juice?  Where’s the ‘tear here’ option?  I have to use my teeth?), snacks twice a day, and a leg of chicken or something a bit more mysterious for dinner (I seriously couldn’t put a name to 70% of what I eat in Bolivia).  And where did I sleep, you ask?  There was a Salesian University down the road (and a Salesian seminary further down the road—do they own EVERYTHING?!) and our delegation from Proyecto Don Bosco slept on the third floor, in a little classroom barren of desks and chairs, in sleeping bags on the floor.  Uncomfortable?  Yes, in more ways than one.  But what a cool experience to be able to just hang out and crash on the floor in such a makeshift experience with some of the boys I work with.  To listen to their banter and laughter, to wake up to their jokes, to hear “Qué tal, Eric?  Dormiste bien?  Qué tal tu espalda?”  (Everyone was deathly concerned about my back.)  Hard to wake up and go to sleep surrounded by Spanish (and teenage boys), but a very meaningful experience nonetheless. 

          So there’s a pretty brief overview of Campo Bosco; let’s see if I can’t give a few more ‘concrete’ scenes of what I experienced.  After all, Campo Bosco is a BIG deal here—it only happens once every 3 years (or 2 years, depending upon which year you’re looking at), and people LOVE it.  And it wasn’t hard to see why—yes, I do get tired after hours and HOURS of dancing, and I did fall asleep, if only briefly, at probably every event (no surprise there, though, right?).  But what a beautiful thing to be a part of, to take part in so many young people’s excitement about their faith, about building new friendships, about challenging themselves and growing.  Did I make some huge impact this weekend?  I seriously doubt that.  But I got to see it all, I got to talk to some people, I got to embarrass myself again and again, and I got to be present.  So let’s see…  Some ‘specific’ scenes (in no particular order)…

          The first that comes to mind was a brief ‘pilgrimage’ we made to the Salesian seminary.  All the groups walked together, up the muddy path, stumbling on lose rocks and patches of earth overgrown by weeds, past cows and horses and tractors, with the ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE backdrop of the mountains surrounding us (the department of Cochabamba, or at least what I saw, is SURROUNDED by mountains…incredible).  At the seminary we watched a serious of skits designed to bring us into the life of Christ—the calling of the disciples, institution of the Eucharist (seriously awesome contrast between the Last Supper, the mass of the early Christians, pre-Vatican II, and the present day mass), the Passion and Death, and others. 

          Friday night was a penance service.  I knew we were off to a good start when the reflection music was “Concerning Hobbits.”  We then were asked—well, I apparently misunderstood what we were asked to do, so I’ll tell you what I thought we were asked—to write a letter to someone we loved.  So, I dutifully wrote thoughtful and hilarious words to Alli and pocketed the note.  Well, then some animadores come around to COLLECT our notes.  I’m not giving mine up; I put some good thought into it!  It’s a good thing I didn’t…they threw all the notes in the center of the auditorium where they were, during the next skit, torn apart and BURNED by ‘demons.’  (Nearly every skit was a climactic battle between good and evil.)  But seriously, they set a FIRE in the middle of the gym.  The Mother Superior of the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians in Bolivia had to keep coming into the center to move aside the balloons and streamers that were coming just a little to close to the growing flames.  Classic.

          So, the Father Superior (Inspector?  Not sure of titles…) of the Salesian in Bolivia, Padre Cristobal, was there as well, and I have to say, I was SO impressed.  He participated in EVERY event, sang and danced, greeted the kids and the adults alike with hugs and kisses and handshakes and was just such a presence, especially at the events he spoke at.  But perhaps my FAVORITE part of Fr. Cristobal was when I met him outside one night with the other volunteers.  He takes my nametag in hand, looks at it hard, says, “Eres de Irelanda?” because no one has any idea where I’m from (often Spain is the guess until I start talking, then Brazil, but Ireland was a new one!).  I say no and he continues with: Eric Clayton…do you play the guitar?  Conoces Eric Clapton?  WHAT?!?!?  CLASSIC.  Even in Bolivia!!

          Let’s see…I know this is long, but I’m not FORCING you to read it! 

          Saturday the other volunteers and I escaped into the city.  We went to lunch at this little place on the side of the road (Karina wanted to try something authentically from Cochabamba).  In front of the restaurant was the grill and the chefs (odd?), and they were hard at work on what looked like all the parts of animals you weren’t supposed to eat.  We sit down inside (well, there was no roof…) and they ask me, “So, Eric, what do you want to eat?”  Now let’s be honest—I can’t PRONOUNCE half the food, and it does me little good to ask what each dish consists of, so I say, whatever you want.  And then appears in front of me 3 dishes of the craziest looking meet and veggies I’ve ever seen!  Dutifully, I try everything, and not bad at all!!!  We ate way too much, they continued into the city.  Between that day and the following we were able to see the main plaza of Cochabamba, some small pueblos nearby (there was a wedding, of course), and a sanctuary dedicated to the Virgen of Urukapina (not sure the story there, but really cool—apparently it’s a big pilgrimage site every August and people carry rocks around to symbolize something), and the Cristo statue that overlooks everything in the area (we rode a taxi to the top of the world).  Two thumbs up to Cochabamba.

          I felt a lot like a Disney character at times—people would just come up to me and ask to take a picture with me.  Who are you? I’d think.  But I’d smile and who knows where those pictures might end up? 

          What I learned about Salesian games are that all you have to do is a) scream and yell, b) move about obnoxiously, and c) violate personal space to call it “game.”  Father Cristobal sang a song at one point to quiet everyone down (at least I thought that was the goal) and next thing I know, after every verse I’m being battered about in some way—people step on my toes, kiss me, pinch me, high five me—it didn’t take long for me to catch on.

          But all in all, Campo Bosco was a great event, full of challenge and fun, uncertainty and joy.  It’s no wonder everyone gets so excited about it.  But I think that’s enough for now.  I have more to add about some of the experiences in small groups, but I’ll save that for a following entry, one that will most likely be far more thoughtful and of a more spiritual nature.  If you made it this far into the blog, well done!  

             23 points for you.