evo time

A couple weeks ago in Coroico I made an impulse buy. I wasn't at all in the market for a new watch, but when a Bolivian friend half jokingly suggested that I purchase the Evo Morales-themed time keeper, I couldn't resist. Despite the relatively steep $5.80 asking price, I couldn't fight the strong urge to augment my political kitsch collection.

Tiempo Boliviano: half past Evo Cumple. (Not a super clear photo, I know...but you get the idea)

So that's how it came to be that I'm now the proud owner of a black plastic watch that pays homage to Bolivian president Evo Morales. It features Evo (who I swear is winking at me) and the phrases: "Bolivia Change" and "Evo Cumple." As if the face of the watch wasn't crowded enough, it also displays the word: "Yangkey," which I thought was a misspelled attack on yankees/gringos, but it's apparently just the brand name of the watch...which, incidentally, was made in China.

The timing of my purchase (pun intended) is a bit coincidental. Tomorrow is December 6th--election day here in Bolivia. It's been four years since Evo was elected as the first indigenous president of Bolivia and tomorrow voters will return to the polls and, assuming all goes as my lunch crowd tells me is expected, Evo will earn himself another term as the jefe máximo of Bolivia.

Ricardo Ramos won the first-ever (Sarah Mechtenberg-sponsored) "Evo Lookalike Contest" at the College this past year. Online voters agreed it was his thick crop of hair that garnered him first place: an Evo-lución t-shirt.

Though I'll refrain from making any personal political commentary, I will say that Evo's political party, MAS, has been out in full force for the past couple weeks. But here in La Paz (due to travel restrictions,* I had to come to La Paz yesterday in order to pick up visitors on Monday morning), all is tranquilo. Now that the campaigning is officially over, the pre-election energy that I felt last weekend in La Paz (marchers, press conference with Vice Presidentis Alvaro Garcia, media frenzy, etc) seems to have evaporated. For today, only graffiti remains.

Tomorrow, I've been told, most everything will be shut down here in Bolivia's capital city. Without transportation, everyone will be pretty much contained to their homes and neighborhoods--the only place they need to get to are the polls. So, apart from accompanying a native friend on a field trip to experience Bolivia's democratic system, I'll probably meander around La Paz on foot--with Evo, of course, strapped to my wrist...winking at me.

*Voting in Bolivia is obligatory. Also, national law requires that there is no purchase/sale/consumption of alcohol 48 hours prior to election day. It also prohibits travel on the day of the election (except in rural areas such as Carmen Pampa where they travel to neighboring towns like Coroico).

learning to breathe again

It could be interpreted many different ways. But UAC-CP Nursing graduate Agustin Apaza chooses to see how his life has been filled with fresh starts and new opportunities. His brilliant smile and bubbly persona are the result of having a positive outlook on life, he told me when I sincerely questioned how he never seems to let difficulties get him down. "Imagine if I'd lived my whole life feeling sorry for myself," he posed. "Do you think I would have ever been able to achieve anything? No!"

An orphan who was found abandoned in a plaza in La Paz as a baby, Agustin grew up in a system of public and private orphanages--always longing for the mom he never knew, often feeling alone and forgotten and discriminated against. And then, as a child, he was diagnosed with a life-threatening heart defect. He spent more than 10 years in and out of hospitals before a Rotary Club in La Paz (#4690) made it possible for him to travel to the U.S. for surgery.

Going into the surgery, Agustin (15-years-old at the time) knew that if it wasn't successful "they wouldn't be able to do anything more to save me." Death was at the door, but Agustin emerged anew. "It felt...kind of weird...because basically, I was reborn," he explained. "I had to learn to walk all over again. Because I had no strength in the beginning, I even had to learn how to breathe again."

In some ways, Agustin said, it was the same for when he arrived to study here in Carmen Pampa. Released into the world as a young man without any type of resources and unable to afford the cost of college anywhere else, he came to the UAC-CP on a scholarship. And it took some adjusting to get used to living life in the countryside, but it was at the UAC-CP where he was once again given a new chance at life.

Having grown up in hospitals, the College's Nursing program was the last thing he wanted to be a part of. "I was treated so poorly by nurses for most of my life," he explained. "I told myself, 'I am never going to study nursing. One, because it's just a dirty job and also because the medical staff were so mean. Plus, I knew the cost of studying would be too expensive." But through a series of events that he believes are more than mere coincidences, he ended up studying Nursing. "Now look!" he smiled, noting the irony. "The thing I wanted least of all for my life, that's what God chose for me!"

"Nursing is about service; it's to help the people that need--that's how it helped save me. And God changed me so that I could go on helping others. I was a very, very sick person for most of my life..and in a bizarre way, I believe that is what saved me." His illness, he said, is what has made him a more dedicated professional--he understands that it also has a very emotional and human aspect.

At the same time, he feels that the UAC-CP has technically prepared him for his professional work, too. "The principle thing for our Nursing Department at the College is the promotion of health and prevention of disease in the rural area--that's why we have the major here. We are all prepared to work in the rural area, we have the experience," he said. "Each semester we leave and do practices in hospitals and clinics throughout the Department. And what we see and experience is that we have the power to give back and make change and spark development in the rural area."

"I think each of us in life has a mission," Agustin told me after I asked him to talk about his understanding of the College's mission. "And this is my mission--to reduce the pain and suffering for people." Which, he admits, is easier said than done. "For me, working in the rural area is the saddest part. Partly because we see people who have been forgotten by our government, people not well taken care of, people who don't have basic services, and people that are very far from health services."

"Truthfully," Agustin said, "it's painful because you see people in need and you feel helpless because you don't have the necessary supplies to improve the situation. How beautiful it would be to have equipment and medicines and such to be able to attend to their needs. But considering the reality, you know the person is sick and often you can't do anything."

"Public health is very sad," Agustin said after recalling a couple particular incidences of visiting the homes of poor, farming families. "But it also gives you much joy. Sometimes you make a house visit and attend to a patient and feel like you've really made a difference--you do it, you cure them. And then days or weeks after that, the family will come to the hospital or clinic and say, "Thank you." It's the best gift for those of us who work in public health--it's not, 'Here, take my chicken,' or 'Here, I brought you fruit.' No. Not for me. For me, it's that they say, 'Gracias,' and smile and that's sufficient. With a smile and a thank you, you feel so satisfied. It always makes me happy because I know I did my job and I completed my personal mission."

When I reminded Agustin that he also completed his mission of graduating from college, he flashed me his giant trademark smile. "I can't believe it. I can't believe it!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I am so happy to have finished. And so, so proud that I finished at the Unidad Académica Campesina-Carmen Pampa. So proud."

"That is what I hope for--for people to always take the spirit of the UAC-Carmen Pampa with them in the work they do, to be proud of who we are and what we accomplish for the poor and marginalized. ...Wherever I go in this world, I am always going to say that I am from Carmen Pampa. Always. Always."

Agustin officially graduated from the UAC-CP in September. He is currently employed by Medicus Mundi and works on a Chagas disease project in the rural area around Tupiza, Bolivia.

paolita

I am quite aware of the expectation that I'm not supposed to have favorites. But since she's the only girl her age that I know in the town of Caranavi, I think it's safe for me to proclaim that Paola Calle Ticona is my favorite 8-year-old friend in the sweltering river town located three hours from Carmen Pampa.

Paola Calle Ticona.

Paola is the oldest daughter of Tito Calle and Flor Ticona--who also happen to be the first UAC-CP students I met when I first arrived to Carmen Pampa in December 2003. [You don't forget those kind of things--the people who first showed me kindness.] Six years ago, Tito and Flor were young parents, financially strapped and struggling to make their way through school. Paola was their first and only child at the time--a gorgeous, polite little girl who everyone on campus knew and loved and, in some ways, helped raise.

Today, Paola is a bubbly second grader at a private school in Caranavi. She's a brilliant little one (I offer unbiased proof: she carries the flag in all school events, which means she has the highest grade in her class). Her favorite subject is math and she wants to be a mathematician when she grows up. She spends her free time doing extra-curricular activities, playing Barbies, reading books, coloring, and helping to care for her three younger siblings.

A year ago, Paola learned to play chess at an after-school program. A skilled player, she now helps her teacher coach other students at her school.

I marvel at Paola's life as it is an almost unbelievable leap from that of her parents'--her mother, especially. Flor, the youngest of nine children, comes from a remote Quechuan community located in the rural area outside the town of Apolo--more than 24 hours from Carmen Pampa by public bus. Faced with no other educational opportunities, Flor came to Carmen Pampa at the age of 15 to study at the boarding high school. "I earned 70 Bolivianos ($10 US) a month," she told me, to help cover costs. "And I rarely afforded to go home, so I would normally stay and work over summer and winter break."

On a scholarship, Flor continued her studies in Agronomy at the UAC-CP where she met Tito, had Paola, married, and now lives with her family (they have four children) in Caranavi, where Tito is the regional manager of ANED (a micro-finance company). While Tito graduated from the College, Flor is still one class and a thesis defense-away from officially being counted among the titulados. She wants to finish and has people willing to make that happen, but it's more difficult with children, she told me. Truthfully, she dreams of returning to Carmen Pampa and I dream of helping her do it.

Flor and Tito with their children: Alex, Alda, Alan, and Paola outside their home in Caranavi.

In any case, Flor has experienced the transformative power of education...and it shows, especially as I see it trickle down to her kids. Though her poor, Quechuan roots are evident in her reserved, stoic personality, when Flor speaks of her children she exudes confidence and tenacity. "My girls," she said, motioning to Paola and 3-year-old Alda, "they are going to go farther than I could have ever imagined for myself."

Paola is one of very few children living in rural Bolivia who can claim that both of her parents are college educated. In Paola (and the other children of UAC-CP students), I see the power of education as it gives them opportunities that their parents only dreamed of and their grandparents never imagined possible. "When you think," Flor told me, "that my parents can't speak Spanish--they can't read or write in any language--and then I went to college. Now I look at Paola and all the opportunities she has that I never had because my family was so poor..." Flor stopped talking and looked over at her daughter quietly reading a book. Neither of us said anything. If you don't believe education can lift people out of poverty, I thought to myself, try telling that to Flor Ticona.

....

Hands down, Paolita is one of my favorites. And, I admit, it makes my heart happy to know that I think she classifies me, in some way, as her favorite, too. "Is that your aunt?" I heard one of her little friends whisper to her in Spanish as we sat watching Tito play soccer on a Sunday afternoon in Caranavi a couple weeks ago. "La Sarita?" Paola responded in a confused sort of tone. Then she looked up at me and smiled. "No, she's my good friend!" she said...as if every 8-year-old in rural Bolivian towns have 32-year-old gringa friends. "No ve, Sarita?" she asked, as if to confirm that the feeling was mutual. "Sí, Paolita." I told her. "We are good friends."