Shoeshine boys (La Paz)

On the way to Hotel Plaza, a very posh-looking place in Avenida Arce, close to La Plaza del estudiante, Karen and I are making time before I go in to meet some members of the UNITE delegation in Bolivia for whom the plan is that I do some interpreting while their visit lasts. This evening, they are meeting Nila Heredia, the ex-minister of health and currently an academic at UMSA, the state university at La Paz. At this point, one of the many face-balaclavaed shoe shines roaming the streets in central La Paz, points at my shoes-which frankly, have never had one rub, never mind a smear of shoe polish, and Karen being Karen, convinces me that not looking smart enough, the least I could do is to have polished shoes. This, of course, is something that I resist initially because of my white-liberal sense of guilt at having, what I consider anyone serve me. This is the same debate we have had two or three times in my first week in Bolivia and in relation to Nati so I won’t repeat myself here. Let’s say that Karen nods to the boy and we sit on a park bench to have my shoes polished. Very soon we are joined by another boy who looks not older than six or seven who points at Karen’s shoes this time and sits down to give them a rub.

‘So where are you from’, the first boy enquires, and we spend the first few minutes explaining Belgium’s position in the map of Europe in relation to countries that he obviously knows like Spain, his future destination as he informs us. If he did, he would follow in the steps of many of his compatriots to work in those jobs that Spaniards can’t or don’t want to work in.

I ask him about his job and the answer surprises me. ‘It is a dignified job’. The word dignified is one that one encounters everywhere in Bolivia at the moment, from this boy to the ex-minister of health, whose presentation to the delegation is “Bolivia, dignified, productive and sovereign so that we can all live well”, which just about sums up the ambitions of the current MAS government. ‘It is OK for me now but it won’t pay to keep a family or anything like that in future’, says the boy. ‘So do you go to school then?’, I ask, worried at the sight of children at work everywhere in Bolivia, from the hostel in Coroico to the supermarket down the road to everywhere in the streets of la Paz. ‘Yes’, comes the answer. ‘I have three more years left at school’ (which makes him 15, a surprising age given his size, but then he must be at least 14 in order to be able to work legally and with parental permission. The fact that he sells us a copy of ‘Hormigon Armado’, Bolivia’s shoeshines’ equivalent of the Big Issue in the UK seems to suggest this). And then? ‘I am going to get a scholarship to study further, may be in Spain’.

It seems to be testament of the current government’s message, ethos and approach to the national development plan that the only-too-real changes that are taking place in terms of delivering food security, safe drinking water, decent housing, spreading the provision of free health care to key groups in society, delivering economic benefits to over 60s, children of school age and so on, are being matched by a regained sense of dignity and worth, not just on the part of the state that swears never to bow again in front of the United States, but on the part of the population, its most disadvantaged population from indigenous peoples to street shoeshines.
http://www.boliviasc.org.uk/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=198&Itemid=50

Nati and Cielito (the cutest thing ever)

Nati is an Aymara woman mother of three who works in the flat. She cleans the house, irons clothes and generally looks after the house. “A servant? Are you mad?”, I say to Karen when she first tells me about Nati. But then Karen reminds me that in a country where half the population have informal jobs (you need look no further than every street corner in La Paz occupied by sellers of everything from sweets, books, telephone services, coca leaves, music…) cleaning and cooking in a home is an opportunity for someone and a way out of poverty for a family. “Do you feel guilty about having someone clean and cook for you? Pay them well and treat them with respect” is Karen’s response.

I introduce you to Nati. Nati needs her 10 hour per week job in our flat. She can bring her 18 month old baby Cielito, she practically chooses the days and the times she comes, and, now that the legislation is in place for this, she can have a contract that gives her paid holidays, health insurance and pension contributions. May be this is the face of solidarity with others instead of exploitation. Is this the path to a Bolivia digna y productiva para que todos vivamos bien? I don’t know.

And Cielito continues to be the cutest thing ever.

The day I met Evo

I has been two days since the UNITE delegation arrived in Bolivia on a fact-finding mission, to meet high-ranking officials, and to show its solidarity with what is referred to as the democratic and cultural revolution taking place in the country. Already we have met the foreign minister, the minister of mining, of hydrocarbons, land reform, and an ex-minister of health. But the meeting everyone is most looking forward to is the meting with the president, an indigenous man who, against all odds, has been able to overcome difficult life circumstances, poverty, poor education and accusations from the US of being a narco-terrorist, to reach the presidency of his country.

Having been roped in at the last minute to act as a linguistic and cultural bridge between the British delegation and the Spanish-speaking hosts, the day has already surpassed all my expectations. We have met with incredibly hard-working people and ministers who in very case, have come across as thoroughly decent individuals driven by a mission to achieve social justice. As the minister of hydrocarbons said, “ it is not often that I receive visits from trade unionists. The people you have just seen leaving this office are from the French oil company Total. But I have to say that, as an ex-trade unionist leader, I feel much more comfortable in your presence. How can I help you?”

The day didn’t begin promisingly as the 8:30 am audience with President Evo Morales got cancelled at short notice because he had to travel to Cochabamba first, and Santa Cruz later. We are told the president is very sorry and that we would meet in the afternoon at 5:30 pm. By the time 5pm comes and then 6pm and then the reception organised by the delegation begins at the hotel at 7 pm, nobody expects to see the president. We knew that Jose, Ann and everyone organising the visit were still trying to pull all the stocks behind the scenes to make this possible but by the time the whisky-colas start to arrive at the reception, I abandon myself to this new experience and decide to enjoy the moment talking to Montserrat Ponsa i Tarres, the catalan journalist and activist who I had just seen on TV a couple of days earlier.
The call came through that we should make it to the presidential palace by 9:15pm to meet Evo. And, like excited children, we all run out of the hotel, leaving guests stranded in order to be at the palacio quemado on time.

I wonder why the expectation. Are we now behaving just like the fellow travellers of yesteryear who travelled to China, the Soviet Union, or Cuba and felt under the spell of strong men, the caudillos with authoritarian instincts they were happy to see in the developing world but would not have accepted in their own countries? I don’t think so. When the president arrives after another 45 min wait, the overwhelming impression I get is that he exudes simplicity and humility in more abundance than the charisma that characterises some leaders. Dressed in trainers, jeans, and wearing a jumper, he apologises for the delay and proceeds to recount his day’s programme of activities, which, having started at 5:30 am, has not yet concluded (it is by now after 10 pm). To which Derek Simpson, the General Secretary of UNITE responds “ so what do you do in the afternoon then?” Hasn’t anyone seen the film ‘Lost in translation?’- Jesus Christ! I do the formal translation to Evo’s ear and wait for him to turn to me with a frown to say “ compañero presidente, el secretario general le ha contado un chiste the humor muy inglés” to which Evo smiles; thank god for that!! After this start, the exchange becomes friendly and distended, concentrating on Bolivia’s development plans, the challenges ahead, and the contribution that UNITE can make to this process from the UK. Our delegation shares with the president and his minister for interaction with social movements, a press release from UNITE in support with the process of political and cultural change that pleases them. After about 50 mins, we part our ways and the delegation meets the awaiting press.
That’s the story of the day I met Evo.

Regards and rEVOlutionary greetings to all (check out the handsome guy sitting next to the president in the photo)

Doña Olga

On our return from Coroico, Karen had a house warming planned so that I could meet a whole lot of people she knows and, more importantly, we could have our house blessed. I kid you not, this is terribly important and all those white, middle class Bolivians take it just as seriously as anyone else. So a Challa was called for which doña Olga would perform. Setting up ‘the table’, as she calls it, is a much more complicated matter than I expected.

First it was terribly important to identify in which direction was the Illimany, the sacred mountain, so that the ‘table’ could be set appropriately. Then she built a square tower 20 cms tall or so with sticks. On top went a sheet of paper that included llama wool, llama fat (I could tell you a long story about the differences of llama and sheep fat and the very different way it handles but I won’t), a series of tablets with pictures of a house, a couple, a bus, a sun, a moon… All these pictures depict various aspects of our lives and, before placing them on the ‘table’ we had to make wishes for each of these. On top went some ‘magic powder’ the nature of which doña Olga would not disclose. Next, we had to crack open one walnut each. You won’t believe the relief in doña Olga’s eyes when both proved to be healthy inside and white when broken. They were also placed in different corners of the table.

Finally, she uncovered a llama foetus which she wrapped in gold leaf and placed on top of everything else. Next were the prayers and the walking around the table, dropping a few drops of sweet wine on the floor to Pachamama next to every corner of the table, after which we had to drink a little of the wine. Once we had all performed this act while she prayed in Aymara, a little alcohol was poured on the offerings themselves and the whole thing set on fire. Again, to her relief, the offerings caught fire very quickly and very evenly, something which is mean to be a good omen. After more prayers in which all three held hands towards the fire, we were allowed into the living room to collect the three people who we know best (Gaby, Lilly and Jessica), who stood by the fire while they cleansed their bad spirits with a stick of wood, just like Karen and I had done minutes earlier. The final act included opening a bottle of beer and shaking it violently all over the floor and the fire that didn’t get put out (all good, again). The fire was allowed to burn and the smoke allowed to circulate through the entire flat. When the pyre had burnt completely, the remains of the llama foetus were buried in a flower pot that we still have to plant something in. And that’s it. The main offering to Pachamama lives in our flat and will protect us from bad things, I hope.

Daniel (tourist guide), Coroico

Daniel is an Aymara man with the body of a fifteen year old and the face of a fifty year old. His real age must be somewhere in between but I wouldn’t want to guess. Daniel takes us on a five and a half round walk from Coroico to the Vagante river, discussing everything from the local fiestas, to every species of plant with medicinal purposes, fruit (papaya, tangerine, orange, pineapple banana…), coca plantations… Did you know that the sacred leaf’s birthplace is precisely the yungas and that the coca from the Chapare region does not taste the same? “You can tell a coca plantation because it is planted in square plots and the leaves have a much lighter green”. So now you know. The plant also produces leaves three to four times per year which is obviously unlike any other harvest. And the price of good coca leaves is much higher than that of any fruit. Are there any incentives to plant less? Of course not.

Maria (hostal Sol y Luna), Coroico

On first arrival to Bolivia in July, Karen whisked me away to the Yungas, an area of high and very steep valleys for a year-long delayed honeymoon. Situated between 800 and 2000 metres, these valleys are high in altitude. But being in Bolivia, so close to the equator, one finds in them all manner of subtropical vegetation and fauna; a paradise only three hours away from La Paz and the harsh climatic conditions of the altiplano. Coroico, the town, receives many backpackers throughout the year but does not seem to be overtly full right now. We stayed at this hostel perched on the side of the mountain with enough land to have a number of huts dotted around in such lush vegetation that it is difficult not to imagine being alone in the wilderness. The hut has a thatched roof (Jatata, its name, is supposed to refer to this type of roof) and, being open to the elements, we have in front of us the most amazing view of the valley and, in the distance, the snow-capped mountain of Mururata. As the story goes, Mururata and the sacred Andean mountain of Illimani, also clearly visible, had a fight which Ilimani clearly won by beheading her opponent. This is the reason for the loser’s current aspect with a flat top.

Maria is the cook and general manager of hostal Sol y Luna. She is short, no taller than 150 cms and almost as wide as she is tall. But she is the most relaxed, friendly and gentle person I have encountered in my life. Maria exudes this inner sense of happiness, of being at peace with herself that I would like to experience one day. She is there working, no matter how early (or late) you happen to go by. She will sort out your room, the taxi or dinner any time. Don’t expect speed; your pique macho or milanesa might take one hour to arrive. You have to be prepared to wait and take it all in but the wait is always worthwhile. We don’t speak a lot to Maria but on the day of departure, she gives us a big kiss and asks us to go back. You know? We might just do that one day.

People in Bolivia

On first arrival, Bolivia assaults your senses. From the pervading smell of sewage and fried-up everything to the immense number of dogs roaming the streets-all very calm and quiet and incredibly unthreatening unlike in the UK I might add—and the giddy, light-headed feeling one gets on landing at the airport of El Alto (literally the high place), , all contribute to making one feel…well, out of place, really.

El Alto is situated 4,060 metres above sea level so it's not surprising one feels a little weird and short of breath. But if the sense of irreality that accompanies one’s first visit to Bolivia is challenged with more than a very short stay, very soon one is likely to encounter people, just people from everyday life, and with them, a very real sense of humanity and comfortable familiarity.