An Aside: Daily Life in Bolivia

I have decided to take some frequent detours from my more specific discussions about calling and simply share how life unfolds in El Alto.  I've decided to call these detours "Asides" and I hope that they will read as glimpses and snapshots into my experience in this wonderful city of the Altiplano.  

An excerpt from my journal (February 25, 2008) follows:

I and my Bolivian mom awoke early, and as I washed the sleep out of my eyes she quietly prepared me a warm cup of chocolate soy milk and set out some crusty rolls of  pan bought just the day before.  We quietly discuss my plans for the day and Mama (as I call her) softly speaks of her gratitude to God.  After gulping down breakfast, I cross the patio to place my dishes in the cocina; and with my rain coat zipped I bear the morning shower exchanging a warm "Hasta tardes" with Mama...  I round the corner of a local shop-keeper's storefront, outlined by adobe and concrete walls, to meet up with my teammate Kelly. 

 

Kelly, cheerful as ever, greeted me with a smile that shined through the light blue shroud of her hooded rain jacket.  And we continued down the rocky/muddy road that runs toward the main avenue of the neighborhood.  The rest of the team was ready to catch a mini-bus (usually a Nissan or a Toyota)... After hopping off bus 685 we walked across several empty lots separated by dirt roads and a couple potato plots.  We passed by several adobe hovels, some lonely crumbling adobe walls, and even the rare completed concrete-walled courtyard-home. 

 

As we walked there was a sense that we were in the area where the city met the country and suburbia was only a distant dream.  Cara told us that not even five years ago there was only a field and the Missionaries of Charity compound.  She pointed to the green roofed buildings off in the distance.  It's about a 15 minute walk from where the only direct bus passes.  A silent but smiling doorman anticipated us and let us in the gate as we approached.  Bundled up in a blue jean jacket, hood, and dark sunglasses he quietly returns our "Buenas Días."

 

Immediately we plunge into a white and blue courtyard with many simple but colorful floral gardens and ornamental shrubs. The Sisters with shawls and skirts that match the color scheme... greet us warmly; after a while one of the residents with a expectant smile shuffles over to peal the bell that calls the compound to Lauds, or the morning prayers.  As the residents pour out of their quarters the greet our team with a humble anticipation and then take their place near an icon of St. Mary and the baby Christ...

 

Bryan and I head towards the men's quarters which is separated from the women's by a spartan yet spacious concrete and tiled kitchen.  In El Alto most utilitarian spaces are filled with concrete counter-tops and cubbies that are lined with tiles along their vertical surfaces.  Quite abruptly we were immersed in the scents of ammonia, cleaning detergents, and dampness. But soon the shy smiles and animated expressions of the residents caught me up in a swelling feeling that this is a home of the unashamed.  No that word doesn't give the atmosphere justice.  A sheltered brokenness and vulnerability will be an intimate detail of our lives over the next four months. 

 

While at a loss and slightly overwhelmed in our new environment I was drawn (with Bryan) to our new friends, who were ready to share their stories of brokenness with us.  Changing the yellow and maroon bed sheets, folding blankets and clothes, sweeping and mopping the floors, washing the walls of the bathroom, hanging clothes to dry, toilet cleaning, and serving pasta (or rice) and stew to the residents have become our celebration and our prayer as we come close to these new friends... 

 

At noon we returned to our host families; I perceived that our new experience filled the whole team with a pregnant silence of stories waiting to be birthed over meals with our families and prayer meetings in the coming weeks.

 

-scr