SMORES!

From Wikipedia:

August 11 (or, as sometimes cited, August 10) is claimed by some to be National S'more Day in the United States.

During PST, I remember that we all had to come up with some thing that could be made using simple materials, and sold again to make a profit.  This was where we learned small business skills that we could then take with us to our towns and help organize their efforts at making an income.  The problem is that the people do many such things to earn money, but they often fail to use basic accounting operations to determine how much each unit costs to produce and then to add a mark-up to ensure profit.  And if the product does not move at that price, then they should find something else to market that is affordable and can still turn over a profit.

I saw this in person, and it taught me a lot, especially after understanding better the major lesson of value-added goods.  People in Candelaria, for example, were known for two things.  Raising papas and wheat, then every few weeks taking giant bags of them to Tarabuco to sell.  In other words, they sold only the basic produce without any further steps to refine them somehow.  It's like selling twenty pounds of coffee beans for a dollar, when instead you can make a Starbucks venti mocha  and sell it for five dollars.  Twenty pounds of coffee sold in that, way, then could go for 200x what you originally sold the unprocessed beans.   So, you can sell milk and peanuts, or process it into cheese and peanut butter, and make 3x more than the basic product.  That, along with some protectionist policies, is a big reason why the US has made far more money than Africa, even though Africa has a much greater productivity.    It helps a whole lot to own the factory rather than the fields.  Both, ideally.  Because the factory takes simple inputs and then turns them into something unique worth far more.

Candelaria does this, taking sheep wool and adding far more value by making it into brightly colored weavings that they sell to tourists.  In Tarbuco one day, I came across Damien and saw a big, fat European tourist with white hair, a hawiaan shirt and a little goattee show him the weaving he had picked out, then shove a 100 euro note into his hand.  I translated for him:  Esto es suficiente?

Damien nodded and quickly tucked the money into his jacket, with a very big grin on his face.  " Do you realize how much money that is?!?"  I asked him.  100 Euros is about eight or nine hundred Bolivanos.  That's 6 weeks of pay for the richest people in Candelaria, the school teachers!

It sure beats selling 50 pounds of papas for hardly any profit.  Of course, the weaving might have had half a million stitches or more in it, but it was quite good money.  Value-added.  The same amount of sheep wool would have fetched maybe a dollar (similarly, they say that the ingredients to make a human--the carbon, and precious minerals, and salts and protein--would only cost 50 dollars if you were able to make one yourself).   I also began to understand how nearly everyone in Candelaria was upgrading their homes.  Especially with the museum, that Alisa had helped create, they had money to spare!

But back to Pre-service training.  We had people making yogurt, cheese, and beeswax lip balm, as well as little bottles of alcohol-rich propolis.  And when Natalie and the other girls had 200 samples of beeswax, then they sat down to determine how much they should charge to make a profit.  Andrew and the others, Lebo, i think?, had to see how to package and sell their cheese, and whether or not to charge more for the spicy kind that had peppers.  And so things went on for a few weeks.  But there was a deadline, and there were real stakes involved: in conjunction with our community bank/microfinance initiative, you had to come to different meetings and show a business plan, complete with finances, then update the group on the progress as time went along.  At these same meetings, you were supposed to know how much money you needed for the loan from the bank, and if you didn't sell enough of your product then you would have to swallow the loss and not get any interest back made from the profits.

But, what was I going to do?  Everyone formed groups and discussed what they might make.   Yet I never found a group that interest me, and so ultimately I was alone.  And I decided that I could do it on my own, since I found the perfect product. Something very easy that could help accomplish some of goals 2 and 3 (culture sharing), as well as an easy revenue getter.  The question became, how do I package this particular thing, since they are supposed to be served hot, or even still flaming?

So soon I traveled to the supermercado, and there they were, the prime ingredient.  But they weren't white like we all were accustomed to.  No, these were yellow, blue and pink.  Still, it would do in a pinch, so I got the jumbo kind and then went searching for the rest of the materials.  And I saw three or more different kinds of chocolate bars, and I eagerly put them in the cart.  I soon went over the loan I had taken from our community bank, but it didn't matter.  Because I would have eagerly spent my own money on these, just to embrace the nostalgia (and the cool points) that I'd get from making my product.

So I showed up that fine day with everything I needed in a bag.  "SMORES! SMORES! Taking orders now to make them during lunch!"  People looked at me like I was insane.  Some didnt want them, especially when they asked how I had procured the ingredients.  These would not be the kind you got at home. But they seemed destined to be a hit, so long as people got past the multicolored marsmallows, and the subsitution of sweet crackers in place of the graham kind.  I even went a step further saying that they could get some with jelly as well, and that they could choose the kind of chocolate... there was milk chocolate and a special coffee flavored one that provided the extra perk that these bedraggled PCVs-in-development needed during our long lectures.  

Some people were less interested in buying my product than in selling there's, so I made a deal that if they bought mine then I'd buy theirs, as well.  Some people had been lugging around their items for more than a week, and had been having difficulting meeting their proposed sales targets.  

Lunch came, and so I asked the women if I could pay them to use some of their natural gas for the flame required.  And I was able to provide some people with the added-value experience of cooking it themselves, allowing them to heat up the marshmallow in the way they most enjoyed them, burnt or evenly brown all over.  Brownish-pinkish-green.  And I sold doubles for people that wanted an extra marshmallow and an extra piece of chocolate inside their S'more. 

So these are fun memories to go back to.  Part of the business plan was to make caramel at home, but this was soon scrapped when I nearly ruined a pan.  So, like PC is famous for, something that intially filled me with dread and apprehension became a cause celebre, something that I continued until the last days of evacuation in Lima.  I remember walking around there trying to make one last batch of S'mores before we were all split up for good.  But it didn't happen.

Still, since I was placed in Candelaria and Sugar City (Sucre is French for Sugar) was famous for its chocolate, then the S'more habit only grew.  We may have made them eight or nine times after the first trial run at Huayani.  YUM!  There seemed to be a fire there every week, and with it came cooking hot dogs and s'mores.  A little piece of America in the middle of the Andes.  

 That's the big surprise of going to Bolivia.  I believe we all ended up eating very well.  Not necessarily all the time, but whether it was the trendy pizza place upstairs and down the road, or the sushi place BRAZILLIAN COFFEE, or just things like this, or salteñas.

from CNN.com (emphasis mine)

White House hit by swarm of bees

Posted: 07:36 PM ET

From CNN White House Producer Shawna Shepherd

Beekeeper Charlie Brandts was dispatched Thursday to deal with a swarm of bees on the White House grounds.

(CNN) – The Secret Service is always on the alert for aerial assaults — but on Thursday, White House grounds were hit by one unexpected airborne threat.

A swarm of honey bees took over a bush located between the Northwest security gate of the White House and the area where television networks stand-up positions are located early Thursday.

CNN photojournalist John Bodnar said he came through the Northwest gate around 12:30 pm and was warned about the bees by Secret Service on duty in the guard post. "I walked out and thought it was a swirl of blossoms blowing in the wind, but turns out it was a swarm of bees," he says. Half an hour later, they were still issuing warnings."

White House carpenter Charlie Brandts, who is also a beekeeper and will be managing two bee hives in Michelle Obama's garden, came over to the area around shortly before 2 pm wearing protective gear and carrying a cardboard box. Brandts was reportedly able to get the queen bee in the cardboard box and many, though not all, of the other bees followed. CNN has not yet been able to confirm the capture of the winged invaders.

PLUTO comes to Candelaria

as does OLYMPICS MEN'S FINAL BBALL CHAMPIONSHIP AGAINST SPAIN

Reading a play by Aeschylus, so I naturally thought of Bolivia (ha, ha).

pluto: i help him find the country code for Bolivia to call from the phone there so that someone can call him back immediately. And a girl was with him. I'd see them every other week on the camion going to Tarabuco.

he stays there one month, though I see him only rarely.

several other european people live there for some time, including three French guys doing trecking. I was anxious to stay away from them, even though I was the expert and able to help them get around the area, because I heard them talking about pot. A boy saw me hand over a box of matches to the guy. So I didn't want any blowback on me (PC's strict policies either taught me well, or succeeded in scaring the shit out of me!)

But Pluto, I didnt realize he lived there for more than one month. He didn't come by. 

But some time later, I got a call from his sister looking for him, and the lady running the phone couldn't communicate with this person in Spanish, so they assumed it was for me. She asked when was the last time I had seen him (a week before), where he was maybe going (likely Sucre, but after that ???), and if he had a girl with him there (yes). This person idenfitifed herself as his sister, and I asked where she was calling from : Athens or Thessaloniki? She said Athens. And she was probably the first and last person to call Candelaria from there. But the experience stayed with me, and I felt enamored at this person just with a few words, and her demonstration of concern for her brother. My only advice was to send him an email, though I promised to tell him that she had called in case he came back. I thought it fascinating that it was noon where I was, but it was already night time where she came from.

It was a strange, nice call. During that time, my heart always began to race when I got phone calls that I didn't expect. Though, I soon after this endeavoured to send my family the number for Candelaria, since... if she could call there... why couldn't Serena, or Mama?

I didn't want the conversation to end. But it would have been unusual for me to tell her: would you mind calling me in another week or two? It gets very lonely out here, especially with someone that can speak English.

Pluto was such an outgoing, boisterous person. I think he made some more valiant connections with the people there than I had. It was especially neat to be around that kind of person, and let him know I represented the US Peace Corps. It's a great feeling that all volunteers have. Another example of that? Speaking to my friend Konte in Angola, from Benin, and he respects Peace Corps a lot. But I will have to ask him if it is because he knew them from the area, or what.

This is so long ago, I'd forgotten it

I don't think this has any state secrets, but it's a good document that shows the challenges we faced, and the man that was first leading the country when we showed up.

Greetings Bolivia 47!
Here is a Welcome Letter from your Country Director, Javier Garza:

January 2008

Dear Peace Corps Bolivia Invitees—Bolivia 47 (B-47):

Saludos y Felicitaciones!

We have received word about your invitation and acceptance to PC-Bolivia. The Volunteers, Staff and I are excited you have accepted an invitation to come to Bolivia to serve in the Peace Corps. This is an amazing place and one where you can accomplish many things to better humanity.

You will become part of the best face that America has to offer. Much is expected of our Volunteers. PC Bolivia is a no nonsense, high expectations post. Our comportment and demeanor are always being watched and judged, especially because of the strained political climate. As guests in a foreign country, especially this one, we have rules and regulations that we must constantly abide by, whether we like them or not.

Sometimes this is hard, but as Americas' best and brightest and most motivated (that's whom we select and invite), I know that you all can handle this with grace. If you want to come and demonstrate for or against the US government and/or Bolivian government and its policies, this is not the place for it. If you have any drug or related habits we suggest that you not come. Any incident places the entire Peace Corps program at risk of being asked to leave. This may sound unduly harsh but we want to be clear with you about the dire consequences of inappropriate behavior before you agree to come.

Bolivia is going through some tumultuous times and we clearly don’t want to soft pedal any issues. The Morales government promised to change the economic and political landscape. The recent approval of a new constitution by part of constituent assembly is causing concern and opposition factions are gearing up to contest it when it comes up for vote. Some of the Eastern departments (states) are calling for opposition and for autonomy at varying levels.

Bolivia has, as part of its political fabric, a history of people voicing their opinions and often, their displeasure. If you are skittish about political and civil unrest, this may not be a comfortable place for you. For those of us that that have seen this over many years (I worked for USAID here 26 years ago), it is just more of the same. Some of it is tame; some is not. At home, we write Congress; here they are more apt to demonstrate and block roads for days on end, go on hunger strikes and make their voices heard. These are things can prevent us from doing our work or getting to where we want or need to go. Despite this, we do our work and move on!


As Peace Corps, our aim is to always keep you safe; we always remain politically neutral. We leave political things to our respective governments and expert diplomats to work out. You will find that there is vocal opposition to the US and its policies on the part of the Bolivian government. We are blamed for many of the lesser developed countries’ ills. Welcome to the front row seats in a developing democracy!

I've always told my Volunteers that I shoot straight with them, no matter what. Granted, there is some nervousness at home and here over the political tenor of this socialist-leaning administration with clear ties to Cuba and Venezuela. Doubtless, it is a bit worrisome and our future is perhaps a bit unclear. The political rhetoric during the last presidential campaign was and continues to be anti-American on the part of the MAS, the President’s Movement toward Socialism party. We can't deny or mitigate that. Barbs continue. Nonetheless, we operate a wonderful program and I am proud to say that our Volunteers are doing amazing work.

At Peace Corps we always stand for and work for better understanding--people to people. The more we do that, the more everyone will benefit. Certainly and hopefully, we will all have more peace in the world as a result—which we need. Peace Corps represents the best hope for peace and understanding in this world. I firmly believe in this and that's why I decided to be a part of Peace Corps again as a staff member after many years.

You and your families can rest assured that Peace Corps Bolivia works very hard at protecting the health and safety all our volunteers. We have a great staff. This is the primary and number one job for all of us. There are incidents here that can occur on any corner anywhere. But in a place where economic necessity is an issue, we do have our fair share of assaults and robberies. Some of our PC women are sexually harassed and some have been assaulted. To hide this would be disrespecting of the truth. I'm from Texas and I have a 24-year-old daughter who is in college in California. I tell all invitees and their parents and loved ones that we take care of you all (regardless of age) like I'd expect someone to watch over anyone in our family, were they overseas doing the same thing. Volunteers always have to do their part to stay safe.

If anyone needs more information, anything clarified or you or yours want to contact me directly to perhaps allay some jitters or uncertainty; don't hesitate to do so. E-mail me and I’ll try to answer your e-mails as quickly as possible. We are here for you 24-7. Our VAC (Volunteer Advisory Council) and PSN (Peer Support Network) are also ready to connect with you all. If we haven’t already, we will be forwarding information about them through the country desk in PC/Washington. You should receive it shortly. I’m sure you’ll want to connect and contact some of our great volunteers in country to get the real scoop about service in Bolivia from their perspective, not to mention tips on what to pack!

I have been here for two and a half year years, and served as PC Country Director in the Dominican Republic for two years prior to coming here. I was thrilled to be able to come back to Bolivia. I also served as a Peace Corps volunteer in Peru back in 1970-71. I love the Andes and its rich cultures. Much as changed in that time; but the spirit of Peace Corps is the same.

We are absolutely committed to making this the best experience of your lives. We work hard to develop programs that are relevant and work that is satisfying in sites where you are wanted. You’ve got to be ready to give it your all when you come. I truly believe that you can contribute a lot here if you remain flexible, objective, open your hearts and minds, work hard, follow the rules and work at staying safe. I am really looking forward to getting to know every one of you.

As you get ready and get packed and you begin to say good-byes to your loved ones and the excitement and preparation for your travel here really begins in earnest, I wanted to wish you all the best. Cherish this time with your families before we introduce you to your new families. Bolivians are warm, friendly and welcoming people. Peace Corps is tough work, Bolivia is tough terrain, but as our old tag line states, it’s the toughest job you'll ever love!

Looking forward to meeting you at the airport on in January. Best Wishes for the holiday season.

Javier

Javier L. Garza

Country Director, Peace Corps Bolivia

Javier's Obituary

Dania wrote to us this past week to tell us that Javier was gone. In a few days, I will try to find his inspirational Quotes page that he gave to each of us, and I will post the Welcome Letter that I just found in my Gmail account that he sent us a while ago.

Supposedly when B-47 came, he had a bone to pick and so he tried to shake things up before he left. He held us to a high standard: many people had to retake his Handbook quiz before he let them swear in, though most people did badly because some of the multiple choice questions were poorly done. So while we didn't get to know him in the gentle way that other people knew him--while he was loved in the Dominican Republic, supposedly he told our John that the Washington lawyers would not let him swear in if he didn't rat out another volunteer for chewing coca--I can tell by reading his obituary that he is a man that cared a great deal and spent his life in service to others.

I have two specific personal memories of Javier. The first came when I was AWOL from my language class because my debit card had been eaten by a Banco Bisa ATM machine. After an hour of walking lost in Cochabamba, I came upon the PC office, and stood outside about to go in. I knocked on the door, and ... voila , the man that opened it was Javier, wearing his signature rims that seemed almost to be a frame for sunglasses with clear lens put in.

It was two days before my birthday, and after I explained to Javier what I had come there for (I was nervous because I'm not sure if I called the office ahead of time, though my language professor knew I was on my way), then he called me up to the top floor presentation room where there was a row of saltenas and pastries lined up on the desk, with two at the end and candles sticking inside them. It was Doreen's birthday, and another man! Not only that, but the day after was my APCD's birthday, and the day after mine it was the birthday of one of the secretaries. So it was a giant celebration with a half dozen Pisces folks, both American and Bolivian. And the candles were stuck in each pastry in order for them to have a wish when they blew it out. I had only been there 6 weeks, and this was the first time I had anything like that. I didn't get to eat the saltena because of the meat, but I tried the cheese kind and put plenty of Aji on it. And so from then on I happily associated Javier with that little bit of sneaky business, of being away from Spanish class and invited into a surprise celebration that also included me for my birthday!

The other thing that happened then which I remember about Javier was his attempt to scare some of us from swearing in. On a piece of paper, outside at the Huayani training center, we all sat in a circle around him and we were supposed to write in one column who we thought was most committed and on the other side who was the least committed. This, then, was a big deal. Would that mean someone would be booted because of our writing their name on the wrong side? I believe the trouble was already on the horizon about the member of the earlier group being sent home over coca, and he clearly wanted us to rat people out.

We instantly revolted, and for thirty minutes people fought him over what they thought was extremely unfair. Some were more philosophical--"Who are we to know what is in the heart of another? What is commitment mean, anyway?. Others were more reactionary: This is bullshit!

I thought deeper, into why he wanted us to do this. For one thing, it is a very serious thing to join PC for 2 years, and he had a right to turn up the heat on us. We were supposed to deliver speeches about our level of commitment, some of which were hilarious and others were deeply moving. I said in my speech that commitment to the people is only something that grows with time, so I said I was far less committed after meeting my town members for only 1 week than the much higher level of commitment I would feel after living among those same folks for a year or two. It's the same reason why we are less committed to somebody we see across the bus from us, than to our family.

Writing now, I feel that he wanted to scare us some, to place before ourselves the fear that this thing might not be given to us, and so we'd value it more once we got it. This is how I explained Javier and this situation to my family in an email:

I had an interesting moment earlier this week (most days of most weeks are interesting, duh). But this was especially good.

We had a day where the country director Javier came by to visit us. He´s from Texas and he did 3 years of work in the Dominican republic before he came here and shook things up, to make the Bolivia post something more than just a drinking hole like it had been called in the past. So, he´s doing some pretty radical things, and one of those he presented to us on Wednesday at the training center.

In the past, in the 70s, he was a volunteer in Peru. One time since then, he met the Peruvian president, who was a guest lecturer at his university. He asked the man what the Peace Corps meant to him.. ¨It was a bunch of people that wanted to drink and that disappeared in the woods and were never seen again.¨ Javier got really sick after 14 months, he lost 35 pounds and he returned ´early termination´.

The point of what he did on Wednesday was to pass out blue cards while he spoke about commitment. He consistently tells us trainees that ´this is not right for everyone, and if you don´t think it is the best thing for you to do, then go home.¨ So, he has a reputation for bullying people into taking the airplane ride home. ( A funny thing, when they asked us to rank our 4 favorite sites to work in, a friend of mine Peter said that his were these : 1) Tarija, 2) Tarija, 3) Tarija and 4) American Airlines.... luckily, he got what he wanted.)

On the blue paper that he gave us were four categories: Most Committed, Least Committed, Most Outstanding, Least Outstanding.

What Javier wanted was for us to write on there the names of our fellow trainees, and where they fell in those categories. ¨You don´t have to do this, but if we never know who is lagging behind, then either we will help those people or remove them from the situation.¨

Just before he had quoted Warren Buffet, saying that ¨It takes 20 years to build trust, but only five minutes to lose it.¨ Looking at the stunned faces of the other volunteers, I could tell that he had lost all of their trust!

And, so, shocked and confused, when the Q&A came, there were about 10 people that began to explain how uncool this was, that we shouldn´t rat on our friends and that ´we can´t really know how committed a person is because it is so internal that we´ll never know.´

SO, everyone revolted against this idea and nobody wanted to turn in their paper (though some people asked if they could email the names in, yikes). BUT, this didn´t seem exactly to me as shallow and dense as it appeared to all of the other people. So I had to ask him about this.

Instead of chastising him for inter-group espionage, as this seemed to the others, I said: ¨I hate to second-guess you, but rather than collecting a list of names, it seems that instead you are trying to provoke us into thinking more deeply about what commitment means.¨ What I felt was that this exercise had a secret intent, something meant to show us through the little piece of paper, that there were real consequences for the way we acted. Those can be good, as the most outstanding column indicates, and they can be on the fast track home, like the least outstanding.

Javier heard what I said, and he blinked and told me: You´ve read me perfectly.

This made me very happy! I did something good in front of the most important person here. It made me feel good, but it also made the other people think that they had fallen into his trap. Thinking about it now, in the way that he made us confront each other, he was also able to bolster our commitment to each other. We don´t want anyone to go home because we wrote their name on a piece of paper. And we really can´t understand how they feel about this process, even if they are unhappy with the site they get or this and that. But another thing I realized about commitment isn´t something that you wake up with one day. Instead I feel that commitment is something that grows with time. I´ll be more committed to Bolivia the last day I am here than the first weeks or months that I´m here. Because it becomes part of you and grows on you. I could easily come home now, but if I get to know a community and grow crops with them and work and play and teach and learn from them, then I´ll wake up each day after those things and I´ll be more dedicated and everything.

Well! The cows came home. The family is driving them through to the back yard garden. It´s also very dark now, I had better get on the public bus and go towards the city to the bus terminal for my ride to Sucre.
----------

Javier Garza, from the Austin American-Statesman newspaper

When Javier Garza took over the Meals on Wheels and More Austin chapter in the late 1980s, volunteers for the fledging organization were making lunches for needy residents mostly in church kitchens all over Austin. When he left 16 years later, he had overseen construction of the agency's first central kitchen, and the number of clients had grown from a few hundred to about 1,700. On Monday, Garza, 60, was among 11 people killed in a bus crash in Saltillo, Coahuila, after a drunken driver lost control of his tractor-trailer and slammed into the bus carrying American and Canadian tourists, police said. Garza's sister was critically injured in the crash. Meals on Wheels and More officials notified organization supporters in an e-mail Thursday. "Javier Garza was a man dedicated to making the world a better place and he had a positive effect on it and on everyone he met," President and CEO Dan Pruett said. According to reports, the swerving semitrailer demolished the driver's side of the tour bus. Seven Americans, three Canadians and the bus' Mexican driver were killed. They were on the first day of a four-day excursion to Zacatecas and Real de Catorce. Mexican authorities say the truck driver, Julio Cesar Rodriguez Garcia of Saltillo, was intoxicated and will face manslaughter charges. Garza left Meals on Wheels and More in 2003 to join the Peace Corps as director of operations in the Dominican Republic. He had served in the Peace Corps for two years in Peru after college. Garza had been living in South Texas, caring for his elderly parents. He has a daughter, a recent graduate of the University of California, Berkeley. Pruett said Garza particularly valued the many clients who had contributed to the community throughout their lives. "So many of them served in the military, worked all their lives and raised their children and raised families," Pruett said. "Javier knew as a society and as a community, we needed to take care of these people, and he knew we needed to do it in an efficient way." Sam Houston, a Meals on Wheels and More board member, said Garza thought it was especially important that clients access other social services through Meals on Wheels and More. He put a program in place to help them do so. Houston said Garza lobbied the community for donations to help build the agency's current headquarters on East Fifth Street near Pleasant Valley Road. "It's a tragic loss," Houston said. "Javier was one of the most outstanding people I've ever met in my life. Just an incredible leader, a fine human being. He will definitely be missed."


There's more about the wreck at this link from My San Antonio.com... and a picture of the bus. It seems they were in Mexico using a tour company that has 1 fatal wreck per year average, and a tractor trailer hit them.

http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/At_least_10_dead_in_Mexico_bus_crash.html

Here's a great, sad Italian song in case you never heard any pop music from there. Serena sent it to me. It talks about 'mi inferno privato', my private hell. It's good!

Sharing an important email

Harold Pinter in Krapp's Last Tape

going to sleep now Cuore

Finished season 4 (and my next show to watch, I found, will be the controversial HBO show Tell Me You Love Me)

i'm sleepy!  i celebrated St Paddy's day by watching Samuel Beckett plays on DVD.  The best one was That Time, which is like the discussion I had with Andrew porter about--for years and years and years in my life-- feeling the need to justify my actions to other people. And with that habit, before I went to Bolivia I spent much pain and stress trying to think of the best way to explain everything I did to other people, in case they ask me.  This I did almost subconsciously, getting answers ready to tell other people and taking those answers and discovering the best words to tell them why I did what I did.  It's not a great way to live, so I'm glad that when I realized both how I was and how rarely people interrogated me in that way, I stopped. And I realized that being an adult is exactly the time when you don't have to account for all of your actions and the reasoning behind them.  You just do, and don't have to explain.  "I do this because it's what I wanted"  should be enough, or "I won't do that because I don't want to" should be enough to tell someone if they harrass you to do something.  So that's my definition of being an adult.  Andrew Porter responded to that and said he would do exactly the same thing.  And one time in Bolivia, Amy asked him to do something and he flatly, but good-naturedly said "No, I don't want to" and she didn't care at all.  And I was able to look at him and know where that new edge came from.  Andrew had grown up.   It didn't hurt her feelings at all, and it was honest, and nothing further was needed.

That Samuel Beckett play, then, is exactly that same thing, but it's a lot more ugly because it is the process of trying to self-justify your life.  You trying to sell yourself the idea that what you did was right, and it's a torturous process, even more so if it's the end of your life and things are hazy.  The person in this play listen to their inner dialogue, their mouth not moving, just their face reacting to their thoughts. The memories are unclear, and so the motivation, the results, the actions are all jumbled and it's impossible to know if this life was well-lived.  But it wasn't overly vicious, and the man visibly lingered over the bright spots in his personal narrative.  So to extrapolate the conclusions of mine that I shared with Andrew, I suppose becoming an adult we take ownership of our personal narrative and don't have to  justify ourselves to others, though it doesn't make it any easier for us to judge our own life story and the things we have done.

Of course, of all the things with my Dad that have become embroiled in the past couple of weeks, another conclusion is that much of our suffering is self-inflicted and needless.

You're a 100% authentic Dolce & Gabbana love muffin, you know it? .  Just wanted to get my thoughts down (i think I'll post this on my Bolivia blog and my Morocco one).  

ti mao, have a good day at class!

Remembering this song, during consolidation #1, listening to it with Andrew Porter.  & it felt great to let off some steam, scared as we both were that we might not get to return to our sites.

And now, typing that, I remember listening to Ben Porter--in the midst of his gay Confederate and Yankee porn thing-- call home (for the first time ever, I think) and say to his family:

"We will probably go home now, but I am pretty sure we won't be here 1 year from now".

And he ultimately was right. : (

I didn't want him to be so, but I felt like he spoke the truth. And as expensive as this was for us to be there, Consolidation #1 at a five-star resort in the middle of nowhere, I didn't think it was something we'd do every three months.

But it was great fun to see Associate Press each week and then burst out: Don't be afraid... No! like in the song.

I remember Glenda

I was thinking about everything last night, and Glenda came to mind.  I also discovered that the experience in my mind was so much more than the few days in Peru, so that when I was thinking this: 'when was the last time I saw these people?'  it seems extremely strange that in my mind the last time I saw Andrew, Lebo, Peter, Cindy, Yollie, Matt, the many Bens but the unique Gina, was in some version of the parking lot at the resort.  

Everything I remember eclipses that, and they've spent so much time in their daily parade through my brain that it is stupefying to retrace the last time I was there, with them, to the day they lined up and waved me off to the non-adventure awaiting me, of sitting at home and thinking about them for six months.  

One thing I remembered last night was how Miche and Lebo began a campaign to kiss everyone on the lips, all of those people who were Peace Corps Bolivia and who would soon not be.  I was the third on the list, since I was standing among them as the clouds separated and such an idea was inspired from above. 

And last night, I was thinking of how I should have jumped on that band wagon.  It would have involved kissing a lot of pretty girls, and a lot of ugly guys as well.  Plus, I suppose, kissing a lot of ugly girls and many pretty guys.  I know the reason, then, why they wanted to do this.  It would be the last time you see nearly everyone here.  And that thought was the one that gave the label to that moment in a much more concrete way.  When still there, my thoughts allowed for the idea, but it is only six months later that now I understand the absence that means.

 

It was a horrible time.  To have Gina burst into tears as I held her was too much. Then to give Lebo a hug and have the same thing happen... damn.  Maybe that is why I rarely try to think about that day, and do not associate it with my recollection of everyone.  To think, then, for the first time last night about what it meant to be saying goodbye to these people, and to have those moments as the last ones that we shared is a strange thing.  It floors me.  I never labeled them that way until now, and so I look at them and the time since in a far different light.

But, back to Glenda.

When I left, I remember giving her a hug, listening to her strong voice say my name with regret.  Then I turned to Peter--unsure if they were still a couple or not-- and I gave him a man hug, while looking back at Glenda saying : "Glenda, if things don't work out with this guy, be sure to call me!"

Peter knew I was just kidding, as I heard him say.  It was Glenda who wanted to help me with my Italian in case I went to visit Italy directly from Bolivia, as I planned.  I even bought the ticket to do it.  But her parents told me not to come (and, luckily, the payment info for the plane ticket was voided because I punched in the wrong VISA numer).  

She also was the one that went jogging with me often in Rumi Mayu and around her neighborhood, one of the best times I had during training.  Running in a giant square, then around the way down to Kuatro Eskinas, the flattest mud road, running parallel to the steepest mountains--though never intersecting--almost a wall to help protect Cochabamba, but that usually makes things worse when the waters begin to flow down and flood the city.

The sad idea now is that--what are the chances that in Morocco they will have consolidation?  It's a sad idea that they likely won't.  At least, not without PC sending Bad-LuckKathleen there to be country director first.  At the same time, however, it seems like it will be a challenge just to meet and know all 50 members in my group!  And with 234 people volunteering now, meeting half would be hard to do.

Still, nothing like B-47.

The number one past-time for PC Vols in Bolivia is....

Hard to remember the good times without remembering the first consolidation, at the resort Rio Selva!

Specifically, I remember playing a whole hell lot of beach volleyball.  And if I think about that, one image comes to mind: Brandon playing with his wild, long curly hair, his crazy eyes and monkey screams ,the ferocity in his enthusiasm for the game and the six inch rock and roll goattee.  If I was la oveja with my beard, he was la cabra loca.  

And I also remember some intense moments during one game, the ball went up into the air and I flew at it so extremely hard, I wiped out in the sand so badly, I didn't know if I was going to get up.  Everyone yelled and remarked that it was as if the ball exploded into me.  FUN!  And you know, that's why Peace Corps is such an amazing thing.  When we get the chance to relax, everyone all together, we really cut loose.

The other memory of playing volleyball (apart from the endless hours of playing Wall-E ball in Sucre and Cochabamba--one time i was feeling extra brash, and so I challenged five others to play against just me, all alone on the side of the court. it was close, but they had too many people, no delegation of whose ball it was, and so I narrowly won!).  The other memory is of playing in Candelaria with a dozen people, and I was doing just fine.  But then the ball flew directly at me, I hit it high into the air and it flew towards the stands.  Luckily no one was there, but the ball came down directly onto the metal fence.  I looked at it, starting to walk towards it, when I heard it hit, and then .... 'sssssss....'  was the sound of the air leaking.  I couldn't believe what had happened except for the fact that the ball remained exactly where it landed, hanging limply, impaled by the metal wires of the fence.  

I had just killed the volleyball!  And what could I do?  I looked around, made some self-deprecating humour, some "i'm so shocked! DID THIS REALLY HAPPEN?" -type hand gestures.  In this way I got all of the bolivian kids to laugh with me.  I won't forget that day.

In Cochabamba, the last couple of days there, I discovered there was a pro beach volleyball competition near our hotel.  We had been doing things:  watching movies at the cinema, going to the park, different things.  The first day, I found out about this, and since it was so good playing wall-E ball, I went there.  When it was worth the price to get in, then eight of us went back.  It was awesome!  We were able to see the semi-finals, then I stayed longer to watch.  The first game I saw was Brazil being beaten by the US team. All of these players were staying at our hotel, so at different times I saw them come through.  It was especially good to talk to the US team, two women, one who I believe had been in the olympics, and to show them how we were representing the US as Peace Corps volunteers there.  And of course we were able to help them get around the town, telling them where we liked to go (Brazilian Coffee, the sushi place!).  

But more I was hoping the Brazilian women to do good.  I got to speak to them a little, one in particular, who was gorgeous--and before the final match I got to speak to her again:  "boa sorte!"  The americans had beaten them the first time, but they won every game after that, so the finals it was USA and Brazil again.  Most people boo-ed the US team, except the 8 of us.  I cheered for both teams.  And it was a surprise to see so many Brazilians in the stands with us!  The game was close, but the other Brazilian girl hurt her leg.

Inspired by this game, my friend Peter was able to retrieve a picture of a party from the year before, where his Brazilian friend- "one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen"- showed up at the party wearing just leaves from the ground that she had glued to her body!

What a Marvelous country.

Training

Playing guitar while Helen and Andrew sang Simple Gifts, then six weeks later, on January 20th having this exchange with Helen online: ¨First time I´ll ever say that I played better music than Yo Yo Ma, because our simple things had the words!¨

´Tis a gift to be simple, ´tis a gift to be free,

´tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

´Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain´d,

To bow and to bend we shan´t be asham´d,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till turning, turning we come round right.

I was skeptical about Peace Corps until I saw what it could do:  Pat, Sara and I were in the same Ag group and had to give our charla presentation on natural pesticides.  

Likewise, my friend Rachael from high school was skeptical about Peace Corps until she learned how we worked.  And what we didnt do.  We didnt have money, most important of all, so we had to learn what the community cared about doing, and had to find ways to empower those people to do that for themselves, rather than rely on American aid.  That alone is what separates us from every thing else people are doing now, and it´s why PC has produced reality-based development leaders that have great knowledge of their communities. And while we had to learn to make do with the resource available to us, living there we saw plenty of examples of money thrown at poorly-designed products that were not wanted by the people and that accomplished nothing while strengthening their dependency on others.  

Instead, we learned their language, asked them what was important to them, and helped them to devise ways to implement those projects with the resources available to them. Sustainability in every way.  You can start one thing or another, but sharing skills is automatically sustainable.  So, when you discover that about Peace Corps, you have respect for what the people are there doing, rather than writing their efforts off as a misguided attempt towards futility and irrelevance.  Like Rachael seemed to have done.

But as I said above, my feelings towards what PC does changed when we gave our charla.  It was during that short hour--having run around town to buy avocados and chocolate to share with the people attending, hopping on the E bus at the six lane highway, five bags full of food in my arms and then stepping onto the bus with its surplus of stuffed animals hanging in all of the corners and the public service announcements pasted on the walls; ¨Go to your kids, they want you to come home¨  or ¨Drinking only makes your problems worse¨--running towards Sarah´s family´s home and tucking in my shirt and putting on my belt and my best shoes.  But something was wrong, the memo did not get sent out broadly enough and we had to debate whether to continue having our charla or not.  We decided to, since Carla and Nabor our teachers had a limited amount of time to see us perform.  

And we did it.  And Pat, who didn´t know Spanish at all when he arrived in Bolivia, for the first time in his life spoke for 15 or 20 minutes on complicated subjects.  That meant everything to me, and showed that this PC program, which is relatively cheap and known as the best face of American diplomacy,  worked wonders.  While Pat remained as lovably asinine as ever-- far more so when we were about to leave-- he was like a different person.  And I was proud of that guy, and could only imagine how much harder the process had been for him.  I came knowing Spanish, and sat bored through the classes.  But he had caught up and was doing something I couldnt do before I got to Bolivia.  

The second thing I learned about PC was that it was fundamentally about us, the volunteer.  No matter the good we could do, we ourselves always gained more than anyone else. Nosotros mismos.  It was a struggle later to find peace with that, since this is supposed to be a selfless endeavour. Yet, the resolution to this I found in the need and continuing desire engendered in me during and after the service to continue working for others.  So it´s a two-year crash course, where you are put into a blender and come out of the end more solid and closer to Earth than ever.  But it´s a painful thing to go through.  And if you take those two years as a bridge to a 20 year career in development, or global education and diplomacy, then you have many opportunities to repay that debt.

PC itself gives you a lot of grief and heartache.  But Bolivia gave each of us enough to make up the difference and in ways we continue to recognize long after we´ve left.  So the earlier, and suffering question of it being worthwhile becomes laughable after awhile.

Initial Memories

Just like biting into Proust´s madeleine, every random act in my life now seems to transport me back eight or ten months. When I was still in the thick of it.  Since I have many unscheduled hours in the day, time to commit to paper the memories that come randomly as I go about the day. 

Earlier I remembered an argument between Andrew Porter, Pat and me during Consolidation #1 (as unenthusiastic as I was during this when we found out that the whole week would be booked with lectures and Open Q&A group discussions, it really helped a lot. I remember getting more out of asking the fellow volunteers that had already gone through the shit moments of work and integration, learning about rose and fruit transplanting when in the pool, or learning how the ultimate, Quixotic goal was to get the beekeepers independent.)

But our argument was about what can be considered a hole, and whether the term asshole was a misnomer.  And naturally, with three guys this developed into a two hour debate.  And the emphasis was on assholes.

While this was not quite as fulfilling as the continuing debate over the existence of God--I am still surprised Andrew could be a philosophy major without having come to the same conclusion as me--it was the perfect safety valve.  I felt more reinvigorated and OK with the world after that than anything since then.

---------

The night before we left, I marveled everyone at the Wasi Masi by returning from El Germén, the german lady´s bakery, having spent the stack of my last bolivianos on fourteen of the rum-cream chocolate brownies.  They sometimes gave me the runs, but there existed nothing so exquisite in the entire departamento.  People wanted to pay me back, but since we knew at the time that a plane ticket was waiting for us in the morning, I only asked that somebody would get my fair for the bus ticket to the airport the next morning.  And I supplied a lot of welcome relief and physical pleasure by indulging in those.  If I´m correct, a few people tried to visit there but it had already closed later that night.  We watched TV and saw Sucre on the CNN En Español  & the national news, one building in particular a couple of blocks away.  I´m sure there was some violence near us, but it was nice to leave before it got bad in our area, so that my memory would be untarnished.

Still, in consistency with the Proust ´involuntary-memory-from-biting-the-madeleine´, each time I get a whiff of chocolate I pat my pocket to see if my passport is there ready to go (it´s not).