Friday, March 02, 2007
Workin´ 9-5
It is Friday, and I just exhaled. Shabbat shalom, to those of you who celebrate. I want you to know that once I got off the bus this afternoon from work, walked to a nearby park I have grown to enjoy, purchased a little ice cream treat, and sat, enjoying the sweet, coldness, and thinking about how it is Shabbat, and that means two things...1-that I have got to more proactive about this whole seeking out the Jewish community of La Paz thing (although...it helps that my mother is now sending me e-mails full of links with information about the Jews in La Paz), and 2-that I have officially been here for a week.
I bet you weren´t keeping track...but, it has been a week since my arrival. And, today also marks the first day that I spent volunteering full-time, in both of my placements. It was a long day, and sort of felt harrowing. But, I am glad to finally be settled in (in some ways), and to know what volunteering in La Paz is going to look like.
Let´s start backwards---the afternoons.
I continue to work with the orphans in casita crema. I now know that two of the little boys who cry a lot are twins, Juan really likes to dance with me, all the kids LOVE watching TV and being read to (and will occassionally help with poor pronounciation of Spanish words...lovely), the kids will (mostly) all put markers in their mouths and not on paper (and the mamita has asked me to not ever bring markers again...rather, crayons and colored pencils...score for the kids in my house, considering I brought a lot of markers from the States), and when we get to play outside, the kids still really like to use me as the jungle gym. The older ones have become more and more helpful, when they are not in their school house. The younger ones are still really, really little. And, they were all entertained for an entire hour today by watching a man outside their window chop down a large tree with a saw. Trees are the only thing that is more exciting than me. I guess that I can live with that.
I know that I am learning about what will work with them, and what is not effective at all. So, although the kids may not have gotten much from my time with them this week, I feel like we are going places. I am going into next week knowing who my audience is, and what the kids need to learn...or to have fun. One thing is for sure---as I left today, I had all of them sitting around me as I read them a story. I finished the final page, and closed the front cover, ignoring the yelpping requests for me to read the story again. I told them that it was time for me to go, but that I would return on Monday. They asked me to repeat when I would be back approximately 15 times. Erika, one of the little girls with pig-tails, a nose permanently crusted over, and hands that seem most comfortable fastened around my neck, said, ¨Ciao, Marci¨. That was the first time any of them called me by my first name, instead of just ¨voluntaria¨. Then, out of no where, all of them got up, gathered in a clump, and puckered up. One by one, each of my kids gave me a little kiss on my cheek, repeating, ¨ciao, Marci¨.
And now, the morning:
Today, I began my work with the special needs orphans who are under age 10. By under age 10, I mean...some of them are babies. I walked in, and it was the exact same setting as earlier in the week. The group was huddled in their wheelchairs in a circle (but this was not a meal or snack time, so they were not in the dining area) in a large room with mats, low windows along an entire side, a hanging television, brighty colored paint on all of the walls,and wooden floors. There are a few women bustling about, helping, preparing meals, and there is one woman who is the main momita. Her name is Susana, and immediately after I am introduced to her and we exchange greetings kisses, I can tell that she is going to be a warm source of information for me. Her smile remained consistant, and I enjoyed watching how her soft voice brought smiles to the faces of those kids who can move their facial muscles. She sat in the middle of the circle of wheelchairs, as the other women moved about, and I stood for a moment, watching her sing to the kids and slowly grasp onto arms, legs, and nearby toys (the ten that may be there), to move things around and stimulate the kids.
She got up after a moment, and asked me if I like babies. I nodded...why not?
After she vanished into a connected the room, labeled, ¨Dormitorio¨(where the kids sleep), she returned with a small baby named Luis. He could not be older than 1, and was wearing little overalls and a tiny sweatshit, under his curly head of hair. His face is slightly mis-shappen, and his little nose was cluttered with dried nose extract (snot). Susana put him in arms, and told me to play with him on the mat, and move his muscles around. She asked me to try to get him to crawl.
Watching the other kids, including the two or three who can wal about the room on their own (and do) (a lot), I sat with little Luisito and played on a mat for an hour. He is adorable, and while crawling did not happen, I did get him topush himself up on his hands a few times. He smiled, as I immadiately went for the under-arm tickle when he would show signs of the exercise as too strenuous. I laughed with him, and eventually started rolling around myself.
10:30. Time for the snack.
We pushed everyone into the kitchen, where the wheelchairs again lined the walls in a way that makes it hard for those of us who are able bodied to get in and out of the room. Even Luis went into a little wheelchair, sporting an elongated Elmo pillow as the back cushion. All of the women emerged, and I waited for Susana to instruct me. She pointed to a collection of cups of warm milk with pieces of break floating in them, and told me to feed any child. And, told me not to forget the bib.
With a bib in one hand, and a cup in the other, I sat down before Victor. Victor is an extremely happy, smiling, parapalegic child who cannot be more than 4 years old. He is strapped into his chair, and he loves to watch television, as he understands everything going on around him (can understand, but can only respond with syllables, an the single word, ¨YEAH!¨).
I few him the whole thing, per my instructions from the ladies (who also asked me if I was a millionaire, because I am from the States). He giggled a little when I did, and looked irritated when I did, in response to my missing his mouth with the milky spoonful and dribbling down his chin. I told him that I would try to get better for next time. He didn´t seem to care.
The rest of the morning consisted of my playing with the other kids, stimulating their movement from the depths of the chairs that I am sure they don´t realize are unnatural parts of their bodies, and dodging some of the mobile kids, as a few of them have the tendency to be a little bit aggressive. My nametag (which the goverment of Bolivia says that I have to always wear) was ripped off of my shirt a few times. With some of the kids, I can catch a few glances outside the windows, and I wonder what they think about the outside. With other kids, I watch them frustratedly hurt themselves in different ways (to the point that blood may emerge even)...not because they want to, but because they cannot voice frustration or a desire for attention in any other way.
I got to feed Luis his lunch, which was a blended mixture of things (I recognized small bits of chicken and carrots) in a huge bowl. Slowly, slowly, I few him the whole thing. And, he seemed pleased.
After the eating, the kids transitioned (as fast as I could wheel them) to the bathroom, which is a large room, filled with toilets with seat belts. For this part, I glanced at my watch, and realized that it was time for me to go. 1:30.
I learned a lot today, working with these kids. But, most of all, I learned that I have a lot to learn. And, it is difficult to soak it all in because the kids are different than any others I have worked with, the system seems to be dramatically different than any other I have worked within, and the women speak Spanis so quickly that my overwhelmed feelings and confusion in a moment may not even be able to vocalized. This is a hard placement, but I am looking forward to getting over my intial confusion, and finding that I can contribute to this place and the lives of these kids.
I bet you weren´t keeping track...but, it has been a week since my arrival. And, today also marks the first day that I spent volunteering full-time, in both of my placements. It was a long day, and sort of felt harrowing. But, I am glad to finally be settled in (in some ways), and to know what volunteering in La Paz is going to look like.
Let´s start backwards---the afternoons.
I continue to work with the orphans in casita crema. I now know that two of the little boys who cry a lot are twins, Juan really likes to dance with me, all the kids LOVE watching TV and being read to (and will occassionally help with poor pronounciation of Spanish words...lovely), the kids will (mostly) all put markers in their mouths and not on paper (and the mamita has asked me to not ever bring markers again...rather, crayons and colored pencils...score for the kids in my house, considering I brought a lot of markers from the States), and when we get to play outside, the kids still really like to use me as the jungle gym. The older ones have become more and more helpful, when they are not in their school house. The younger ones are still really, really little. And, they were all entertained for an entire hour today by watching a man outside their window chop down a large tree with a saw. Trees are the only thing that is more exciting than me. I guess that I can live with that.
I know that I am learning about what will work with them, and what is not effective at all. So, although the kids may not have gotten much from my time with them this week, I feel like we are going places. I am going into next week knowing who my audience is, and what the kids need to learn...or to have fun. One thing is for sure---as I left today, I had all of them sitting around me as I read them a story. I finished the final page, and closed the front cover, ignoring the yelpping requests for me to read the story again. I told them that it was time for me to go, but that I would return on Monday. They asked me to repeat when I would be back approximately 15 times. Erika, one of the little girls with pig-tails, a nose permanently crusted over, and hands that seem most comfortable fastened around my neck, said, ¨Ciao, Marci¨. That was the first time any of them called me by my first name, instead of just ¨voluntaria¨. Then, out of no where, all of them got up, gathered in a clump, and puckered up. One by one, each of my kids gave me a little kiss on my cheek, repeating, ¨ciao, Marci¨.
And now, the morning:
Today, I began my work with the special needs orphans who are under age 10. By under age 10, I mean...some of them are babies. I walked in, and it was the exact same setting as earlier in the week. The group was huddled in their wheelchairs in a circle (but this was not a meal or snack time, so they were not in the dining area) in a large room with mats, low windows along an entire side, a hanging television, brighty colored paint on all of the walls,and wooden floors. There are a few women bustling about, helping, preparing meals, and there is one woman who is the main momita. Her name is Susana, and immediately after I am introduced to her and we exchange greetings kisses, I can tell that she is going to be a warm source of information for me. Her smile remained consistant, and I enjoyed watching how her soft voice brought smiles to the faces of those kids who can move their facial muscles. She sat in the middle of the circle of wheelchairs, as the other women moved about, and I stood for a moment, watching her sing to the kids and slowly grasp onto arms, legs, and nearby toys (the ten that may be there), to move things around and stimulate the kids.
She got up after a moment, and asked me if I like babies. I nodded...why not?
After she vanished into a connected the room, labeled, ¨Dormitorio¨(where the kids sleep), she returned with a small baby named Luis. He could not be older than 1, and was wearing little overalls and a tiny sweatshit, under his curly head of hair. His face is slightly mis-shappen, and his little nose was cluttered with dried nose extract (snot). Susana put him in arms, and told me to play with him on the mat, and move his muscles around. She asked me to try to get him to crawl.
Watching the other kids, including the two or three who can wal about the room on their own (and do) (a lot), I sat with little Luisito and played on a mat for an hour. He is adorable, and while crawling did not happen, I did get him topush himself up on his hands a few times. He smiled, as I immadiately went for the under-arm tickle when he would show signs of the exercise as too strenuous. I laughed with him, and eventually started rolling around myself.
10:30. Time for the snack.
We pushed everyone into the kitchen, where the wheelchairs again lined the walls in a way that makes it hard for those of us who are able bodied to get in and out of the room. Even Luis went into a little wheelchair, sporting an elongated Elmo pillow as the back cushion. All of the women emerged, and I waited for Susana to instruct me. She pointed to a collection of cups of warm milk with pieces of break floating in them, and told me to feed any child. And, told me not to forget the bib.
With a bib in one hand, and a cup in the other, I sat down before Victor. Victor is an extremely happy, smiling, parapalegic child who cannot be more than 4 years old. He is strapped into his chair, and he loves to watch television, as he understands everything going on around him (can understand, but can only respond with syllables, an the single word, ¨YEAH!¨).
I few him the whole thing, per my instructions from the ladies (who also asked me if I was a millionaire, because I am from the States). He giggled a little when I did, and looked irritated when I did, in response to my missing his mouth with the milky spoonful and dribbling down his chin. I told him that I would try to get better for next time. He didn´t seem to care.
The rest of the morning consisted of my playing with the other kids, stimulating their movement from the depths of the chairs that I am sure they don´t realize are unnatural parts of their bodies, and dodging some of the mobile kids, as a few of them have the tendency to be a little bit aggressive. My nametag (which the goverment of Bolivia says that I have to always wear) was ripped off of my shirt a few times. With some of the kids, I can catch a few glances outside the windows, and I wonder what they think about the outside. With other kids, I watch them frustratedly hurt themselves in different ways (to the point that blood may emerge even)...not because they want to, but because they cannot voice frustration or a desire for attention in any other way.
I got to feed Luis his lunch, which was a blended mixture of things (I recognized small bits of chicken and carrots) in a huge bowl. Slowly, slowly, I few him the whole thing. And, he seemed pleased.
After the eating, the kids transitioned (as fast as I could wheel them) to the bathroom, which is a large room, filled with toilets with seat belts. For this part, I glanced at my watch, and realized that it was time for me to go. 1:30.
I learned a lot today, working with these kids. But, most of all, I learned that I have a lot to learn. And, it is difficult to soak it all in because the kids are different than any others I have worked with, the system seems to be dramatically different than any other I have worked within, and the women speak Spanis so quickly that my overwhelmed feelings and confusion in a moment may not even be able to vocalized. This is a hard placement, but I am looking forward to getting over my intial confusion, and finding that I can contribute to this place and the lives of these kids.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Casita Crema, day 1
Casita crema. I arrived there this afternoon, and as soon as I walked in, I found 13 pairs of wide eyes staring up at me. The kids, complete with (runny) button noses, (bathroom scented) brightly colored clothing, and (mangled and messy) hair under caps or in pig-tails, immediately ran to me, fighting one another to hold either of my two hands. I told them that I was the new volunteer, and that my name was Marci. They shouted, ¨new volunteer, new volunteer, do you have markers and cookies?¨ I said, ¨sorry, no.¨ But, I know what their old volunteer used to bring each day.
The mamita came to meet me, said hello (although that was pretty much all she said to me for the rest of the afternoon), and went back upstairs where I presume she was busily working on cleaning or washing or something. However, that left me, and all the kids...and I was without supplies (as I figured that we would have an introductory day).
Chaos...
There are two girls who must be close to 10, two boys who are near 6 or 7, and the rest are a mixture of girls and boys between 3-5. And, one of the boys in the younger range just moved over from the center for the special needs kids, as he has Downs Syndrome.
Run around, run around, knock people down, hit anyone in our way, climb on the gringa...
The fun was just commencing, and I knew that being resourceful was going to be the only that both me and these kids were coming out of this alive. I glanced around the room...nothing. No supplies, a few ratty stuffed animals, and one hanging television. These kids have nothing.
Watch the rain fall outside, climb on the windows, cry and scream a little, convince the gringa that I have to use the bathroom 14 times in a row and really just want to splash my hands in the water because the gringa keeps making me wash my hands...
Okay, time to collect myself. Lima, Ayacucho...what did I do? My mouth was pronouncing, ¨pato, pato, ganso¨ (the real duck, duck, goose) before I even realized that my memory was serving me correctly. The kids knew the game and were excited. We sat in a circle and played...but attention grew thin. And Juan, the boy with Downs, got really frustrated that he was not picked as the goose ever, and decided to take his hand out of his mouth for a moment and smack everyone in the face, individually. Tears. All around.
At this point, the older kids departed for the school house (which was a shame because they were attempting to be helpful), and the mamita came downstairs. They all sat quietly, and stared at her, as she turned on the television, airing what I would equate with MTV in Spanish. Instantly, the two little girls jumped up and began dancing. The boys were a mixed bag of being mesmerized, and still shaken from the aftermath of Duck, Duck, Goose.
With Juan in my lap, as his dry hand had become fastened to my pants, my attention turned to one of the smallest boys. Slowly, tears rolled off his cheeks, and disappeared into a wet spot along his blue, fleece collar. I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged. Motioning to the spot on the floor on at my side, I convinced his to sit next to me. Slowly rubbing his back, I felt the anxiety leave him, and after a short while, I was thrilled to see a smile re-emerge on his face.
Stop dancing so close to me, hit the kids around me, climb on the chairs, jump off and see if anyone notices...
Sitting, with the kids as attentive as I could get them for the moment, I decided to play another game. I went through every animal I could possibly think of in Spanish, and asked the kids what color the animal was and what sound the animal made. I was shocked to find that these kids LOVE ¨name that animal¨. And, some of their responses were hysterical. Did you know that a butterfly says, ¨blip, blip, blip¨? Cause it does. According to my new friends, anyway. Even Juan said.
After a few more rounds of ¨name that animal¨, the ever popular ¨ring around the rosie¨, and, of course, the ¨in your country...?¨ game, time had actually flown by. The mamita came down, and gave the kids bread and warm milk, much like the kids had for snack in the prison in Ayacucho. The little kids sat together at their own table, the older kids sat at a big table with big chairs, and the mamita put Juan by himself, at a separate table. I went and sat with Juan, as I already saw the milk around the corners of his mouth (and dribbling down his chin). He cannot really talk, but only make noises that seem to correspond to specific items around the room (because that is the only place we go). I hadn´t picked up on his language yet, and he became agitated while he was eating. I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher what he needed. At this point, one of the older girls came over and broke his bread up into pieces. She said, ¨he likes when the food is in pieces¨. I thanked her.
The mamita, myself, and the older girls put the rest of the kids in pajamas, and I was really interested to see that the government has supplied these kids with matching pink or blue (corresponding to gender) fleece pajamas. They were in a big pile, and there was no way of distinguishing whose is whose. We stripped all the kids down, discarding of their clothing in a bin, and putting them into fleece. Everyone, that is, except Juan. He was in flannel.
After the changing, it was time for me to go. The other volunteers came to my casita to pick me up, and I hugged and kissed the kids goodnight on my way out. Juan had a hard time letting go of my hand, but I promised to come back tomorrow. I think I may have made quite a good friend.
So, that was the beginning of my life in casita crema. To be continued, for sure. I have a million questions and wonder about many outstanding things...what are all the kids names, and why doesn´t anyone use names for anyone other than Juan? Although they are of varied ages and levels of attention, can I run an educational activity successfully with them? Do the kids remember their homes, or having parents? Are they happy together, and what can I do to make it better?
I am confident that I will get into the groove of things in this casita, and will even get good at planning for the mixture of their personalities (as I learn what they are like) (and maybe, their names as well). Things seem to be off to a good start, as today went well. And, this is only one of my placements.
I will only go to this one again tomorrow, as the bureaucratic bullshit and government paperwork have yet to go through for me to begin working on the other side. In the meantime, I have signed myself up for Spanish classes twice a week, which I am quite looking forward to. Not only do I think that I could use some help with everyday Spanish and want something to make communicating with my family easier, but I learned one big thing today...I had forgotten a lot of worked in my kid friendly Spanish vocabulary. I mean, it´s hard to remember things like, spit, hit, pull, fight, and push...to name a few.
Also, as a side note, I know that I am writing, but I don´t know that you are reading. Feel free to give me a shout, and comment. Really. Nothing to be scared of. I will even write you back. Promise.
I do hope all is well out there, and (of course) I will be back soon.
The mamita came to meet me, said hello (although that was pretty much all she said to me for the rest of the afternoon), and went back upstairs where I presume she was busily working on cleaning or washing or something. However, that left me, and all the kids...and I was without supplies (as I figured that we would have an introductory day).
Chaos...
There are two girls who must be close to 10, two boys who are near 6 or 7, and the rest are a mixture of girls and boys between 3-5. And, one of the boys in the younger range just moved over from the center for the special needs kids, as he has Downs Syndrome.
Run around, run around, knock people down, hit anyone in our way, climb on the gringa...
The fun was just commencing, and I knew that being resourceful was going to be the only that both me and these kids were coming out of this alive. I glanced around the room...nothing. No supplies, a few ratty stuffed animals, and one hanging television. These kids have nothing.
Watch the rain fall outside, climb on the windows, cry and scream a little, convince the gringa that I have to use the bathroom 14 times in a row and really just want to splash my hands in the water because the gringa keeps making me wash my hands...
Okay, time to collect myself. Lima, Ayacucho...what did I do? My mouth was pronouncing, ¨pato, pato, ganso¨ (the real duck, duck, goose) before I even realized that my memory was serving me correctly. The kids knew the game and were excited. We sat in a circle and played...but attention grew thin. And Juan, the boy with Downs, got really frustrated that he was not picked as the goose ever, and decided to take his hand out of his mouth for a moment and smack everyone in the face, individually. Tears. All around.
At this point, the older kids departed for the school house (which was a shame because they were attempting to be helpful), and the mamita came downstairs. They all sat quietly, and stared at her, as she turned on the television, airing what I would equate with MTV in Spanish. Instantly, the two little girls jumped up and began dancing. The boys were a mixed bag of being mesmerized, and still shaken from the aftermath of Duck, Duck, Goose.
With Juan in my lap, as his dry hand had become fastened to my pants, my attention turned to one of the smallest boys. Slowly, tears rolled off his cheeks, and disappeared into a wet spot along his blue, fleece collar. I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged. Motioning to the spot on the floor on at my side, I convinced his to sit next to me. Slowly rubbing his back, I felt the anxiety leave him, and after a short while, I was thrilled to see a smile re-emerge on his face.
Stop dancing so close to me, hit the kids around me, climb on the chairs, jump off and see if anyone notices...
Sitting, with the kids as attentive as I could get them for the moment, I decided to play another game. I went through every animal I could possibly think of in Spanish, and asked the kids what color the animal was and what sound the animal made. I was shocked to find that these kids LOVE ¨name that animal¨. And, some of their responses were hysterical. Did you know that a butterfly says, ¨blip, blip, blip¨? Cause it does. According to my new friends, anyway. Even Juan said.
After a few more rounds of ¨name that animal¨, the ever popular ¨ring around the rosie¨, and, of course, the ¨in your country...?¨ game, time had actually flown by. The mamita came down, and gave the kids bread and warm milk, much like the kids had for snack in the prison in Ayacucho. The little kids sat together at their own table, the older kids sat at a big table with big chairs, and the mamita put Juan by himself, at a separate table. I went and sat with Juan, as I already saw the milk around the corners of his mouth (and dribbling down his chin). He cannot really talk, but only make noises that seem to correspond to specific items around the room (because that is the only place we go). I hadn´t picked up on his language yet, and he became agitated while he was eating. I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher what he needed. At this point, one of the older girls came over and broke his bread up into pieces. She said, ¨he likes when the food is in pieces¨. I thanked her.
The mamita, myself, and the older girls put the rest of the kids in pajamas, and I was really interested to see that the government has supplied these kids with matching pink or blue (corresponding to gender) fleece pajamas. They were in a big pile, and there was no way of distinguishing whose is whose. We stripped all the kids down, discarding of their clothing in a bin, and putting them into fleece. Everyone, that is, except Juan. He was in flannel.
After the changing, it was time for me to go. The other volunteers came to my casita to pick me up, and I hugged and kissed the kids goodnight on my way out. Juan had a hard time letting go of my hand, but I promised to come back tomorrow. I think I may have made quite a good friend.
So, that was the beginning of my life in casita crema. To be continued, for sure. I have a million questions and wonder about many outstanding things...what are all the kids names, and why doesn´t anyone use names for anyone other than Juan? Although they are of varied ages and levels of attention, can I run an educational activity successfully with them? Do the kids remember their homes, or having parents? Are they happy together, and what can I do to make it better?
I am confident that I will get into the groove of things in this casita, and will even get good at planning for the mixture of their personalities (as I learn what they are like) (and maybe, their names as well). Things seem to be off to a good start, as today went well. And, this is only one of my placements.
I will only go to this one again tomorrow, as the bureaucratic bullshit and government paperwork have yet to go through for me to begin working on the other side. In the meantime, I have signed myself up for Spanish classes twice a week, which I am quite looking forward to. Not only do I think that I could use some help with everyday Spanish and want something to make communicating with my family easier, but I learned one big thing today...I had forgotten a lot of worked in my kid friendly Spanish vocabulary. I mean, it´s hard to remember things like, spit, hit, pull, fight, and push...to name a few.
Also, as a side note, I know that I am writing, but I don´t know that you are reading. Feel free to give me a shout, and comment. Really. Nothing to be scared of. I will even write you back. Promise.
I do hope all is well out there, and (of course) I will be back soon.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Oh, the places I go...and volunteer
Although I am really not a morning person, I was glad that going to see my prospective placements today meant getting up and out of my house early. It also meant that I had sucked down my morning tea and had a foot out the door before Bailen and Fabrizio could jump on me and ask how I slept, which has been my wake-up greeting most recently (I like these kids...but I really need a little time immediately after I open my eyes).
Anyway, it was an early morning, and I found myself on the main drag of La Paz by 8:45, bustling with morning traffic and yelping bus conductors (the people who shout bus destinations and gather passengers). To visit these four centers, I needed to catch one of these buses and head to the lowest and rather isolated section of the city. Obrajes; my destination. Tons of buses rolled by with this sign, and all so packed that people seemed to hanging out of the windows. I waited, waited a little more, and glanced at my watch; 8:55. I had to get going.
My hand extended into the street, and I waived my fingers (the way street transportation is hailed here). A minibus stopped for me, and I was on my way (with a seat---a middle seat, with grateful Bolivians to each side...grateful that I have finally figured out the hot water in our family shower).
The ride took us down, down, further into the valley, and away from the hustle that I have grown acustomed to as La Paz. We passed a large city park (that I will have to visit another time...looks like a must see), a few randoms shops and stands, and a university. Onward; we seemed to be driving into the bottom of the mountains that surround the city, and I wondered how long we would have to go until we reached the base of the snow-capped peaks.
After about 10 minutes, the mini-bus stopped, and the little boy who had been shouting out the window announced that we had reached ¨Calle Tres¨(3rd Street). I grabbed my bag, and jumped out. Down one small block, I saw a huge cement fence, surrounding so many blocks that I couldn´t tell how large the inside of this compound was. Sure enough, on top of the yellowed paint and images of grass and flowers was the label, ¨Hogar Virgen de Fatima¨. This is my destination.
I walked in, giving the armed guard behind the corrugated tin door a copy of my passport, and began asking around for the volunteer coordinator. I found her eventually, inside an office with only half a door. I struggled to find her behind the locked half-door, and sea of 10 3-year-old children standing before her door. She pulled me into her office, assuring me that the children aren´t always outside her door, but that her colleague stores cookies inside and the kids come begging pretty much every hour or so. Lovely.
We went on a tour; first of the facility in which she works, and then the center for children with mental disabilities. All of these facilities hold abandoned children, are (under)funded and (under)staffed by the government, and all of them desperately need assistance. I believed Jo (the coordinator) when she told me this yesterday, but it is different to see for myself.
The center for abused and neglected children was first. With different buildings around the perimeter of the compound, all painted in kid-friendly pinks, yellows, and blues, there were a few different places to see. We went through a few rooms; one with little babies, bigger babies, toddlers, and underdeveloped or malnourished toddlers. All of the rooms had its own odor that made my stomach churn, and forced me to wonder when the single woman who works for 24 hours straight in each room of 15 kids last had the chance to clean. Each room as small, and seemingly dreary to spend all day, every day. The volunteers gone by have decorated many of the walls with cut-out fish and cute caricatures, which makes each space a little more warm against the cement blocked walls. The kids sat together, either rolling around, laying down, or crawling, depending on capabilities.
In the room for underdeveloped or malnourished toddlers, a little girl named Camille smiled at me, and despite her poor footing (hobbling), she went to take my hand. She was wearing flannel pants and a white fleece sweater, and her hair was pushed into a ponytail, away from her face. Jo told me that although Camille was nearly 4-years-old, her tiny body, short stature, and miniature features make her look about 1. And, on her first day in the center, she was living in a regular house with the older kids. Only a few days later did they have to move her out, when they realized that she was too small to be with the regular kids. Jo said that on the day she moved into the special unit, she told Jo (in her shy, quiet, wispy voice) that she wanted to go home, and pulled Jo toward to main gate. Jo had to tell her that she was home, and that no one was going anywhere.
I next visited the regular home facilities for the kids, ages 4-10. They are split up into 5 casitas (little houses), complete with an upstairs and downstairs. The kids were in ¨school¨ when we were there, but I got a tour of one of their homes. The upstairs is a crowded 4 bedrooms, one for the single woman who takes care of the house, and three rooms for children, full of wall-to-wall beds (5 in total) of varied sizes. Some of the beds faced different directions, or were angled together creatively, in the interest of packing more and more into each room. The downstairs has a small kitchen, dining table and chairs (without enough space for each child), and a living room that has a space for toys and games, although it does not seem like these kids have much filling those shelves.
We next visited the center for children with mental disabilities. This was a walk around the corner, but still within the bounds of the compound. This facility also hosts a small green space as a courtyard, and a few buildings. We passed by the classroom of autistic kids, who were being watched by their teacher from the doorway. She was interacting with each of them, but one at time, and as they tried to exit, or threw a ball at her. It was a really different way of stimulating kids, but I appreciate that she absolutely has more experience than I do. That was when Jo told me that the women who work with the kids in this center do not have any special training...they just got placed here. And, some of them don´t want to be there. Unfortunately for these kids.
The upstairs was locked, and we had to get special permission to enter. Apparently, they prefer to keep this area extremely controlled, and the privacy of these children is really important to them (not just anyone who has been granted entry into the gates of the facility can walk in).
The upstairs has two sections; the older kids and the younger ones. We saw the younger kids first, and it was breakfast time. They each sat, in their own wheelchair or regular chair, and waited for one of the two mommitas (women who help), one teacher, and one volunteer (who is leaving next week). It is hard for me to explain, but trust me when I say that these kids have serious disabilities. I watched the women try to feed the kids, and struggle to get to each mouth. I listened to some of the kids cry.
The older kids were the same story, but more pronounced cases. There are fewer of them, and they were laying on mats when I visited. One girl grabbed my hand when I stood still nearby, and happily held it close to her. Jo explained to me that these kids need help moving and getting stimulation (developing their strength), and that they just need a little attention.
This center certainly hit me. In fact, it reminded a lot of Mother Theresa´s home in Lima. I told Jo that I would like to volunteer with the kids in the mentally disabled center in the mornings, and to join one of the casitas on the other side in the afternoons. This means that I will be working in two places, but I will get a little experience with everything, and I will still be able to do some creative development work within my casita.
I got my assignment; casita crema (creme), and the younger kids inside the center for the mentally disabled children.
After filling out some paperwork and feeding the sea of kids outside Jo´s office some cookies, I was on my way. I will return tomorrow, to work, but only in my casita; the other side takes longer for all the forms to clear.
As far as the creative center, I´m still not sure if I will be there at all. This goes back to a long, annoying, really frustrating point of mis-communication between my program and myself. The details are not important; and I am working on making it water under the bridge.
For now, I am happy to know that I will be volunteering, and that I will get and give a little something different than last year. In the meantime, I continue to join my English friends for meals, explore the city and find new parks to enjoy (when there is no rain), and show Fabrizio and Bailen that if they sit next to me to do their homework while I read ¨The Kite Runner¨, I will let them ditch their textbooks and I will read my book out loud. I guess this is what they mean by ¨settling in¨.
Anyway, it was an early morning, and I found myself on the main drag of La Paz by 8:45, bustling with morning traffic and yelping bus conductors (the people who shout bus destinations and gather passengers). To visit these four centers, I needed to catch one of these buses and head to the lowest and rather isolated section of the city. Obrajes; my destination. Tons of buses rolled by with this sign, and all so packed that people seemed to hanging out of the windows. I waited, waited a little more, and glanced at my watch; 8:55. I had to get going.
My hand extended into the street, and I waived my fingers (the way street transportation is hailed here). A minibus stopped for me, and I was on my way (with a seat---a middle seat, with grateful Bolivians to each side...grateful that I have finally figured out the hot water in our family shower).
The ride took us down, down, further into the valley, and away from the hustle that I have grown acustomed to as La Paz. We passed a large city park (that I will have to visit another time...looks like a must see), a few randoms shops and stands, and a university. Onward; we seemed to be driving into the bottom of the mountains that surround the city, and I wondered how long we would have to go until we reached the base of the snow-capped peaks.
After about 10 minutes, the mini-bus stopped, and the little boy who had been shouting out the window announced that we had reached ¨Calle Tres¨(3rd Street). I grabbed my bag, and jumped out. Down one small block, I saw a huge cement fence, surrounding so many blocks that I couldn´t tell how large the inside of this compound was. Sure enough, on top of the yellowed paint and images of grass and flowers was the label, ¨Hogar Virgen de Fatima¨. This is my destination.
I walked in, giving the armed guard behind the corrugated tin door a copy of my passport, and began asking around for the volunteer coordinator. I found her eventually, inside an office with only half a door. I struggled to find her behind the locked half-door, and sea of 10 3-year-old children standing before her door. She pulled me into her office, assuring me that the children aren´t always outside her door, but that her colleague stores cookies inside and the kids come begging pretty much every hour or so. Lovely.
We went on a tour; first of the facility in which she works, and then the center for children with mental disabilities. All of these facilities hold abandoned children, are (under)funded and (under)staffed by the government, and all of them desperately need assistance. I believed Jo (the coordinator) when she told me this yesterday, but it is different to see for myself.
The center for abused and neglected children was first. With different buildings around the perimeter of the compound, all painted in kid-friendly pinks, yellows, and blues, there were a few different places to see. We went through a few rooms; one with little babies, bigger babies, toddlers, and underdeveloped or malnourished toddlers. All of the rooms had its own odor that made my stomach churn, and forced me to wonder when the single woman who works for 24 hours straight in each room of 15 kids last had the chance to clean. Each room as small, and seemingly dreary to spend all day, every day. The volunteers gone by have decorated many of the walls with cut-out fish and cute caricatures, which makes each space a little more warm against the cement blocked walls. The kids sat together, either rolling around, laying down, or crawling, depending on capabilities.
In the room for underdeveloped or malnourished toddlers, a little girl named Camille smiled at me, and despite her poor footing (hobbling), she went to take my hand. She was wearing flannel pants and a white fleece sweater, and her hair was pushed into a ponytail, away from her face. Jo told me that although Camille was nearly 4-years-old, her tiny body, short stature, and miniature features make her look about 1. And, on her first day in the center, she was living in a regular house with the older kids. Only a few days later did they have to move her out, when they realized that she was too small to be with the regular kids. Jo said that on the day she moved into the special unit, she told Jo (in her shy, quiet, wispy voice) that she wanted to go home, and pulled Jo toward to main gate. Jo had to tell her that she was home, and that no one was going anywhere.
I next visited the regular home facilities for the kids, ages 4-10. They are split up into 5 casitas (little houses), complete with an upstairs and downstairs. The kids were in ¨school¨ when we were there, but I got a tour of one of their homes. The upstairs is a crowded 4 bedrooms, one for the single woman who takes care of the house, and three rooms for children, full of wall-to-wall beds (5 in total) of varied sizes. Some of the beds faced different directions, or were angled together creatively, in the interest of packing more and more into each room. The downstairs has a small kitchen, dining table and chairs (without enough space for each child), and a living room that has a space for toys and games, although it does not seem like these kids have much filling those shelves.
We next visited the center for children with mental disabilities. This was a walk around the corner, but still within the bounds of the compound. This facility also hosts a small green space as a courtyard, and a few buildings. We passed by the classroom of autistic kids, who were being watched by their teacher from the doorway. She was interacting with each of them, but one at time, and as they tried to exit, or threw a ball at her. It was a really different way of stimulating kids, but I appreciate that she absolutely has more experience than I do. That was when Jo told me that the women who work with the kids in this center do not have any special training...they just got placed here. And, some of them don´t want to be there. Unfortunately for these kids.
The upstairs was locked, and we had to get special permission to enter. Apparently, they prefer to keep this area extremely controlled, and the privacy of these children is really important to them (not just anyone who has been granted entry into the gates of the facility can walk in).
The upstairs has two sections; the older kids and the younger ones. We saw the younger kids first, and it was breakfast time. They each sat, in their own wheelchair or regular chair, and waited for one of the two mommitas (women who help), one teacher, and one volunteer (who is leaving next week). It is hard for me to explain, but trust me when I say that these kids have serious disabilities. I watched the women try to feed the kids, and struggle to get to each mouth. I listened to some of the kids cry.
The older kids were the same story, but more pronounced cases. There are fewer of them, and they were laying on mats when I visited. One girl grabbed my hand when I stood still nearby, and happily held it close to her. Jo explained to me that these kids need help moving and getting stimulation (developing their strength), and that they just need a little attention.
This center certainly hit me. In fact, it reminded a lot of Mother Theresa´s home in Lima. I told Jo that I would like to volunteer with the kids in the mentally disabled center in the mornings, and to join one of the casitas on the other side in the afternoons. This means that I will be working in two places, but I will get a little experience with everything, and I will still be able to do some creative development work within my casita.
I got my assignment; casita crema (creme), and the younger kids inside the center for the mentally disabled children.
After filling out some paperwork and feeding the sea of kids outside Jo´s office some cookies, I was on my way. I will return tomorrow, to work, but only in my casita; the other side takes longer for all the forms to clear.
As far as the creative center, I´m still not sure if I will be there at all. This goes back to a long, annoying, really frustrating point of mis-communication between my program and myself. The details are not important; and I am working on making it water under the bridge.
For now, I am happy to know that I will be volunteering, and that I will get and give a little something different than last year. In the meantime, I continue to join my English friends for meals, explore the city and find new parks to enjoy (when there is no rain), and show Fabrizio and Bailen that if they sit next to me to do their homework while I read ¨The Kite Runner¨, I will let them ditch their textbooks and I will read my book out loud. I guess this is what they mean by ¨settling in¨.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Barbie, ¨El Oscar¨, and a slow orientation
The streets are filled with crouching Andean woman in tradition dress, selling everything from freshly squeezed orange juice (unfortunately, with water that my system cannot handle...but it looks nice) to feminine products, underneath a umbrella or tarp. The micro-buses (mini-vans) whiz by, while Bolivian men and women shout their prices and destinations. The young boys with shoe polish and wooden boxes are dissapointed that my hiking boots don´t need their assistance. I pass children in a variety of school uniforms, more women in traditional dress with a cell phone in one hand, and the reigns of their mantas (Andean blankets used to carry goods or small children on the backs of women) (you may recall these from Ayacucho---last year) in the other hand, men in modern apparel...and a few in business attire, extremely thin children without shoes and dirty, calloused feet, and the occassional (very occasional) other, obvious traveler.
I walked out of my house yesterday, and began the slow descent down the mountain into the main valley of La Paz, where all the action is. I spent the day wandering the streets, realizing that traffic intersections really are just survival of the fittest (which works the same for pedestrians), and that once you come down to the city´s center, you best be taking either public transportation or a taxi back up...because that walk is brutal (especially with my gringa lung capacity at this altitude).
I was up late last night, and I hadn´t planned on it. My family does not eat dinner, rather a large lunch, and just bread and tea for dinner. They were all doing different things last night, including attending a festival to end Carnaval (I missed it), and working on homework for school today. However, as soon as I arrived home, Sebastian began boiling the hot water for tea and running out to purchase bread (in preparation for dinner). I went ustairs to roll my face in my newly purchased box of tissues (and hopefully stop the madness of this runny nose---which today is feeling much better, thank you). After a mere hour of quiet, Fabrizio and Bailen (pronounced Bay-lehn) came running to me. They were thrilled because at the festival, they picked up some more outfits for their dolls. They call them dolls, but you and I call them Barbie and Ken. With Bailen´s hand fasten inside mine, I couldn´t resist. Before I knew it, two hours had gone by, and I had dressed, undressed, and walked around the kids´room with a few of the Barbies.
The kids tend to laugh at my poor Spanish (and I join them), but other times, they excitedly listen as I pour out foul Spanish and share with them English translation. And, the Barbie party was one of those moments. We talked about all articles of clothing and the names in English. They were really excited to learn that ¨overall¨ in Spanish is ¨overall¨ in English. We tried on Barbie shoes, dresses, skirts, and the works. Finally, as I glanced at my watch to learn that it was 10 PM, I forced the kids to join my downstairs for some tea.
Only Sebastian, Patricio, and Cleidy were there, and the since the little ones weren´t interested, we turned on the little television in the kitchen, facing the table. Right there, a Bolivian man in a three piece suit sat on a stool, rattling off something too fast for me to catch, with huge drawings of Oscars behind him. I asked, excitedly, ¨is this the Oscars?¨
Cleidy and Patricio said yes, ¨El Oscar¨, unaffectedly. I tried to explain that this is an extremely popular tradition in the States, and for some reason, everyone becomes very interested in the dresses, the hairstyles, and the winners. I could tell that they were trying to be as excited as me, but then, the Bolivian man faded and there was Ellen Degeneres, dubbed over in Spanish, hosting the Oscars. I couldn´t make out what she was saying, because I was too busy trying to read her lips for the English. Before I could catch a word in any language, James Taylor was singing. I did not know that he sang the major song in the movie, ¨Cars´, or that hhe had anything to do with any animated film ever. Gleefully, I told Cleidy and Patricio about how I LOVE James Taylor, and his music is very famous in the States. Again, not really such a bubbling response. But I sat there, enthralled, because here I was in my kitchen in Bolivian, watching James Taylor. I could not have been more elated.
Suddenly, Patricio interupted my zone by asking, in English, ¨do you know Will Smith in Bad Boys?¨ I smiled at him, ¨yes, I know Will Smith from Bad Boys. And that was a good question.¨
And, with that, we turned off the TV, and went to sleep.
Today has been a pretty relaxed day. I actually ran into a few English speaking people in a park, and as soon as I heard them speak to one another, I stopped these two women to say hello. They explained to me that they are backpacking through South America; they have just come from Peru and are en route to Patagonia. We spent a while talking about traveling, and I gave them a few tips and must sees. It was fun to speak English, and to talk about my previous adventure. The best part of it was that spirit of the backpacker...these people who just take the little bit of money they have, get down to South America with a tour book in hand, and just see how far they can go and what they can see for their money. I wanted to hug these two women...they are the first I have seen like that in a while, and I liked it. They really made me miss Mollie.
Later, I met up with Abdul, the in-country coordinator, and an English woman (turned Bolivian) representing various organizations in need of volunteers. While I thought that we were going to visit these placements today...turns out, I was wrong. We were just talking, and tomorrow I will be visiting these placements. I learned a lot about the potential places where I will work, and understand that I am to choose from a few options (in the creation of my own schedule). The interesting piece to this is that the Creative Center, where I originally signed up to work, is not really operational. As this is the tail end of the rainy season, the kids don´t come to the Creative Center (which is outdoors). It is too bad, because I was so looking forward to it (and I found this out today, which is also too bad). I will still visit the center tomorrow, as they are interested in my help in the development of cirriculum for the remainder of the year. But, I remain focused...I will work with kids, I will be teaching, and I will be creative.
Tomorrow, I will get on the bus, head to another part of the city, and visit the 4 government run facitlities for abandoned children who are 1-deaf, 2-mentally disabled, 3-physically disabled, and 4-high functioning, but having endured abuse and neglect. In the afternoon, I will visit the Creative Center. Wednesday, I will be finally doing what I came to do. In the meantime, I am off to meet up with other volunteers and be social, in my native tongue. Although, most of them are English...so it´s almost my native tongue (just kidding).
I walked out of my house yesterday, and began the slow descent down the mountain into the main valley of La Paz, where all the action is. I spent the day wandering the streets, realizing that traffic intersections really are just survival of the fittest (which works the same for pedestrians), and that once you come down to the city´s center, you best be taking either public transportation or a taxi back up...because that walk is brutal (especially with my gringa lung capacity at this altitude).
I was up late last night, and I hadn´t planned on it. My family does not eat dinner, rather a large lunch, and just bread and tea for dinner. They were all doing different things last night, including attending a festival to end Carnaval (I missed it), and working on homework for school today. However, as soon as I arrived home, Sebastian began boiling the hot water for tea and running out to purchase bread (in preparation for dinner). I went ustairs to roll my face in my newly purchased box of tissues (and hopefully stop the madness of this runny nose---which today is feeling much better, thank you). After a mere hour of quiet, Fabrizio and Bailen (pronounced Bay-lehn) came running to me. They were thrilled because at the festival, they picked up some more outfits for their dolls. They call them dolls, but you and I call them Barbie and Ken. With Bailen´s hand fasten inside mine, I couldn´t resist. Before I knew it, two hours had gone by, and I had dressed, undressed, and walked around the kids´room with a few of the Barbies.
The kids tend to laugh at my poor Spanish (and I join them), but other times, they excitedly listen as I pour out foul Spanish and share with them English translation. And, the Barbie party was one of those moments. We talked about all articles of clothing and the names in English. They were really excited to learn that ¨overall¨ in Spanish is ¨overall¨ in English. We tried on Barbie shoes, dresses, skirts, and the works. Finally, as I glanced at my watch to learn that it was 10 PM, I forced the kids to join my downstairs for some tea.
Only Sebastian, Patricio, and Cleidy were there, and the since the little ones weren´t interested, we turned on the little television in the kitchen, facing the table. Right there, a Bolivian man in a three piece suit sat on a stool, rattling off something too fast for me to catch, with huge drawings of Oscars behind him. I asked, excitedly, ¨is this the Oscars?¨
Cleidy and Patricio said yes, ¨El Oscar¨, unaffectedly. I tried to explain that this is an extremely popular tradition in the States, and for some reason, everyone becomes very interested in the dresses, the hairstyles, and the winners. I could tell that they were trying to be as excited as me, but then, the Bolivian man faded and there was Ellen Degeneres, dubbed over in Spanish, hosting the Oscars. I couldn´t make out what she was saying, because I was too busy trying to read her lips for the English. Before I could catch a word in any language, James Taylor was singing. I did not know that he sang the major song in the movie, ¨Cars´, or that hhe had anything to do with any animated film ever. Gleefully, I told Cleidy and Patricio about how I LOVE James Taylor, and his music is very famous in the States. Again, not really such a bubbling response. But I sat there, enthralled, because here I was in my kitchen in Bolivian, watching James Taylor. I could not have been more elated.
Suddenly, Patricio interupted my zone by asking, in English, ¨do you know Will Smith in Bad Boys?¨ I smiled at him, ¨yes, I know Will Smith from Bad Boys. And that was a good question.¨
And, with that, we turned off the TV, and went to sleep.
Today has been a pretty relaxed day. I actually ran into a few English speaking people in a park, and as soon as I heard them speak to one another, I stopped these two women to say hello. They explained to me that they are backpacking through South America; they have just come from Peru and are en route to Patagonia. We spent a while talking about traveling, and I gave them a few tips and must sees. It was fun to speak English, and to talk about my previous adventure. The best part of it was that spirit of the backpacker...these people who just take the little bit of money they have, get down to South America with a tour book in hand, and just see how far they can go and what they can see for their money. I wanted to hug these two women...they are the first I have seen like that in a while, and I liked it. They really made me miss Mollie.
Later, I met up with Abdul, the in-country coordinator, and an English woman (turned Bolivian) representing various organizations in need of volunteers. While I thought that we were going to visit these placements today...turns out, I was wrong. We were just talking, and tomorrow I will be visiting these placements. I learned a lot about the potential places where I will work, and understand that I am to choose from a few options (in the creation of my own schedule). The interesting piece to this is that the Creative Center, where I originally signed up to work, is not really operational. As this is the tail end of the rainy season, the kids don´t come to the Creative Center (which is outdoors). It is too bad, because I was so looking forward to it (and I found this out today, which is also too bad). I will still visit the center tomorrow, as they are interested in my help in the development of cirriculum for the remainder of the year. But, I remain focused...I will work with kids, I will be teaching, and I will be creative.
Tomorrow, I will get on the bus, head to another part of the city, and visit the 4 government run facitlities for abandoned children who are 1-deaf, 2-mentally disabled, 3-physically disabled, and 4-high functioning, but having endured abuse and neglect. In the afternoon, I will visit the Creative Center. Wednesday, I will be finally doing what I came to do. In the meantime, I am off to meet up with other volunteers and be social, in my native tongue. Although, most of them are English...so it´s almost my native tongue (just kidding).
