Thursday, March 08, 2007
A day in the life
I have to be honest with you. Sometimes, updating this blog is as much fun as playing in Bolivian traffic (keeping in mind that everytime I cross the street here, it is sort of like playing in traffic...as cars do not really yield to pedestrians...it is survival of the fittest, really). Alas, I sit, trying to force myself into remembering and recording the week. I am appologetic to those who have been avid readers...didn´t mean to keep you waiting.
This week has been about working, and getting used to the routine. I wake up every morning around 7...naturally, which is really uncharacteristic. It´s not the kids lately either---the blinds in my room aren´t so stellar, which means that when there is real sun, I am awake. And by awake, I mean, laying in my bed and trying to convince myself to go figure out if the bathroom is free (since I share it with 9 other people).
I descend down the hill, the full 15 minutes, and head directly to one specfic corner of Avenida 6 de Augusto, because I figured out that this is the exact spot where the morning traffic from the main drag of La Paz burns off. I hop on a minibus headed in the right direction, confidently, and welcome the sounds and scents of the minibus and it´s passengers on our 10 minute ride into Obrajes.
Mornings---IDAI (the center for children with mental disablities)
Only some mornings do I find the padlock to the gated stairway on the third floor undone. If it is closed, I stand patiently, until one of the higher functioning, older children who wander the halls yells to a mamita to come with a key. Or, if I am not feeling so patient, I just stand there yelling myself, ¨KEY¨ (in Spanish). Once I get inside, the children are all up and beginning their morning. There are mornings when they are all watching Susana, the warm mamita, dance and sing before them, with an educational video playing in the background. Or, perhaps, she has taken out some of the worn, hardly usable musical instruments, and is singing along with the kids banging. There are mornings when a few of the kids are already on mats, or have fallen back to sleep. There are even mornings when one of the mamitas will hand me one of the three kids who can walk and ask me to take the child down to the broken, worn down, dirty playground that happens to be behind the building. Those are the really fun mornings.
On Monday, I took one of the Victors (there are two---only one who can walk) down to the playground. And, later in the week, I was allowed to take him off to a neighborhood park with another child and volunteer (although he definetely did not notice the others with us). I had to make sure that he never let go of my hand, which tended to mean that I ended up tightening my grip, because he would run for the hills. He wouldn´t get anywhere, because the place is fenced, but no need to deal with that. Anyway, Victor ran, and I ran. Victor jumped, and I jumped. Victor saw on the see-saw, and I sat on the see-saw. That´s not true...I just pushed him up and down...if he would sit at that moment. It was hard to catch up with or help him, particularly because he doesn´t talk, and cannot tell me what he wants at any particular moment. But, he and I have found a point of connection...when I clap enough, he will clap. And, if I needed his attention, I just started to applaud him. This is difficult when his hand is fastened to mine, but it´s a good tool for our time upstairs. Sometimes, I have to hold both of his hands together in mine as we walk, because otherwise, he will hit himself with the free hand.
Victor, unfortunately, also likes to hit, jump on, attack, and throw things at the other children. Since they can´t really do anything about it, that leaves me to defend them. He has pushed kids out of their wheelchairs onto the floor. And, I´m working on the defense. I do have some of my own bruises at the moment, and he recently bit my hand, but I take it in stride. I have only been hit in the face once. And, it wasn´t as bad as I imagined being punched in the face would be.
In the meantime, I am getting to know all the kids. Luis, the little baby who I played with on the first day, is my good friend. He is wiggling a lot, and moving his arms in a way that looks like promising strides for being mobile. One can only hope. He stares at me from his wheelchair and moves his head ssssllllooooowwwwllllyyyy---back and forth, and around in circles. He sticks his fingers in his mouth. He is just like any other baby, but his eyes cross easily, one of his tear ducts is in the wrong place on his face, and he cannot sit up straight. But, when I tickle him, his overjoyed, bubbling, contagious laughter radiates throughout the entire room. I jump at the chance to hold him and play with him...even when I can tell that he is packin´ a dirty diaper (and by diaper, I mean cloth). He did have a moment this week when he was being fussy and would cry everytime I put him down...this meant that I had to hold him for 45 minutes. I am not looking to be a mother myself anytime soon, which is good, because after that 45 minutes, I was thinking, ´babies can be heavy, and I don´t want to hold them for long periods of time.´
Magdalena still isn´t sure if she can walk, and while she certainly does not talk, she does cry in response to the frequent fall or run-in with stationary furniture. Jackie cannot move, or speak, but she definetely knows what is going on and can laugh, say ¨hola¨, and make a clicking noise along with you while you clap (she likes applause). She also likes to practice sitting up and falling down with guiding hands...she can exert energy and with help, thrust herself forward (and you know, the falling backward is easy). Hugo doesn´t move from his chair or say anything at all, but when he likes something, he closes his eyes, and I am consistantly impressed with this form of communication. The wheelchair bound Victor says a few syllable-sounding things that are actually widely understood (even by me), really likes television, and giggles sweetly when you joke with, congratulate him on an accomplishment, or tickle him. He even is aware enough to know that when he gets fed last during lunch, he feels free to let us know that he is hungry by shouting, ¨YO!¨ (me in Spanish). Diego loves to be tickled, to play on the outdoor playground as well, playing ball, and will almost always take your hand and walk with you in circles, although he can´t say any words. Vanessa hits herself and is always climbing on things, and trying to take off her clothes, as they seem to irritate her. Dalina is easily soothed into taking a nap on the mats, but otherwise, wanders back and forth and all around (and usually ends up at the door, trying to get out). Nelly is a little older...maybe 10 years old, and her body fits into a larger wheelciar. She is totally immobile, cannot speak, and has an extra t-shirt fastened around her neck to catch unwanted food or saliva that dribbles down her chin.
I play and stimulate the kids for two and a half hours a day, with movies, dancing in front and with them, the few toys they have, the mats and pillows, and playing off of Susana, the wonderful teacher. The rest of my time there is spent feeding the kids. This has turned into something that I actually don´t mind at all---I find it relaxing (and fun...especially when the women offer me the spoons that are child-size, instead of the customary enormous metal spoons that are impossible to use). We wheel all of the kids into the kitchen area and line them up along the walls. I usually go around putting worn out, used, torn bibs on them, while the Bolivian women don´t seem to need them as much. We have snack at 10:30 AM, which is normally either bread mashed up in milk or a mashed up banana or papaya. Lunch begins at 12:30, and it is normally blended up something. Although, I have learned that depending on the child, this could be different. Hugo eats two courses...one as the blended soup, and one as the solid form. But, Luis only eats the huge bowl of blended food. I like feeding the little ones better...since they are really adorable. However, both babies, Luis and Samuel (pronounced Sam-well), seem to cough a little up on me...which I am not really so into. And, Luis closed his eyes while I was feeing him today, and I thought that meant that he just wanted to close his eyes. No. My feeding put Luis to sleep. Oh well. It was cute. His little curls ended up leaning up against the side hand-rail of his wheelchair, with blended food running down off his cheeks and onto his bib.
Yesterday, we had a scary moment. Nelly, the wheelchair bound older child, was sitting among the other kids and all of sudden, I heard a thud. She somehow slipped out of her chair, and it was terrible. I turned around from where I was playing with Diego and a ball, only to see the women run to a fallen Nelly, who was wailing and crying from the floor. She has soiled herself in the fall also. It was extremely sad to see. But, the saddest part was watching the other children respond. While I know that some of them are not really aware of the things going on around them, this was the moment that I realized how used to tears and wailing these children are.
They each have moments daily, sometimes hourly, when they may not be able to express themselves or tell us what is wrong (either because they don´t know, or because they cannot talk), and just cry. And, none of them are bothered in the least to listen to one another. The puncturing sound of a child crying is something that does not phase any of these kids, and has turned into something different for even the women who work there. It is as if a high pitched, loud wail is the only one they will respond to. I am getting used to deciphering tear noises. Although, I am not sure that I will ever get the point that forces me to prioritize a wail in response to the loosing of a shoe versus the falling out of a wheelchair. But, I guess that is easy for me to say...I am only a volunteer. Dealing with these tears is not my life. But, then again, even if it was, I have a feeling that I would deal with it differently.
Afternoons---Hogar de Fatima (the orphanage)
After consuming my packed lunch of PB&J (that is, until Willie, my homestay dad eventually will finish off the peanut butter that I brought from the States) in a nearby park in Obrajes with Chris and Fiona, I put on my backpack and sing-in to the orphanage---job #2. I walk through the courtyard of greenery, which is not really a courtyard at all...more like a playground of worn down equipment between casitas. As soon as I draw closer and closer to Casita Crema, I can hear the chatting little voices exclaim, ¨La Voluntaria, Marci!¨ over and over again. I open the door, although it is notoriously stuck and takes a moment of prying (which always builds a little suspense for the kids and their shouting). The open door is like an invitation for the kids to rush me and grab onto my legs, pulling on my arms, pants, and shirt with glee.
They are full of questions, ¨will we read today? Will we color today? Will you come back tomorrow? Did you bring a game?¨ I mostly just smile and make my way to the bookshelf filled with old, crusty stuffed animals, and don´t respond to any of their questions. The top shelf is where I place my backpack, at a height that none of them can match. And, I sit, dance, hug, tie shoes, and pick them up for the beginning, just to let the excitement of my arrival die down. They normally have split up into playing as boys and as girls, and the girls are mean to one another. The older kids may or may not be there, and Mamita Carmencita, who apparently is a support staff worker in the orphanage, will come and take some of the kids occassionally to work on homework.
Sometimes, these are the moments that get a little crazy. 5 of them MUST go to the bathroom at the same time. And, no one will wash their hands. And, when I force them and actually take each one of their little hands and wash it myself, they then immediately stick their hand in their mouth or on the floor or in their pants or in another one´s ear or wiping their runny noses (especially Juan, the boy with Down´s). I just laugh. What else?
To break the craziness, I will start to bust out my ideas for the day slowly. I have to spread them out, as they must last for the whole time.
Things get crazy, and all of sudden, I take out a book or two about counting. The kids don´t get sit down to listen, nor do they liek the idea that one of them is closer to me than another. I always put Juan on my lap, because otherwise he will likely hit another child or get upset that he cannot see the pictures or run away and be beyond consolation (although the only words that he can pronounce are agua and no---but he takes no very seriously, and even waives his index finger at me when he means it). The other kids do not like that he is on my lap, and I end up with another one on the other leg. Then, two behind my chair, looking over my shoulder. The rest are pushing, and moving around one other to catch a glimpse. I read over the shouting of, ¨I am that horse!¨ or ¨A mi, a mi!¨(to me, to me!). We count, read, repeat stories over and over again. Sometimes, I can convince them to sit for a few pages. It does not last.
Things get crazy again, and I break out into song. I realized that the kids are really into Simon Says, animal noises, ring-around-the-rosey (in English, although the cannot pronounce it), listening to me sing all of their names and things they can think of using the ¨Marci, Marci, Bo-barcy, banana fanah fo parcy, me my mo Marci, Marci¨ (which can be real hard with some Spanish words), and of course, the ever popular, If You´re Happy and You Know It (in Spanish). Actually, that one is my anchor. When things get really out of control and I want their attention for a long period of time, I bust that one out. I go through about 20 things that determine if you are happy and you know it. And guess what? By the end, they are all freakin´ happy and they know it. Really.
Things get crazy again. The twins are crying, or trying to console each other with their inquisitive, mis-pronounced, hard to understand Spanish. Juan watches the rain fall out the window, while his nose runs and he tries to take it back into his nose (and I go to get toilet paper to help him out). Neysa, the older girl, yells at the kids who are doing just about anything and helps the Mamita with whatever it is that she may need or want help with instead of playing. Guadalupe bosses little Erika around, and the two girls end up hitting me and running away perpetually, or giggling in the corner and telling the other kids that no one else can play with them (girls are mean). Noel will inevitably do whatever it is at that moment that I asked him not to. Eban just wants me to keep reading to him forever, and likes to correct my Spanish. Joseline likes it when I speak English, and immitates me (which I always do in moments of frustration with them...they all get confused and it works to neutralize the situation).
Things get crazy again, and the Mamita announces that it is time to have tea. When the kids sit to have tea, the room is silent. This is when I go back to my backpack and get activites ready, as they are seated and eager already. Ah. Quietly, I gather crayons, paper, photo copies of English learning worksheets that I brought from the States, counting games, craft projects, and a game that I just got at the grocery store which teaches the kids about fruit names in English and Spanish (it is like memory, with matching). Once they finish eating, I run smoothly into Marci activity time. The mamita dissapears, and I am there...setting up the fruit cards face down to begin the memory game with the older kids, while I pass out worksheets, crayons, and explain the worksheets (or just let them color) to the little ones.
I was surprised to learn that most of the older kids cannot read, and no one has ever taught them how to. Not only that, but they do not know what most fruits are called and have not seen a great many of them before.
Things get crazy, and I let them (as long as no one gets bloody...which only happened once under my watch). I think that in the moments that things are crazy in the casita, I get to know the kids the best. The think that I am realizing is that it is hard for me to organize a great many things for each day in terms of projects, because the kids are so different and what they really want is me. They just want attention. And, I am not here long enough to work out my own balance to perfection. Patience is something that I cannot teach them in another week and a half. But, I can give them some chances to have fun, keep getting to know them, and offer a lot of hugs.
When I leave, it is the same as when I arrived. Each of them requests that I bend down to their level to give them a goodbye kiss, as they whisper, ¨ciao¨ to me. I tell the Mamita that I will see her later walk out the door, once I can pry it open. Once I get to the outside, I take a deep breath...made it out again. And, I always turn around before I walk away. There they are...the kids are standing at the window again, waiving to me. I blow them a few kisses, and I smile.
By this time, it is 5 pm, and I will go back to the city to prepare for the next day, and maybe, get a couple minutes to myself. That is, before I go home and find Belen and Fabrizio waiting to play or color some more. They always get the leftovers from the day, and they have come to expect it. I know this is what I am here for.
This week has been about working, and getting used to the routine. I wake up every morning around 7...naturally, which is really uncharacteristic. It´s not the kids lately either---the blinds in my room aren´t so stellar, which means that when there is real sun, I am awake. And by awake, I mean, laying in my bed and trying to convince myself to go figure out if the bathroom is free (since I share it with 9 other people).
I descend down the hill, the full 15 minutes, and head directly to one specfic corner of Avenida 6 de Augusto, because I figured out that this is the exact spot where the morning traffic from the main drag of La Paz burns off. I hop on a minibus headed in the right direction, confidently, and welcome the sounds and scents of the minibus and it´s passengers on our 10 minute ride into Obrajes.
Mornings---IDAI (the center for children with mental disablities)
Only some mornings do I find the padlock to the gated stairway on the third floor undone. If it is closed, I stand patiently, until one of the higher functioning, older children who wander the halls yells to a mamita to come with a key. Or, if I am not feeling so patient, I just stand there yelling myself, ¨KEY¨ (in Spanish). Once I get inside, the children are all up and beginning their morning. There are mornings when they are all watching Susana, the warm mamita, dance and sing before them, with an educational video playing in the background. Or, perhaps, she has taken out some of the worn, hardly usable musical instruments, and is singing along with the kids banging. There are mornings when a few of the kids are already on mats, or have fallen back to sleep. There are even mornings when one of the mamitas will hand me one of the three kids who can walk and ask me to take the child down to the broken, worn down, dirty playground that happens to be behind the building. Those are the really fun mornings.
On Monday, I took one of the Victors (there are two---only one who can walk) down to the playground. And, later in the week, I was allowed to take him off to a neighborhood park with another child and volunteer (although he definetely did not notice the others with us). I had to make sure that he never let go of my hand, which tended to mean that I ended up tightening my grip, because he would run for the hills. He wouldn´t get anywhere, because the place is fenced, but no need to deal with that. Anyway, Victor ran, and I ran. Victor jumped, and I jumped. Victor saw on the see-saw, and I sat on the see-saw. That´s not true...I just pushed him up and down...if he would sit at that moment. It was hard to catch up with or help him, particularly because he doesn´t talk, and cannot tell me what he wants at any particular moment. But, he and I have found a point of connection...when I clap enough, he will clap. And, if I needed his attention, I just started to applaud him. This is difficult when his hand is fastened to mine, but it´s a good tool for our time upstairs. Sometimes, I have to hold both of his hands together in mine as we walk, because otherwise, he will hit himself with the free hand.
Victor, unfortunately, also likes to hit, jump on, attack, and throw things at the other children. Since they can´t really do anything about it, that leaves me to defend them. He has pushed kids out of their wheelchairs onto the floor. And, I´m working on the defense. I do have some of my own bruises at the moment, and he recently bit my hand, but I take it in stride. I have only been hit in the face once. And, it wasn´t as bad as I imagined being punched in the face would be.
In the meantime, I am getting to know all the kids. Luis, the little baby who I played with on the first day, is my good friend. He is wiggling a lot, and moving his arms in a way that looks like promising strides for being mobile. One can only hope. He stares at me from his wheelchair and moves his head ssssllllooooowwwwllllyyyy---back and forth, and around in circles. He sticks his fingers in his mouth. He is just like any other baby, but his eyes cross easily, one of his tear ducts is in the wrong place on his face, and he cannot sit up straight. But, when I tickle him, his overjoyed, bubbling, contagious laughter radiates throughout the entire room. I jump at the chance to hold him and play with him...even when I can tell that he is packin´ a dirty diaper (and by diaper, I mean cloth). He did have a moment this week when he was being fussy and would cry everytime I put him down...this meant that I had to hold him for 45 minutes. I am not looking to be a mother myself anytime soon, which is good, because after that 45 minutes, I was thinking, ´babies can be heavy, and I don´t want to hold them for long periods of time.´
Magdalena still isn´t sure if she can walk, and while she certainly does not talk, she does cry in response to the frequent fall or run-in with stationary furniture. Jackie cannot move, or speak, but she definetely knows what is going on and can laugh, say ¨hola¨, and make a clicking noise along with you while you clap (she likes applause). She also likes to practice sitting up and falling down with guiding hands...she can exert energy and with help, thrust herself forward (and you know, the falling backward is easy). Hugo doesn´t move from his chair or say anything at all, but when he likes something, he closes his eyes, and I am consistantly impressed with this form of communication. The wheelchair bound Victor says a few syllable-sounding things that are actually widely understood (even by me), really likes television, and giggles sweetly when you joke with, congratulate him on an accomplishment, or tickle him. He even is aware enough to know that when he gets fed last during lunch, he feels free to let us know that he is hungry by shouting, ¨YO!¨ (me in Spanish). Diego loves to be tickled, to play on the outdoor playground as well, playing ball, and will almost always take your hand and walk with you in circles, although he can´t say any words. Vanessa hits herself and is always climbing on things, and trying to take off her clothes, as they seem to irritate her. Dalina is easily soothed into taking a nap on the mats, but otherwise, wanders back and forth and all around (and usually ends up at the door, trying to get out). Nelly is a little older...maybe 10 years old, and her body fits into a larger wheelciar. She is totally immobile, cannot speak, and has an extra t-shirt fastened around her neck to catch unwanted food or saliva that dribbles down her chin.
I play and stimulate the kids for two and a half hours a day, with movies, dancing in front and with them, the few toys they have, the mats and pillows, and playing off of Susana, the wonderful teacher. The rest of my time there is spent feeding the kids. This has turned into something that I actually don´t mind at all---I find it relaxing (and fun...especially when the women offer me the spoons that are child-size, instead of the customary enormous metal spoons that are impossible to use). We wheel all of the kids into the kitchen area and line them up along the walls. I usually go around putting worn out, used, torn bibs on them, while the Bolivian women don´t seem to need them as much. We have snack at 10:30 AM, which is normally either bread mashed up in milk or a mashed up banana or papaya. Lunch begins at 12:30, and it is normally blended up something. Although, I have learned that depending on the child, this could be different. Hugo eats two courses...one as the blended soup, and one as the solid form. But, Luis only eats the huge bowl of blended food. I like feeding the little ones better...since they are really adorable. However, both babies, Luis and Samuel (pronounced Sam-well), seem to cough a little up on me...which I am not really so into. And, Luis closed his eyes while I was feeing him today, and I thought that meant that he just wanted to close his eyes. No. My feeding put Luis to sleep. Oh well. It was cute. His little curls ended up leaning up against the side hand-rail of his wheelchair, with blended food running down off his cheeks and onto his bib.
Yesterday, we had a scary moment. Nelly, the wheelchair bound older child, was sitting among the other kids and all of sudden, I heard a thud. She somehow slipped out of her chair, and it was terrible. I turned around from where I was playing with Diego and a ball, only to see the women run to a fallen Nelly, who was wailing and crying from the floor. She has soiled herself in the fall also. It was extremely sad to see. But, the saddest part was watching the other children respond. While I know that some of them are not really aware of the things going on around them, this was the moment that I realized how used to tears and wailing these children are.
They each have moments daily, sometimes hourly, when they may not be able to express themselves or tell us what is wrong (either because they don´t know, or because they cannot talk), and just cry. And, none of them are bothered in the least to listen to one another. The puncturing sound of a child crying is something that does not phase any of these kids, and has turned into something different for even the women who work there. It is as if a high pitched, loud wail is the only one they will respond to. I am getting used to deciphering tear noises. Although, I am not sure that I will ever get the point that forces me to prioritize a wail in response to the loosing of a shoe versus the falling out of a wheelchair. But, I guess that is easy for me to say...I am only a volunteer. Dealing with these tears is not my life. But, then again, even if it was, I have a feeling that I would deal with it differently.
Afternoons---Hogar de Fatima (the orphanage)
After consuming my packed lunch of PB&J (that is, until Willie, my homestay dad eventually will finish off the peanut butter that I brought from the States) in a nearby park in Obrajes with Chris and Fiona, I put on my backpack and sing-in to the orphanage---job #2. I walk through the courtyard of greenery, which is not really a courtyard at all...more like a playground of worn down equipment between casitas. As soon as I draw closer and closer to Casita Crema, I can hear the chatting little voices exclaim, ¨La Voluntaria, Marci!¨ over and over again. I open the door, although it is notoriously stuck and takes a moment of prying (which always builds a little suspense for the kids and their shouting). The open door is like an invitation for the kids to rush me and grab onto my legs, pulling on my arms, pants, and shirt with glee.
They are full of questions, ¨will we read today? Will we color today? Will you come back tomorrow? Did you bring a game?¨ I mostly just smile and make my way to the bookshelf filled with old, crusty stuffed animals, and don´t respond to any of their questions. The top shelf is where I place my backpack, at a height that none of them can match. And, I sit, dance, hug, tie shoes, and pick them up for the beginning, just to let the excitement of my arrival die down. They normally have split up into playing as boys and as girls, and the girls are mean to one another. The older kids may or may not be there, and Mamita Carmencita, who apparently is a support staff worker in the orphanage, will come and take some of the kids occassionally to work on homework.
Sometimes, these are the moments that get a little crazy. 5 of them MUST go to the bathroom at the same time. And, no one will wash their hands. And, when I force them and actually take each one of their little hands and wash it myself, they then immediately stick their hand in their mouth or on the floor or in their pants or in another one´s ear or wiping their runny noses (especially Juan, the boy with Down´s). I just laugh. What else?
To break the craziness, I will start to bust out my ideas for the day slowly. I have to spread them out, as they must last for the whole time.
Things get crazy, and all of sudden, I take out a book or two about counting. The kids don´t get sit down to listen, nor do they liek the idea that one of them is closer to me than another. I always put Juan on my lap, because otherwise he will likely hit another child or get upset that he cannot see the pictures or run away and be beyond consolation (although the only words that he can pronounce are agua and no---but he takes no very seriously, and even waives his index finger at me when he means it). The other kids do not like that he is on my lap, and I end up with another one on the other leg. Then, two behind my chair, looking over my shoulder. The rest are pushing, and moving around one other to catch a glimpse. I read over the shouting of, ¨I am that horse!¨ or ¨A mi, a mi!¨(to me, to me!). We count, read, repeat stories over and over again. Sometimes, I can convince them to sit for a few pages. It does not last.
Things get crazy again, and I break out into song. I realized that the kids are really into Simon Says, animal noises, ring-around-the-rosey (in English, although the cannot pronounce it), listening to me sing all of their names and things they can think of using the ¨Marci, Marci, Bo-barcy, banana fanah fo parcy, me my mo Marci, Marci¨ (which can be real hard with some Spanish words), and of course, the ever popular, If You´re Happy and You Know It (in Spanish). Actually, that one is my anchor. When things get really out of control and I want their attention for a long period of time, I bust that one out. I go through about 20 things that determine if you are happy and you know it. And guess what? By the end, they are all freakin´ happy and they know it. Really.
Things get crazy again. The twins are crying, or trying to console each other with their inquisitive, mis-pronounced, hard to understand Spanish. Juan watches the rain fall out the window, while his nose runs and he tries to take it back into his nose (and I go to get toilet paper to help him out). Neysa, the older girl, yells at the kids who are doing just about anything and helps the Mamita with whatever it is that she may need or want help with instead of playing. Guadalupe bosses little Erika around, and the two girls end up hitting me and running away perpetually, or giggling in the corner and telling the other kids that no one else can play with them (girls are mean). Noel will inevitably do whatever it is at that moment that I asked him not to. Eban just wants me to keep reading to him forever, and likes to correct my Spanish. Joseline likes it when I speak English, and immitates me (which I always do in moments of frustration with them...they all get confused and it works to neutralize the situation).
Things get crazy again, and the Mamita announces that it is time to have tea. When the kids sit to have tea, the room is silent. This is when I go back to my backpack and get activites ready, as they are seated and eager already. Ah. Quietly, I gather crayons, paper, photo copies of English learning worksheets that I brought from the States, counting games, craft projects, and a game that I just got at the grocery store which teaches the kids about fruit names in English and Spanish (it is like memory, with matching). Once they finish eating, I run smoothly into Marci activity time. The mamita dissapears, and I am there...setting up the fruit cards face down to begin the memory game with the older kids, while I pass out worksheets, crayons, and explain the worksheets (or just let them color) to the little ones.
I was surprised to learn that most of the older kids cannot read, and no one has ever taught them how to. Not only that, but they do not know what most fruits are called and have not seen a great many of them before.
Things get crazy, and I let them (as long as no one gets bloody...which only happened once under my watch). I think that in the moments that things are crazy in the casita, I get to know the kids the best. The think that I am realizing is that it is hard for me to organize a great many things for each day in terms of projects, because the kids are so different and what they really want is me. They just want attention. And, I am not here long enough to work out my own balance to perfection. Patience is something that I cannot teach them in another week and a half. But, I can give them some chances to have fun, keep getting to know them, and offer a lot of hugs.
When I leave, it is the same as when I arrived. Each of them requests that I bend down to their level to give them a goodbye kiss, as they whisper, ¨ciao¨ to me. I tell the Mamita that I will see her later walk out the door, once I can pry it open. Once I get to the outside, I take a deep breath...made it out again. And, I always turn around before I walk away. There they are...the kids are standing at the window again, waiving to me. I blow them a few kisses, and I smile.
By this time, it is 5 pm, and I will go back to the city to prepare for the next day, and maybe, get a couple minutes to myself. That is, before I go home and find Belen and Fabrizio waiting to play or color some more. They always get the leftovers from the day, and they have come to expect it. I know this is what I am here for.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Stepping outside for Mario and ruinas
The weekends in La Paz are quiet, and those that occur during the rainy season are rather wet. The streets are dramatically empty, storefronts closed, and you are forced to look at the hanging laundry beside homes longingly, knowing that it will never dry (even when it is yours...unfortunately). Lucky for me, I had a relatively eventful weekend.
Bailen and Fabrizio have showed me that Super Mario Brothers 2 has not gotten any easier for me, since I tried my hand at it before...right after it´s inception...in 1988. But, it´s a lot more fun to play when it is with them. I can hear them shouting out commands to one another, shouting them out to me, calling to Mario, Luigi, the Princess, or Toad (pronounced toe-add, in this case), and then suddenly, out of no where, they will scream, ¨GAME OVER¨ in English. Or, ¨BONUS!¨. It´s hysterical. They have no idea what any of that means, but they know where the secret doors are and what the special stars do. They even told me that I wasn´t that good at the game...compared to them. But, I don´t mind. I like them, and the game, so much that I have started to even get used to their shouting to each other about the game right outside my door while I am trying to sleep-in on any morning.
I gave them some extra copies of the worksheets that I made for the kids in my casita, and they got really excited. I told them that we would have art time at nights, because they seem to really love it (and that seems like the best use of the supplies that I brought from the States...now that I have been told that the kids I am now working with cannot really use much of it). I laugh with them often, and read them stories about pigs and Madagascar on the occasional night time. They even wanted to watch my old favorite, ¨Buscando al Nemo¨(Finding Nemo). These kids are a lot of fun, and I remain glad to be living with their family.
Yesterday morning, I went on my first real outing into the countryside of Bolivia. Joining Chris, Fiona, and Katherine (another volunteer), we hopped on a mini-bus, lugging us through the bustling streets of a crowded marketplace. From the window, I watched traditionally dressed women sit on the curb, outstretching their arms to display the seeds and grains they had for sale in burlap bags beside them. I noticed kids playing in and around huge plastic shoe piles on the edge of tarp-roofed stalls. And, I watched men and women stand beside their stalls, overflowing with overflowing piles of silver pots or panty hose or even fruit, wondering who is purchasing all of these goods. The Bolivians seem to be wandering aimlessly, from stall to stall. Interestingly enough, the market seems to be divided by types of goods; all alike things are grouped together---the pots and pans, electronics, food, and so on.
We passed over hills and went straight through the market to a bustling square, where we met up with another mini-bus. This one was headed out of town; we were on the way to Tiwanaku, the site of ruins from the eldest civilization of Bolivia (pre-Inca). This mini-bus was much more crowded, including loads of people who felt like were nearly spilled out of the windows and doors. I sat on an inside seat, next to Katherine, and hugging the foggy windows (it was obviously raining outside, causing condensation on the windows). Men and women in traditional dress, modern dress, carrying mantas full of goods, briefcases, and newspapers alike hopped on the mini-bus endlessly; the bus went through La Paz and up to El Alto.
Finally, in El Alto, we set off. In what felt like just a few moments, we were in the middle of the countryside, with rolling hills and Andean peaks, lined with plush greenery and grazing cattle and sheep. Stopping at a checkpoint (which are distributed among the Bolivian and Peruvian borders---and I would imagine any other country dealing with a drug trade), I was amazed to find 5 women who had been loitering shamelessly approached us, and shouted at the windows about the goods they carried. People inside the mini-bus bargained from their seats about prices for bread and chicken livers, and eventually made purchases, which got passed over and around me. We then drove and drove, with the random stop in the middle of a field or beside a straw-roofed home with clay walls for a random passenger or two to climb off the bus, fetch the goods they had strapped to the roof, and continue on.
After an hour and a half, the mini-bus pulled up to a museum in the middle of the Andes. He told us that this was Tiwanaku.
It was. Alas, we spent the next few hours wandering through the museum and the massive complex of outdoor ruins, reading ¨Lonely Planet¨ for explanations in English about what we were seeing. Many red, grey, and yellow stones, all carved with an indigenous brilliance. I tried really hard to get into it...alas, while I enjoyed the outing and I really love being within the depths of the countryside and mountains (as opposed to city and mountains), I do not think that I am much of one for ruins. I am pretty sure that my father would be disappointed to hear (or read) my admitting this. I mean, they are stones. Sure, the carvings are really interesting and it is good to see...but, they are stones. Old stones. Sorry.
I spent the remainder of the weekend exploring museums (including the highly recommended National Museum of Art), plazas, and parks that I had not yet found in the city. Time seems to be going fast, and I feel like I am really getting a grasp on what this city has to offer. I even know which corner to turn down to see the ¨Liverpool¨ mural, which has weird paintings of people who I presume are supposed to look like the Beatles (although I cannot tell who is who...and there is no Ringo), outside the ¨Liverpool Karaoke¨ bar (speaking of things that remind me of my dad). Did you know that Bolivians love karaoke? They do.
As Sunday night grows darker slowly, I start to think about the upcoming week of work. I am trying to decide what things to prepare for the kids in the casita (again, open for suggestions...15 kids, ages 3-10), and getting mentally prepared for another day of intensity with the kids across the way. I will say this...life as a volunteer in La Paz feels like a much different challenge than I have ever had before.
Bailen and Fabrizio have showed me that Super Mario Brothers 2 has not gotten any easier for me, since I tried my hand at it before...right after it´s inception...in 1988. But, it´s a lot more fun to play when it is with them. I can hear them shouting out commands to one another, shouting them out to me, calling to Mario, Luigi, the Princess, or Toad (pronounced toe-add, in this case), and then suddenly, out of no where, they will scream, ¨GAME OVER¨ in English. Or, ¨BONUS!¨. It´s hysterical. They have no idea what any of that means, but they know where the secret doors are and what the special stars do. They even told me that I wasn´t that good at the game...compared to them. But, I don´t mind. I like them, and the game, so much that I have started to even get used to their shouting to each other about the game right outside my door while I am trying to sleep-in on any morning.
I gave them some extra copies of the worksheets that I made for the kids in my casita, and they got really excited. I told them that we would have art time at nights, because they seem to really love it (and that seems like the best use of the supplies that I brought from the States...now that I have been told that the kids I am now working with cannot really use much of it). I laugh with them often, and read them stories about pigs and Madagascar on the occasional night time. They even wanted to watch my old favorite, ¨Buscando al Nemo¨(Finding Nemo). These kids are a lot of fun, and I remain glad to be living with their family.
Yesterday morning, I went on my first real outing into the countryside of Bolivia. Joining Chris, Fiona, and Katherine (another volunteer), we hopped on a mini-bus, lugging us through the bustling streets of a crowded marketplace. From the window, I watched traditionally dressed women sit on the curb, outstretching their arms to display the seeds and grains they had for sale in burlap bags beside them. I noticed kids playing in and around huge plastic shoe piles on the edge of tarp-roofed stalls. And, I watched men and women stand beside their stalls, overflowing with overflowing piles of silver pots or panty hose or even fruit, wondering who is purchasing all of these goods. The Bolivians seem to be wandering aimlessly, from stall to stall. Interestingly enough, the market seems to be divided by types of goods; all alike things are grouped together---the pots and pans, electronics, food, and so on.
We passed over hills and went straight through the market to a bustling square, where we met up with another mini-bus. This one was headed out of town; we were on the way to Tiwanaku, the site of ruins from the eldest civilization of Bolivia (pre-Inca). This mini-bus was much more crowded, including loads of people who felt like were nearly spilled out of the windows and doors. I sat on an inside seat, next to Katherine, and hugging the foggy windows (it was obviously raining outside, causing condensation on the windows). Men and women in traditional dress, modern dress, carrying mantas full of goods, briefcases, and newspapers alike hopped on the mini-bus endlessly; the bus went through La Paz and up to El Alto.
Finally, in El Alto, we set off. In what felt like just a few moments, we were in the middle of the countryside, with rolling hills and Andean peaks, lined with plush greenery and grazing cattle and sheep. Stopping at a checkpoint (which are distributed among the Bolivian and Peruvian borders---and I would imagine any other country dealing with a drug trade), I was amazed to find 5 women who had been loitering shamelessly approached us, and shouted at the windows about the goods they carried. People inside the mini-bus bargained from their seats about prices for bread and chicken livers, and eventually made purchases, which got passed over and around me. We then drove and drove, with the random stop in the middle of a field or beside a straw-roofed home with clay walls for a random passenger or two to climb off the bus, fetch the goods they had strapped to the roof, and continue on.
After an hour and a half, the mini-bus pulled up to a museum in the middle of the Andes. He told us that this was Tiwanaku.
It was. Alas, we spent the next few hours wandering through the museum and the massive complex of outdoor ruins, reading ¨Lonely Planet¨ for explanations in English about what we were seeing. Many red, grey, and yellow stones, all carved with an indigenous brilliance. I tried really hard to get into it...alas, while I enjoyed the outing and I really love being within the depths of the countryside and mountains (as opposed to city and mountains), I do not think that I am much of one for ruins. I am pretty sure that my father would be disappointed to hear (or read) my admitting this. I mean, they are stones. Sure, the carvings are really interesting and it is good to see...but, they are stones. Old stones. Sorry.
I spent the remainder of the weekend exploring museums (including the highly recommended National Museum of Art), plazas, and parks that I had not yet found in the city. Time seems to be going fast, and I feel like I am really getting a grasp on what this city has to offer. I even know which corner to turn down to see the ¨Liverpool¨ mural, which has weird paintings of people who I presume are supposed to look like the Beatles (although I cannot tell who is who...and there is no Ringo), outside the ¨Liverpool Karaoke¨ bar (speaking of things that remind me of my dad). Did you know that Bolivians love karaoke? They do.
As Sunday night grows darker slowly, I start to think about the upcoming week of work. I am trying to decide what things to prepare for the kids in the casita (again, open for suggestions...15 kids, ages 3-10), and getting mentally prepared for another day of intensity with the kids across the way. I will say this...life as a volunteer in La Paz feels like a much different challenge than I have ever had before.
