Hola a mis amigos, amigas, familia, extranjeros, gringos, cholisas, medionovios, exnovios, campaneros, y estranos de la Cochabamba.
It has been almost a month since I have been here in Bolivia. The sights and sounds of the city that were once so strange and exciting to me, I now consider part of my home. I recognize that I am probably a bit late in beginning this story or my time here in Bolivia. Some of what you will read are the emotions of the past weeks, and may not reflect my heart at this current moment. I am late. If you know me well, you know that I am ALWAYS late. And you know what…. All of you who have waited for me at some point in your life, I was not late, I was simply in the wrong location. Just yesterday, as a friend was waiting for me in the Plaza Colon (a main Plaza in Cochabamba, at the end of a strip of park called El Prado), he thought to himself, “She’s late, she must be Cochabambina.”
So, in Cochababmbina fashion, this update/ beginning of this story is late. I would like to tell you that updates will be more frequent from here on out, but I simply cannot make that promise. I’m a flaqera without regular internet access…. I will do my best. If you are reading this, it means that you for whatever reason care. For that I thank you. For those of you that care, but don’t want to read my novel I have included a Haiku of sorts about my life here…. Enjoy.
Mi Cochabamba
Follow the Disco Jesus
Un Rato, Se Va.
For those of you who actually want to read this whole thing, Thanks mom and dad. Here it is…. Mi Vida en Bolivia.
If you ever want a laugh, try to bake cookies with a Bolivian Schoolteacher. If you ever want to talk politics, ask the General in the Comedor. If you want to cry, listen to the song of the teenage girl fighting HIV while preparing supper for her created family of teenage girls. If you are ever lost, just look to the Christo on the hill.
This is my life in Cochabamba. Everyday I sit around a table and participate in the conversation of three generations of an international family, the Torrico-Lopez family. Over the past month, they have become my family.
Quick refrence: Who lives in our house:
*La Senora, Elle – Elizabeth Lopez. A Single Mother and Bolivian Schoolteacher. She teaches English and Psychology… yeah, perfect for me/
*La Abuelisa, Leona Lopez- had her 89th birthday 2 weeks back. She runs a store out of our house, which was built by her husband in the 1940s. When I first moved in, I could hardly understand a word she said. She doesn’t really open her mouth much, and she speaks a lot of Quechua (indigenous language of the campesinos)
*Cecila Torrico-Lopez- Mi hermanita bonita. She’s 18, will be 19 in October, is teaching me the guitar, and is trying to break out of the life she has always had. She is trying to find herself. She loves rock concerts and her friends. She is trying to break the mold in her house, but it is a tough mold to break.
*Erick Torrico- Elle’s oldest and only son. 22. Engineering major. Brilliant. Also, doesn’t open his mouth much when he talks and can be hard to understand (not just for an extranjera) … Buena Gente. We have our random late night conversations while the others are asleep.
*La Empleyada, Martita- Our maid/cook/housekeeper/entertainment. Martita is 16. Her family lives in the country. She dresses in traditional Quechua dress and is also learning Spanish in the house. She sings in Quechua and has become one of my best friends in Bolivia.
(and across the jardin, the yard)
*Tio Raul- Uncle who lives in the house behind us. Probably has one of the best singing voices I have ever heard, if not the best. Plays the guitar at nighttime and I listen from my balcony. He lived in the US for a while and likes to practice his English…
*El Oso Rojo, Jake Rorabaugh- 28 year old American from Idaho who rents a room in the house behind ours. He’s been everywhere in the world, and has been in Cochabamba since March. At first, I was worried about having another extranjero in the house, but he gives me insights that the other family members wouldn’t or couldn’t. He teaches English at the school where Elle teaches, where her other brother is prinicipal, the school that both Erick and Cecilia went to all through primary and secondary school. Jake’s got some crazy stories….
*La Gringita, me… and well, I am just making myself at home.
Cochababma is a city of color. It doesn’t have the flair of a tourist city. Interacting with another foreigner is a rarity here. The streets are a mix of Spanish and Quechua. The Micros or Truffis (public transportation, not gang members) might kill you if you aren’t careful. (I’ve been close to death by Micro a time or two since I have been here). It is nicknamed the city of eternal spring, and even my arrival in the “dead of winter” greated me with beautiful sunshine and cool evenings. It is a city that loves to party. Bolivians know how to throw a fiesta. And in Bolivia, everybody has his or her day.
September 7: Dia de Paeton, Day of the Pedestrian- there is literally not one car on the streets, but everyone heads to the nearest major plaza for a concert, food, and a party.
September 14: Dia de Cochabamba- the weekend was filled with parades and dances celebrating the founding of Cochabamba.
September 21 (Now this is a Holiday!) Dia del Medico, Dia del Estudiante, Primer Dia de la Primavera Y Dia de Amor. (Day of the Medical Field, Day the Student, 1st Day of Spring and Day of Lovers) The city is filled with flowers, musicians, and couples kissing in the streets. Although the kissing is a common sight… People are in love and they show it here. It is nothing to be afraid of…. If you don’t mind cutting a wedding cake sometime soon.
I have been in Bolivia a month now. My Spanish is getting better and better by the day. I look forward to the time when I can truly complete a full conversation without having to ask, “What do you call it when…?” But when I think of how confused and lost I was my first weeks, I have taken great strides.
Some days I feel incredibly lonely. I just want that friend… that person that understands. Some Days, Well, most days, even inside of my loneliness, I am overjoyed and incredibly thankful to be here… I think. “This is my life! This is real! Thank you Lord!”
Before I came to Bolivia, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine who told me about living in China alone. She said that during that time, she really, really had to rely on the Lord, because you won’t always have people to lean on. I love my family and my job here. I love the people I know. But at the end of the night, the person who guides my way is the Christo on the hill. In Cochabamba we have the largest statue of Christ in the World. It’s right behind my house. They light it up in constantly changing colors. And every night, after all is said and done, I sit on my Balcony and talk to the Disco Jesus on the Hill. When I am lost, I look for the Christo to find my way home. It’s funny that it took something so obvious to get me to realize that is how we should live all the time, constantly looking to the Christo.
Thank you for Reading.
I will Write more…. Un Ratitio.
(Un Ratito= a common unit of time in Bolivia. The length of time for a little rat to run across the floor…. I like it. ☺ )
siempre,
yenna*
