Fin de la Linea

The micro was rattling on for forty five minutes before I looked out the window, realized the paved roads had ended, everyone had climbed off and I was in the sole company of Ramón, the driver, and we were stopping. “Fin de la linea, señorita.” he told me. End of the line. Wait, but I was supposed to be at work. Why was I surrounded by green fields and small houses and that one store that had the whole chickens hanging on a clothesline? “Donde estamos?” I asked with wide eyes and a bad accent.  Where are we? And he just looked at me, probably thinking, “Silly American girl. What are you doing in my country?”  “Lo siento, señorita. Por favor, baja,” he said. “Puedes esperar hasta el otro micro viene.” I’m sorry, please get off. You can wait until the next micro comes. But which micro? I don’t even know where I am; let alone which bus passes by or where it will take me. “Cual?” I asked. Which? He sighed, and told me that the same line would pass by, “cientoquince, señorita” 115. At least I understood the numbers. “Take it in the other direction and it will take you back.”  “Gracias maestro,” I said to him as I climbed down the three stairs and he opened his door.  Chau, Ramón. He changed his bus’s number, took a sip of Coca Cola, and pulled away, his exhaust and the dirt from his tires puffing into the distance. And there I was, in the middle of Bolivia, without a phone to call my family, and kilometers outside of the city. So I did the only thing I could think of. I sat down and waited. Yeah, these are white pants, but who cares if I’ve got some dirt on my butt.


End of the line. I am home safe after twenty one grueling hours of travel. My three months of wonderful service work have passed, and unfortunately, I won't be in Bolivia for the next eight months. It's the end of my line, as far as SALT goes for the 2011-2012 year. I will be starting at Goshen College in January, and until then, I will live in Kansas City and help my parents with the construction of our new house. It is a bit bittersweet to be home, but I know that I have wonderful friends and new families and even though I will miss them dearly, with the technology that we have today, I will be able to keep in contact. I feel truly incredibly blessed to have lived in Bolivia, even for such a short time of three months, and I know that it's not my last visit to that culturally rich country.

Visas

Expectations. It's been proven to me yet again that my expectations are worth nothing here. Last week, all of the SALTers and the YAMENer, Louisa were called to the MCC office. We were told that our year long visas had been denied, and that we had until November 19th to leave. All of our trips to the immigration office, all of our time there had been for naught. So, where do we go from there??

The process of applying for the visa was complicated. First, we had 30 days. In those 30 days, we expected to apply and be issued our year long visa. The 30 days passed; no visa. Then we received word from the government that MCC had missed a step in the application. There is a brand new process for visas in Bolivia with the new government, and MCC didn't know about this step. So we wrote the letter we needed to and waited. Meanwhile, we applied (paid 650 B's) for another 30 day extension. At the end of our second 30 days, we were told that our visas had been denied. So after that, we went to the immigration office to apply for another 30 day extension, so we could have time to get our things together, figure out our plans, etc. The problem we have now is not with the immigration office. MCC applied for our specific purpose visas, but since they are a specific type of visa that includes education, when the Minister of Education went to look for clearance for MCC in the education department of Bolivia, and there was no document, he denied our visas. MCC doesn't have permission to practice education in Bolivia. MCC was still working on the old process where it didn't matter. Now it does.

So what does that mean for me? I will be returning to the States on November 19th. I'm not extremely excited about that, but for me, it is the best option. These past two weeks have been confusing and painful. I've had to make decisions that I didn't expect to make. Please pray for all of the volunteers with MCC here because we are all facing a lot of uncertainty. Some of us are returning home and some are trying to continue their term in another country.

I'm sad to leave Bolivia. I feel like I'm ending too soon, but perhaps God has shown me what He needed to in the three months I lived here. I have grown exponentially, and am happy for every experience I've had.

From Henri Nouwen's, "Gracias!: A Latin American Journal"

 I took this from Jennifer Ruppelt's wonderful blog, http://jenninmanagua.wordpress.com/. Thanks Jenn for such a wonderful find!!


From Henri Nouwen’s Gracias!: A Latin American Journal, the entry dated October 30, 1981:

“Today Gerry McCrane, the director of the language school, gave a presentation to the newcomers. In his gentle and pastoral way he offered us an opportunity to share our struggles in adapting ourselves to a new culture.

One theme that came up was the re-emergence of long-forgotten conflicts. In displacing ourselves into a new and unfamiliar milieu, old, unresolved conflicts often start asking for our attention. When our traditional defense systems no longer are available and we are not able to control our own world, we often find ourselves experiencing again the feelings of childhood. The inability to express ourselves in words as well as the realization that everyone around us seems to understand life much better than we do, puts us in a situation quite similar to that of a child who has to struggle through a world of adults.

This return to childhood emotions and behavior could be a real opportunity for mental and spiritual growth. Most of the psychotherapies I have been exposed to were attempts to help me relive those times when immature ways of coping with stress found their origin. Once I could re-encounter the experience that led me to choose a primitive coping device, I was also able to choose a more mature response. Thus I could let go of behavior that was the source of my suffering. A good psychotherapist is a person who creates the environment in which such mature behavioral choices can be made.

Going to a different culture, in which I find myself again like a child, can become a true psychotherapeutic opportunity. Not everyone is in the position or has the support to use such an opportunity. I have seen much self-righteous, condescending, and even offensive behavior by foreigners towards the people in their host country. Remarks about the laziness, stupidity, and disorganization of Peruvians or Bolivians usually says a lot more about the one who makes such remarks than about Peruvians or Bolivians. Most of the labels by which we pigeonhole people are ways to cope with our own anxiety and insecurity. Many people who suddenly find themselves in a totally unfamiliar milieu decide quickly to label that which is strange to them instead of confronting their own fears and vulnerabilities.

But we can also use the new opportunity for our own healing. When we walk around in a strange milieu, speaking the language haltingly, and feeling out of control and like fools, we can come in touch with a part of ourselves that usually remains hidden behind the thick walls of our defenses. We can come to experience our basic vulnerability, our need for others, our deep-seated feelings of ignorance and inadequacy, and our fundamental dependency. Instead of running away from these scary feelings, we can live through them together and learn that our true value as human beings has its seat far beyond our competence and accomplishments.

One of the most rewarding aspects of living in a strange land is the experience of being loved not for what we can do, but for who we are. When we become aware that our stuttering, failing, vulnerable selves are loved even when we hardly progress, we can let go of our compulsion to prove ourselves and be free to live with others in a fellowship of the weak. That is true healing.

This psychological perspective on culture shock can open up for us a new understanding of God`s grace and our vocation to live graceful lives. In the presence of God, we are totally naked, broken, sinful, and dependent, and we realize that we can do nothing, absolutely nothing, without him. When we are willing to confess our true condition, God will embrace us with his love, a love so deep, intimate, and strong that it enables us to make all things new. I am convinced that, for Christians, culture shock can be an opportunity not only for psychological healing but also for conversion.

What moves me most in reflecting on these opportunities is that they lead us to the heart of ministry and mission. The more I think about the meaning of living and acting in the name of Christ, the more I realize that what I have to offer to others is not my intelligence, skill, power, influence, or connections, but my own human brokenness, but my own human brokenness through which the love of God can manifest itself. The celebrant in Leonard Bernstein`s Mass says: “Glass shines brighter when its broken…I never noticed that.” This, to me, is what ministry and mission are all about. Ministry is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a word of hope. This hope is not based on any power to solve the problems of those with whom we live, but on the love of God, which becomes visible when we let go of our fears of being out of control and enter into his presence in a shared confession of weakness.

This is a hard vocation. It goes against the grain of our need for self-affirmation, self-fulfillment, and self-realization. It is a call to true humility. I, therefore, think that for those who are pulled away from their familiar surroundings and brought into a strange land where they feel again like babies, the Lord offers a unique chance not only for a personal conversion but also for an authentic ministry.”

Amen, brother.

Observations

Every so often, the power of nature probes me to write. As I sit on my favorite balcony in my brand new home, I’m in awe of the power of the wind. All around me earth flies, carrying the secrets of many other people along with mine, and also carrying away my doubt, my apprehension and my sadness.  To write eloquently is a gift. I’m not sure that I have it, but sitting out here on the balcony that I can tell is about to host my memories, my cries and my creative energy for a year, I’m compelled to try. Most things are hard to capture in print. The palm trees swaying with each gust of wind, my hair in my face as I type, the changing weather. I’m wearing a white shirt with lace at the top and jean shorts, my flip flops off and one foot up on the ledge. Dust is everywhere, swirling around me, and I can feel it on the keys. There’s a bad smell from the sugar processing plant and dogs are playing in the streets. I can sense a storm on edge, but there is no rain. The air is cooling down – a dramatic change from earlier in the day. I think this may be one of the only times where I haven’t been sweaty. I hear chatter from below, Ildy is washing clothes. How? I’m not so sure. It’s dark and windy. My mother’s trabajadores are sitting on wire chairs, taking a break from their sewing. Inside, my mother and two other sisters are talking, and watching the telenovelas. We were supposed to leave at six, but in Bolivian time, that could be any amount of minutes after. It is now six forty-five. The wind howls and blows and I’m encompassed in the fresh air. One street light is sadly flickering and I can only see a couple hundred feet of housing, the roofs terracotta, and colored shadowed shades of red and orange. It gets dark quickly here. A pack of dogs play at the corner store across from the balcony. A mixture of mutts – two are tan, one is white with a black spot on its side, and one is a smaller black one. A woman is chasing after the white one with a black spot with a stick, and a couple and their baby are walking by. People watching is my favorite part. Earlier, a man in a white sedan drove up to the corner store, called out, then yelled, and then shook the bars until the middle-aged and middle-weight woman in a long floral dress came out from the back. He left his car on, music blaring. He was in a hurry. They made the exchange, and he sped off, the bass from his music trailing back for a few seconds. Now two women are checking out the half-closed store, squatting down in order to see through the half-closed gate. They’re talking to the woman who owns the store, or maybe to each other. It’s hard to know. The ranges of houses around me are beautiful. Some are grand and tall, like mine, with balconies and pretty paint jobs, and others are smaller, less ornate. There is a long light a few hundred feet from me, cast up into the sky with illuminating brightness, and I wonder why it’s there. The two girls, after a few minutes, walk the opposite direction from the store. I don’t think they got what they wanted. The light is pacing through the sky, looking constantly, like a mother frantically searching for a lost child. It never dims, never stops, and is always questing. The point of this writing, I’m not so sure about. Maybe it just feels good to express things in English again. But once more, I’m overcome with a sense of wonder and new life, just by looking off this balcony. It’s from here, I can sense change and I can recharge. It’s from here, I can escape.

La Fruta de La Vida...

As I have figured out these past three weeks, for Cochabambinos, La Fruta de La Vida are papas. Potatoes. So many potatoes. But that made me wonder... In other cultures, in my own culture, what is the fruit of life? What is essential for a culture to function, to be happy, to be fed? There are stereotypes, of course. Bolivia, papas. Central America, tortillas. Even the United States, maiz. We are sustained by starches and carbohydrates. My body has been very aware of that in the past three weeks, and has reacted accordingly. (I've gained weight) But it can be metaphoric as well. A starch is something sturdy and is something that can hold a culture together. Think about how many good memories are made at the dinner table, sharing food and drink. That was just a thought I had as I changed from sporadic meals in the States to a set time every day, sharing food with all of my family at once in Cochabamba.

In Cochabamba, the five of us Bolivian Girls attended a language school called Runawasi. We spent the three weeks exploring the city, meeting new friends and learning spanish. We went on a few excursions. We saw the biggest statue of Jesus in the world, we hiked through the beginning of the Amazon, where the highlands meet the lowlands (called the Yunga) and we took a few trips to La Cancha, the main market of the city.

This is at a big parade in a small pueblo up in the mountains of Cochabamba. There are tons of pictures, but this is one of my favorites.

This is the rainforest where we hiked. So beautiful.

Here's me feeling very small in comparison to the beauty that God has shown me.

More rainforest and mountains. It really is a breathtaking view.

This is La Cancha, the main market in Cochabamba.

The Cristo de la Concordia, the biggest statue of Jesus in the world!

These are the Yalters (SALT + YAMEN) on top of the city of Cochabamba.

And here is the city where I spent the last three weeks!

I could write so much more, and maybe I will in a different blog post, but for now, I'm just thanking God for everything I have been able to experience, for the support and the guidance that He has shown for me, and also for giving me strength when I had those "I hate Spanish" days, which I'm sure I'm going to experience more of.

Tomorrow morning, I get to go to a Mennonite church! It will be the first time we've gone to church in about a month and I'm really excited! I also get to meet my host family tomorrow. It is a much anticipated meeting, but in the words of Alyson, "the ability to unpack for good and to have all my things in one place kind of outweighs the anticipation and nervousness."

That's all I have for now. 

Isaiah 41:10 "Don't be afraid. I am with you. Don't tremble with fear. I am your God. I will make you strong, as I protect you with my arm and give you victories."

Isaias 41:10 "No tengas miedo, pues yo estoy contigo; no temas, pues yo soy tu Dios. Yo te doy fuerzas, yo te ayudo, yo te sostengo con mi mano victoriosa."

Hola Bolivia!

Well, the Bolivia girls have made it! The travel period was long and tiring, but finalmente, nosotros estamos aqui! Right now we're sitting in our library at Comite Central Menonita (MCC en America). We arrived around 8am this morning, and Lizzete picked us up and drove us to CCM. The city is beautiful! I don't really know a whole lot about it, but I'm excited to learn more! The city is formulated in rings, and CCM is pretty close to the center.

Tomorrow night we drive to Cochabomba! We're taking an overnight bus, which won't be fun at all because we have to climb up into the mountains! But it will be worth it. I'm excited to start learning more spanish. Even being here for only one day, I'm already getting back into it and learning more. My brain is accepting it, which is awesome.

Also, randomly, we experiencing super cold weather. It's around low 60's, I guess because a southern wind! So it's muy fresco. But next week it will start to get really hot again and we'll head into summer. I learned a lot about being healthy and safe today. And I forgot that the water here, although it's safe, is different. So we will have a lot of carbonated water! Also, today for breakfast we had a dish called salteñas.They are chicken and juice filled pot pies, kinda, but they're sealed in a bread and you have to drink them. They are a lot like empañadas.

Yesterday, while sitting for an hour or so in La Paz, a christian pastor from Dallas who's son lives in Santa Cruz was talking with me, and he said something that stuck with me. We were talking about our futures and he asked, "When you're driving down a dark road, with your headlights on, how far can you see?" I replied, "about twenty feet?", and he said, "Yes, but what you do you do when you can't see? You keep going and then you can."

His life is centered around following God. He and his family were missionaries in Argentina for ten years, and now his son, who is twenty, lives in Santa Cruz and plays division 2 soccer. His message to me, as I understand it, was that God is the headlights, and I'm the driver. Although I don't know where I'm going, I'm trusting Him to enlighten me when the time is necessary. It's a really good thought to have because I'm going into this year of service with very low expectations. We're supposed to. It's hard not to expect things, and want to know all about my placement and everything i'll be doing this next year, but I just have to trust God and wait it out.

"La exposicion de tus palabras nos da luz, y da entendimiento al sencillo." 
"The unfolding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple."
-Salmos 119:130 Psalms 119:\:130

Orientation

Well tonight is the last night in Akron. Some people are starting to leave around 1:45am for the airport, and we all follow tomorrow. It's kind of weird that this is the last night here, but I am also really ready to get out of limbo and in to Bolivia. It's hard to describe the experience that I've had here in Akron. It is such a healthy environment, that I think it will be a hard adjustment to being alone. Luckily I've got the Bolivia Girls for another month with language training, and Maggie and Alyson in Santa Cruz after that. I feel like I have been a part of so many deep friendships, and I can tell that they will be lasting ones.

I'm in for a day of ridiculous traveling tomorrow. We drive to Philly for our flight to Miami at 7:53am (an odd time, yes?) and my flight to Santa Cruz doesn't take off until 10:35 pm... So we have a six hour layover in Miami, and then a 7 (ish) hour flight to Santa Cruz, with an hour long stop in La Paz. Or so I'm told.

I haven't updated for a couple days, but the past three days were full of sessions. We had a sexual harassment session, a financial overview, "The Danger of a Single Story" which is about stereotypes and one-view perspectives, how to communicate during our assignment, Cross cultural adjustments, SALT Policy, and how to nurture ourselves spiritually. Some sessions were more helpful than others, but I think that all of them were important. I enjoyed most the "Danger of a Single Story" seminar and the cultural adjustment seminar. The MCC Staff kept us pretty busy during the day, but as soon as it got dark, the night was ours.

We apparently, are the liveliest SALT group that the Staff as seen for quite some time. We spend our evenings playing Ultimate Frisbee, Soccer, and having a series of parties. Tuesday was a birthday/dance party, complete with a pinata and cake. We danced with all different cultures and types of music! Wednesday was the "Noodle Party", hosted by Asia House. Then last night there was a BBQ at the Middle East/Europe house. They had S'mores, but they were made with Reeses peanut butter cups! Needless to say, we like to party.

Another fun thing we have done this week is a series of practical jokes. There is a statue from the Africa House, that has been moving around the campus all week. It started just in our house as a way to scare the roommates, but attention was gathered, and it all escalated. From the Africa house, our African Man moved to the Middle East/Europe house, where Alain, a guy from France (serving in Denver!) promptly decided that our African Man's name is Bob. Obviously. So Bob has switched locations many times. From in people's beds, outside their doors, in their showers, even into the main meeting place, Bob is everywhere. And he also has acquired some western garb.

 Here is Bob in the Women's bathroom in Meeting Place.

 Bob is part of the MCC Staff. Kathryn, Andrea and Eva are happy to be with him!

This is Alain and me with Bob. Alain is in my prayer group and is also quite the jokester. But he's fun to hang around.

Overall, this week has been such a wonderful experience. There were definitely some hard times and adjustments I had to make. I'm not used to spending SO much time with people. I had to find some 'Grace time' somewhere. Also, it was a strange adjustment to go from eating small frequent meals or snacks, to three a day, and large ones. I think I gained about two lbs just because the meals were so big, and dessert was always there.

But I know that those adjustments are minuscule compared with what is about to be thrust upon me. Luckily I have such a good support group behind me. Here are some more picture of my week:

 This is the room where I stayed! It was pretty luxurious!

 This is on our bus ride to the Mennonite Resource Center

 Part  of the MRC. This isn't where I volunteered, but close. I was ripping apart books to be recycled. Don't worry, the books were all in terrible condition, so it didn't break my heart AS much.

 This is a map that represents where MCC has service workers, and where they support. Crazy that there are so many places alllll over the world that recieve some kind of aid from MCC.

 This is my wonderful prayer group. On this day in particular, we were all feeling kind of silly and not so solemn, so we did yoga and stretches as our prayer!

 These three girls are SO much fun. Marisol is on the left, then Karen, and then Clementine. Marisol is from Colombia, Karen is from Colombia as well (I think?) and Clementine is from France!

 This is Mike. He's in my prayer group and is a Bethel grad!

 Kelly Miller and I. She has been so wonderful. She just graduated from Goshen and is headed to Mexico. She's been telling me lots of things about Goshen, and I'm really excited to get there after SALT!

 Keyla from Nicaragua! She has been so helpful with my spanish!

 This is a group of boys doing 'Bye Bye' by N'SYNC during our Global Fair talent show

Another Talent! Diego and Karina were doing some brazillian dancing for the talent show!


All in all, this week has been AMAZING. I would not have traded it for the world. There are other things that I could write here, but I'm tired and my morning is pretty early tomorrow. Here is a little message for my fellow SALT and IVEPers..

An Old Irish Blessing...

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
The sunshine warm upon your face,
The rainfall soft upon your fields,
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand,
And give you peace.