Sometimes, I still forget where I am

I recently took on some additional work responsibilities. Additional meaning an entire program. The woman who was in charge of the disability program left the position, and since I was looking for a new challenge (plus there is no money at the community center to hire someone until next year), I volunteered to help make things run smoothly until 2011. I quickly discovered that there were many things in disarray. Which clients were current? How had they decided to re-stock medications every month? (I found out they 'guess-timeated".) Where did all the clients live? When was the last visit to the client's house? Where were the collaborating special education institutes located? Nothing was written down, the official records on hand were sometimes years behind (not months, years). Enter Lauren.
My first after-college job was at a company that was working on its ISO 9000 certification, and let's just say that that sort of quality management has stuck with me ever since. I have begun to put together a step-by-step guide on how the program generally runs. Which is a daunting task, but I hope worthwhile for whoever is hired to run the program.
I have to lean very, very heavily on the knowledge of Nelly, the woman who has been a part-time volunteer with the disability program for many years. She is amazing. I can ask her about any family in the program and she can list off the disability of the client, where they live, what school the child is in, etc. When she first started collaborating with the community center, she was illiterate. Today she can read and write in both Spanish and Quechua. She attends night school. She is learning how to use the computer. I feel that someday she will be officially running the program, but for now, she is the behind-the-scenes guru. Everyone pretty much knows that if she were not around things would quickly break down. Which scares my little quality management heart to death.
One day this past week, I was making a list of all the institutions that collaborate with our program. I was trying to figure out where some of them were located, and since the Internet is still not as widely utilized by everyone as one would hope, I called on Nelly. Our conversation went something like this:
"Nelly, where is [insert institution name]?"
"It's near the airport. I know where it is."
"Yes, I understand that. I need to know exactly how to get there."
"Why?"
"Because I am creating a document that lists all the institutions that we collaborate with and I want to add the directions on how to get there. " (To this, I got a long stare.)
"You know, in case we all die or something, it will be easier for somebody else to run the program if they have all the information they need at their fingertips."

And with that, I lost her (or completely offended her - I got another really long stare before she decided to give me the information I sought. It may have been too dramatic an example.). In the end, it's a cultural thing. What I am doing is very 'western', I suppose. Plan? What for? I've seen a fair amount of turnover at my job in the last year, and it seems like each new person who comes in invents the wheel all over again. Such a waste of time!! But then again, the concept of time is very different as well. . . and I am reminded once again that I am far, far away from home.

Wishful thinking

A Bolivian friend of mine gave me a belated birthday gift a couple of weeks ago. He and his wife were very excited for me to open it. As I pulled off the wrapping and opened the box, I was met, face to beak, with a rooster.
"Do you know what it is?!" they asked.
"Er, yes, it is a rooster figurine."
"Yes", they answered, "but do you understand what we are gifting you?"
(Hm, I mused, clearly not!) "No."
And then they launched into an explanation about how in their culture when someone gives you a chicken (if you are a man) or a rooster (if you are a woman) they are wishing you to find a wife or husband.
"Don't you think it's handsome? For sure, you are going to be lucky this year and find love."

Whoa. Now, I know that people here are generally alarmed when they hear that I am single and/or I don't have kids (and I am not a religious Sister). It's as if you are cursed. Or they chalk it up to you being a 'crazy foreigner'. But, come on! Is faith in a rooster really going to be the answer? Scoffing was going to get me nowhere, so I just smiled and replied that it really was a gorgeous rooster and posed for many pictures. It is currently being displayed in a place of honor in my home. I suppose I should be gratified that my (Bolivian) friends care so much about my future marital happiness. Assuming, of course, that marriage is equated to bliss.
I am now left wondering if this is the beginning of what will soon be a collection . . . and for every holiday or Important Saint's day that I remain a singleton in Bolivia I will be receiving another bird or object of some kind that will Bring Me a Husband. Heaven help me!

Not paying attention. . . and BAM! hit by a biker

Today I was exiting a bus, and as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I was hit by a bicyclist. Hm. Maybe I am being dramatic, but I was definitely grazed. . . I made a full 360 degree turn, got tangled up in my own feet and ended up on my keyster on the side of the road. Never saw it coming. I just looked up to the faces in the bus window, who were rather entertained at the sight of this foreign woman half laying in the street and sidewalk with a dazed and confused look on her face. Oh, and the cyclist? I like to think he turned around to make sure I was okay - which I was, thank goodness. When I had the presence of mind to look for him, he was pedaling like the wind, crossing a busy intersection, getting as far away from me as possible. What a way to start the day. I will probably wake up tomorrow morning to find some nice purple and black splotches. Thank you, biker! I will definitely pay more attention on my bus exits in the future.

On another note, today is La Noche de San Juan (Night of Saint John). What will Bolivians do tonight? Burn their old stuff (or garbage) and eat meat. I guess that is a bit simplistic. As tradition goes, tonight is the longest night of the year south of the equator, and it will get cold because the sun will be 'lost'. In order to guide the sun back, everyone makes huge bonfires during the night. The bonfires are also a way to keep warm. Plus, the cold makes a great excuse to drink (alcoholic) punch and eat sausages, hot dogs and other types of meat all night long. People are supposed to burn wood(en furniture), but if a family doesn't have wood, they just burn their trash - you know, that tire that has been sitting in the lot? Those plastic bottles that have littered the front yard? Light 'em up, baby! And since I live in a poorer area, it is pretty much a guarantee that these will be the items making up the bonfires in my barrio.
I fear for my lung health! Here's praying they don't get too pyro-crazed and try to light anything near my house on fire. (I was in Argentina last year, so I missed out on San Juan. Rumor has it that the city is so smoke filled that the airport closes down until midday every June 24th. Yikes!)

The Wonders of PVC Pipe

My dad won the March reader challenge. . . of course, he had a leg up on everyone else since he was here in person to assess the situation.

During my parents' visit to Bolivia, my dad checked out the laundry area of my patio and came up with the following system. For about US$18 (see note below), he rigged up the following canopy to keep me out of the sun as I wash my laundry. Two PVC pipes connect into the planter on the 3rd story, and one PVC pipe acts as a brace that keeps the fabric in place. He also made a brace out of wood for the bottom, which rests on the sill of my utility tub and slides a foot or so in either direction to adjust to the sun's movement across the sky. It takes me about 3 minutes to put up and a minute to take down, so it is a relatively easy apparatus to handle . . . There are still some adjustments I have to work out, but I have been getting a lot of questions as to the result of the challenge and thought I would satisfy the curiosity of those who are still interested.




Note: ~$10 of this was for the shading fabric. I was originally going to use a sheet, but it proved to be too heavy. I decided to splurge and buy a fabric sold in Coch for shading gardens - this one offers 90% shade and allows the wind to pass through. I still need to wear a hat while I do laundry, but otherwise, I have not been sunburned. Hooray!! Thanks, Dad!

To bite or not to bite

Dogs love me. At least, I seem to draw much attention in the dog department. And I am being literal. I was on retreat a couple of weeks ago. At night, I would hear the dog guards be let out and they would run past my window howling, intent on chasing something out of the yard. We were strictly told not to leave the building while the dogs were on guard. Okay, note taken. When would the dogs be put away? At 6 a.m. Oooo, perfect, I thought.
On the last morning of the retreat, I got up at 6 a.m. and got ready for a morning run. I left the building at 6:15, thinking that I would surely be on the safe side - that the main door would be unlocked and the dogs would be in their kennel. I left the building, trying to be as quiet as possible so as to not bother other guests. I even left the outside door open a crack so that there would not be noise echoing down the hallway. This would turn out to be a saving grace. Why? Oh, that would be because I was making a hasty retreat about a minute later. I rounded the corner of the building only to be met with the growls, followed by the howls of three German Shepherds on the attack. It took about two seconds for me to register that the dogs had not yet been put away and that I should run back to the entrance of the building because the gate would also still be locked. That two second delay was unfortunate. It allowed them to catch up to me and get a couple of quick bites in. Those dogs meant business. I did have time to let loose a terrified scream or two, which woke up almost everyone at the retreat center. So much for my earlier good intentions! [The picture shows where a tooth broke the skin on my leg (red puncture mark) and generally where the jaws came down.] One of the religious sisters who lives on the property came running out and wanted to know if I had been bitten. Uh, yeeeah! And she was quick to apologize and to assure me that the dogs had all their vacuna, or rabies vaccination. Whew, praise God - I wouldn't have to go through 7 weeks of shots again. My question for her was, why on earth weren't the dogs put away?!?! I later found out that their keeper had 'slept in' that morning. Just my luck. I didn't blame the dogs - they were just doing their job. If the dogs weren't there, the retreat center would probably get robbed. (A reality of nicer properties in Bolivia.) I wasn't too happy with the nun who slept in, either, but what was done, was done. I got cleaned up and decided I was too energized to just sit around, so I went on my run, determined not to let the dogs get the best of me. After all, I have to deal with them all the time, at work (on house visits) and at home (my neighborhood is full of dogs who like to fight - my parents liked to say that there were "dog wars" every evening). I have yet one more scar -ahem- memory of my time here. I wonder what sort of advice Cesar Millan (the dog whisperer) would have for me. It's hard to be a pack leader around here!