Hogar de Mallorca, May 10, 2012

This will be the last posting from Bolivia as I am slightly less than two weeks away from departure home. I look forward to that. I am ready for home and the pleasure of being back in Colorado, to enjoy summer and other pursuits.

But the last three weeks have been educational and to a degree evolutionary. During this time I have presented myself at a home for street boys, removed from abusive, addictive or negligent families. In some cases they return home for weekends or other occasions, but otherwise Mallorca is their home. I started here with preconceptions which nearly ruined it all. Because those perceptions were not initially met, I was bored and disappointed and considered quitting. But, I have “wizened” a bit with experience and demanded of myself to finish the initial week. Things changed when I let go of the preconceptions and accepted what came.

As a result, I have stayed, grown, changed a bit and discovered a few things on the other side, some golden, some not. The boys are better off than might be initially thought. They are well fed, clothed better than many, attend school, receive medical care and are not left alone. They do work for spending money and to support the home. The older ones work mornings in a panaderia (bakery), while others sell bread on the sidewalk in front of the house, or wash windshields in the streets, and also prepare food to sell from the kitchen. All rotate and share responsibilities in the house for a variety of duties related to cooking and cleaning.

Me, I sometimes just sit. But, mostly I tutor, help with homework, get to work in the kitchen (where I have impressed with my chopping skills), assist with art projects, and now conduct English classes for some in the afternoon. When I do these things I am happy.

Very shortly I have gained confidence, friendship and comfort with most. Sometimes it has been like the first sighting of a white man by the indigenous people. I have not traded beads, but I have attracted attention more from my electronic Spanish to English dictionary, or my eyeglasses, or the hair on my arms. Particularly the younger ones ask to borrow the first two, and stroke the latter. These more than anything have been my points of access into their world.

There certainly is a difference here with the boys, independent of the causes that place them here. Each has a degree of defense against the external world that has dealt them a bad hand. Pugilistic arts are frequently exhibited, usually in jest, but sometimes escalating. But, this is not unique to them, as anytime after school hours this demonstration can be seen on the sidewalks. As a disciplinarian it has been hard to do nothing more than stare. Outside of that though, most have, and likely all would in time, opened that hard wall a little. Many now seek attention, enjoy a hug, a bit of playful combat, and other physical and conversational contact, which I gladly provide. This also makes me happy.

Unfortunately verbal communication has been difficult. Most interplay Quechua with Spanish (if spoken at all), speak faster than I can understand, speak low and with incomplete sentences. So, that has made it hard. However, generally it seems to be working. I have even played football (soccer) a few times, which requires little verbal skill. I am not sure they understand how impressed they should be with my talent and level of intensity, despite the age. I am impressed.

There are always favorites. Yet, it is not just for those favorites, but for all that I wonder. What happens after age 18 when they must leave? This country offers so little, there is so little reward for character and hard effort. The country is corrupt. This week alone there have been four strikes, by transportation, by medical doctors and staff, by universities, by government workers. The president, who has no college education, recently stated how glad he was to not attend a university and its irrelevance. This is the mentality that holds power. Of the boys I have enjoyed to any degree to know and understand, not a single one in my opinion lacks possibility, if the country offered any.

So, as I finish my last days, I am thankful from where I came, where I return. But, even there in the states, things are wrong. My experience here will stay with me for some time and will not fade away. It will not allow peace without some effort for change, something beyond a vote and a buying decision. What will it be?

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we’ve been told and some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong wait and see.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered,
And wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought a lot, and someone believed it,
And look what it’s done so far.
What’s so amazing that keeps us star gazing,
And what do we think we might see,
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

All of us under it’s spell,
We know that it’s probably magic,
Have you ever been half asleep,
And have you heard voices?
Yes, I’ve heard them calling my name.
Is it the sweet voice that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it,
It’s something that I’m supposed to be.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
(Kermit the Frog)