Reproductive Rights?

The photo is of Ana Maria, one of the mom’s in the nutrition group we work with. She is posed with her fifth child, the only girl. Ana Maria is always looking for money. Her kids walk around with mismatched flip-flops and snotty noses. Her husband works harvesting wood and comes home about twice a month and leaves her with about $6 USD until he comes back the next time. Sister Benedicta, one of the nuns who works at the chapel who sponsers the program, apparently would often bring up birth control in her visits to Maria when she had four children, proposing that perhaps four was enough. One of Ana Maria’s sons died last year of a flu that just wouldn’t go away. And before the sister could get her a date with a doctor to discuss some kind of birth control, Ana Maria was once again pregnant. This time sister benedicta was not going to let it happen again. She went and visited with Ana Maria in the hospital and talked with the nurses, who handed over some papers with a date to come back for an IUD.
But it still wasn’t quite so easy. The doctor had operated on a hernia that Ana Maria had aquired during her pregnancy, and according to Ana Maria, just tied her tubes while he was at it, so in her opinion, she didn’t need to get an IUD. Benedicta just assumed that she was lying because she was afraid of the IUD, so I went one day and visited her. “Oh, I’ve had one before,” she said, “it’s just that it gave me really bad cramps and I couldn’t go to my monthly check-ups because we lived out in the country. The doctor told me he tied my tubes, I don’t know why I’d need an IUD also.” The sister was not convinced. Her papers said come back in a month for the IUD, nothing else appeared in the care instructions. It is rumored that in order to do tube tying, the doctor must get the signature of the woman’s husband (which never happened). So, they took a trip to the doctor’s office to get the story. Apparently the doctor, upon hearing about Ana Maria’s life, took advantage of the fact that he was so close in the hernia surgery and just tied her all up at once. “And the papers, you ask”. Well, apparently the nurses filled them out upon talking with the Sister, unaware of what the doctor had already done.
I’m sure this story is not all that rare here, and in other places in the world. We tend to think about poverty and overpopulation being an issue of lack of access and bad information. But here, three blocks away from my sand filled street, there is a clinic that puts in IUDs for free. It seems though, there are problems in the administration, because I have heard horror stories of IUDs here, in one case a baby born with a T imprinted on his face (which I cannot confirm)! Anyway, I wonder what we should do when a mother is well informed of her options and still wants to continue having children. In the long run, I think the doctor did Ana Maria a favor. But in such a shady process of just using the power he had as a surgeon to decide the future of Ana Maria and her family, I’m not convinced it was the right thing. When it comes to a person’s will over their life, I don’t think it matters if it’s a doctor a nun or a northamerican volunteer with the best intentions, it isn’t our job to decide the fate of others.

Thanksgiving

Chris and I had quite the adventure for Thanksgiving. We went to visit a few fellow MCCers in the area of Moro Moro, a small town about 6 hours west (9 in bus) of the city. We left on Tuesday and returned on Friday. After arriving, we took a tour of the town (which took about 20 minutes☺) and on Wed, in the pouring rain, we got to see some water projects of a community called “the knife.” The project involves capping springs and then digging pipe lines to people’s houses. This particular project is administered by Krista and Brian, a couple living in the town of moro moro. On Thursday however, we woke up to a sunny day and were able to go out to “La Ahbra” (the only definition we found was a little valley) where another friend, Nate Harder lives. There we chopped wood (well, some of us….I chopped green beans☺) and began a fire in Nate’s clay stove. It took awhile since everything was wet, but the feast was definitely worth waiting for…complete with turkey, filling, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and green bean casserole (and of course, pumpkin pie and coffee).
One funny thing that happened is that we forgot the flour at Krista and Brian’s house (a short 20 km away) and since Nate had no flour, he got out the ole’ hand grinder and began grinding some wheat he had traded for some fruit he was growing. After about 3 passes through the grinder and then through the sifter, we had the half cup necessary for the gravy. It was all very yummy.
While we were eating, a friend of Nate’s shows up and asks if Nate can do him a favor. Nate does his best to get it out of him what it is he’ll be doing before he commits to it, but he can’t. So he says yes. He asks him to help him castrate his pig and asks if he knows how. Nate says he just knows how to hold down the feet, and Don Juan says that’ll do. As they walk out the door, Chris gets invited along, and Cesar (our director at MCC) and his two kids tag along and I send Brian with the camera. Well, as it has been retold to me (several times), Chris and Nate hold the feet while Don Juan works his magic. Cesar tries taking pictures, but is distracted by the angry, untied mother charging Nate and Chris, so he jumps into the pen and begins hitting her with a stick (still attempting to take pictures with the other hand, but not successfully). After the job is done, Don Juan covers the wound in ash (apparently a disinfectant), and then proceeds to shake everyones hand. Cesar’s 6 year old daughter was the most reluctant, but everyone managed to hold politeness over hygene. Even though I just witnessed the events by hearing the squeals of mother and child from afar, it will surely be a Thanksgiving for telling the grandchildren (or at least the nieces).

party frenzy

My friend Wendy, when I told her I began a blog, said, “if in six months you are still posting on it, I will then shake your hand.” Well, the month of December is just around the corner and that will complete my six months (as I started in July). But I’m not sure I quite complete the criteria of being a faithful blogger. Since my October trip with Witness For Peace throughout Bolivia, Chris and I have been kept fairly occupied, In the last three weeks we’ve had three graduations, two birthday parties, a painting exposition and a trip out to the countryside for a good old fashioned Thanksgiving. All of which provide for prime blogging material (not to mention the trip with Witness for Peace). So, I guess I’ll start with birthdays and graduations and try to combine them all together. First of all, in November there is no Thanksgiving here (unless you’re a gringo and willing to pay the $20 for a frozen turkey), but there are graduations. Since we’re on the southern hemisphere, we’re heading into summer right now, and schools work within that same system; kids go to school from mid February through mid November. The interesting thing is that graduations are the jump-start to the end of the year economic boom (much more tolerable than black Friday if you ask me), and it continues right up through Carnival (a marti-gras type festival) this year set for the 5th-8th of February.
Graduations seem to me to be a bigger deal here than I remember them being in the U.S. What keyed us into that realization was our friend Natali stopping by one afternoon to see if we’d be willing to be “padrinos” (godparents) for the photography of her brother’s graduation. Although it sounds like quite a serious job, it actually includes showing up, taking pictures and if you have enough money, develop them and put them in a nice book.
What’s even crazier is that the following week Marisol asked me if I could help her with ideas for the appetizers for the graduation of her 5 year old twins! I’m not sure how long ago it started, but it’s become the custom to celebrate both kindergarten and high school graduations (I suppose Bolivians didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to dress up and doll over little kids, since they only do it two other times in a baby’s life; during her baptism and 1st birthday). So, the most creative idea I had was chicken salad on white bread cut up into cute little squares and toothpicks. One essential seems to be a pinapple stuck with toothpicks all over it with pieces of ham, hot dog, cheese, olives or whatever else you have around (see photo). The appetizers are put on the tables where the graduation takes place. It’s a little bit of a combination of prom and a graduation in the US.
At Natali’s brother’s graduation, each family got two tables which they were responsible for decorating. (decorations included anything from the pinapples to flowers to crazy arrangements of stuffed animals and shiny plastic). The graduation was set to begin at 6. We showed up at 6:30 to find no one else there except the people setting up the stage. At about 9:30, the ceremony officially began (thank God there were appetizers☺) After the ceremony, there is a party with music and dancing. Some families choose to have a dinner at their house afterwards. Natali’s family choose to just have a lot of yummy appetizers for their guests during the ceremony. We ended up leaving (I think we actually botched up our padrino duties by taking off early and not taking advantage of the complete range of photo opportunities) at around midnight, when the party was just getting started. Since then we’ve been told that most celebrating happens until 3 or 5am.
To sum it all up, I’m impressed by the spending power of folks that on any ordinary day would be hard-pressed to come up with $2 to buy a kg of meat for their family. On one hand, it’s really beautiful to see a community coming together to support a person and to recognize this new phase of life (thus, the naming of godparents for just about everything). On the other hand, it’s difficult as a northamerican to be able to just take that for what it’s worth and not want to set up a more “financially responsible” program for how to make money stretch the whole year round.

Valle Grande

I know I’ve been promising pictures of Valle Grande (a small town in the same province as Santa Cruz about 8 hours getting there, 6 hours back (since we had to go up into the mountains to get there and cruz down them to get back), so here are a few. Chris and I were invited to participate in a missions trip with the Catholic Church. It was really interesting (especially because of two things, 1, we’re not really Catholic; we just work with a mom’s group with the Catholic Church and 2, no one is really used to Catholic Missionaries knocking on their doors which often led to one of two things, people excitedly bringing us into their homes all to realize we aren’t “evangelicals” (the word used for protestants) or else they would prematurely slam the door in our faces before we’d get a chance to tell them we are with the Catholic Church.)
Here in Bolivia, the divides between the Catholic Church and the Evangelical Church is unhealthily wide. From what I can tell, the roots of the divide have to do with competition for members, although from the Evangelical perspective it has a bit more to do with saving souls. Danitza, our former coworker, told us stories of the two dueling churches in her hometown where the evangelical church held an outside service with huge speakers right outside of the Catholic Church while they were trying to have mass. The clowns, puppet shows and free popcorn slowly drew the congregants out of the mass. So this was a unique opportunity. Anytime we’d meet someone new in Valle Grande, our friend Julia would introduce us as “from the Mennonite Church.” Chris had some particularly good chats in his house visits where his buddy would invite him to talk about what it’s like to be an “evangelical” working with Catholics, and Chris would talk about all the things we have in common; the same faith in God, the same promise of salvation through Jesus, the same call to serve God’s children etc. In a climate that continues to draw more and more lines of division here, I am impressed with how warmly we have been invitedinvited to participate in the activities of the parish here not only during this trip but continually in our work (even after we are introduced as Mennonites).

Mauricio's cell phone

(mauricio looking pensive while playing a game with a group of kids)

Mauricio is 15. He lives in our barrio and participates in the activities of the church where we work. This August, his family had a huge birthday party for him (15 is a big year here, though it is more typical to have a big party for a girl where she has multiple dresses for the evening, a DJ, rented tables and chairs etc) Anyway, one of Mauricio’s sisters lives in Spain and she decided to buy him a cell phone. But not just any cell phone. This one is equipped with Bluetooth, a camera that takes both still images and video, downloadable songs, a radio, a flashlight, and, not to forget, a phone. Once I jokingly asked him, “Is there anything this phone doesn’t have?” and he answered, very quickly and seriously, as if he had already considered that question himself, “yes. a TV.”
On a recent trip to Valle Grande (see next blog for details), this phone provided us with hours of entertainment. Before we left, Mauricio was trying to get a group photo. He handed it to one of the older women who was already poised for picture taking. Just as she was about to snap the picture, she was startled by a strange noise coming from the camera; it turned out to be someone trying to call Mauricio. On the eight hour bus trip, we listened to music, took funny pictures of people while they were sleeping (with special backgrounds built-into the camera like pink hair and dread-locks), we even had a bit of a disco with the flashlight and its special effects.
Such technology in a barrio with dirt roads and no septic system seems, to me at least, quite strange. But Mauricio is not alone in such acquisitions. There are few people who don’t have some kind of family connection to someone who is in Spain. Most of the parties that include multiple dresses and DJs are funded by benevolent relatives in Spain. Up until March of this year, Bolivians could enter Spain without a visa. For the last ten years (and particularly so in the last five years), the flow of Bolivians leaving the country has grown immensely. It is estimated, in fact, that currently there are more Bolivians living outside of the country than there are inside of the country.
This has become a great point of debate in the political and economic realms of the country. But bringing it down to the level of the barrio, I wonder what the real price is of Mauricio having such a contraption in his pocket. There is the obvious cost of not being able to live with his sister, but there are also others. His mother, for example, didn’t want him to have the phone because she’s afraid for his safety (robberies are not uncommon in plan 3 mil). Even more difficult to track are the social implications; how his classmates react to him having such a gadget when their parents are working so hard just to put bread and coffee on the table; or his teachers who probably earn in two months of work what the cell phone cost.
Of course, things are never easily discerned. For Mauricio, I’m sure that having access to “euros” will create opportunities for him in his future that will improve the quality of his life. I guess my hope and prayer is that somehow he and his generation so affected by immigration will figure out how such access can also improve the community who has been left behind.

pictures of reposteria

apparently the pictures didn't work out in that last one, so here they are!

reposteria

(baking class)

I finished a month-long baking class last week. Our “final” was to come with two recipes we chose from little slips of paper in a bag. I was in charge of a strawberry cake and bon-bons. The course was sponsored by the local power company. They pay a teacher and then the students are in charge of paying for ingredients. Each day we paid whatever the ingredients cost divided by the number of people who showed up. About 20 women showed up each time, and each day brought exciting recipes and stories as we mixed, kneaded and stirred together. One day while making “empanadas” (kind of a bread filled with a yummy mix of chicken and vegetables) one of the women began rolling little balls of dough at rapid speed, meanwhile explaining that at one point in her life, she baked bread for a living while she went through school. She’d get up at 1am, she said, to have the bread delivered to the store at 5 and then go directly to school. “Those were the days when bread was 16 for 1 boliviano” she said (1b=12 cents). Another entertaining part of the course is that in Spanish, the word eggs is also used as a slang word for a certain male anatomy, so one woman was always coming up with great jokes (since we used eggs in just about ever recipe we made) “oh yes,” she’d say, “Miss Betty told me she’s great at smashing eggs.”
At first, I was just known as the friend of the woman who’d originally invited me, but then once they realized that Chris and I are working for the local catholic church, they began calling me “hermanita” (little sister), which is funny for several reasons. One, I am at least a head taller than each one of them. Two, I’m not a nun (hermana is only used for nuns in the catholic church). Three, because this is my first experience with working with the catholic church, my reaction is what you would do if you went to an evangelical church, respond by calling the other person hermana, which is a bit confusing for them I think. Anyway, we’re getting through it. Apparently there’s some talk of another course for saltenas, a famous bolivian meat pie of sorts (somewhat like the earlier explained empanadas, but more magical). We’ll have to see how that goes. In the meantime, I’m enjoying hearing “hermanita!” each time I round a corner in the neighborhood.