I am establishing a comfortable routine. Class for 4 hours in the morning, then dinner with my host family, then siesta, then a study session with Veronica and Joyce or shopping , then back home and another study session with Mary followed by some TV news, then supper at 8 PM and more homework. It sounds grueling and it is but everyone, including my teachers, fellow students and host family are so incredibly supportive and encouraging that I am able to keep up this schedule, even though my brain gets fried and shuts down often.
My host mother Mary is a gem. When I told Kathryn, my friend of many years, that I had never been so coddled in my whole life, she said, “It’s about time”. I agree. Mary has breakfast ready for me in the morning, fresh juice of an orange, papaya, mango or peach followed by an oat type cereal with yogurt and more fruit and anis tea (my favorite). When I return from class she has my room cleaned and clothes washed and folded on my bed and dinner ready.
My 3 new best friends, Veronica, Joyce and Tin are planning to poke around the city on our own this weekend.
Tin, one of the original “boat people” refugees from Viet Nam, told us about his journey to the priesthood. He remembers when he was 14 years old passionately asking God ,”What was I born for?” He won a scholarship to a Calif. University and got a degree in mechanical engineering graduating at 21. He was immediately hired by a new start up company in Silicon Valley, Intel to work on developing a computer program. He made a fabulous amount of money but felt unfulfilled and underneath was a very angry man. His father challenged him one day saying “Tin, until you get rid of your anger you will never be a happy man”. Eventually in his early thirties he worked through his anger found his way into the priesthood, a missionary order. His parents arrived from Viet Nam with their 11 children and one on the way and both sets of grandparents. They were placed in upstate Pennsylvania for 2 years and then were able to go to a fishing village near Monterey on the coast of California. He is my guardian angel. He walks me home from class and carries my books. Soooo sweet.
Joyce is from Hong Kong. She is 54, single and a Baptist minister, studying Spanish for ministry in Colombia. Her parents were both from large families in North China but were the soul survivors of their family due to WW II. When her parents met and married they wanted to have many children to replenish their family line. She is one of 10.
Veronica took an early retirement from her government job and followed her dream to become a massage therapist. After putting in 10 years of that she is combining her love of travel ( she’s been all over India & east Asia ) with her desire for ministry to the poor. She will be staying on after the language program for the 6 months “Short Term Volunteer Program” with Maryknoll.
A delightful “small world” story: Chenoa, one of the younger students e-mailed me some pics from our class trip to Cochabamba last weekend. I forwarded them to my contact list and one of my Pittsburgh friends recognized her name & picture. She went to high school in Pgh. with her daughter. Chenoa is now a Presbyterian Missionary and has served in East Timor and Cambodia. Don’t you just love it!!!!!! Pix of Chenoa & Ellen.
Ellen is in graduate school working on a M.Div. degree and is considering getting certified in hospital chaplaincy. I am certainly among like-minded others.
Class is still very difficult but I can see some progress even though the effort I put in has seemingly so little to show for it. I forgot how painful it is to feel so dumb. pic
I’m beginning to see how the emotional growth that hopefully comes out of this experience will be as significant as the intellectual ones. All my emotional associations related to not-understanding are erupting in my face. In and of itself not-understanding is not an especially negative experience but all my emotional associations with it are extremely negative, the feelings of powerlessness , vulnerability, incompetence, inadequacy, etc. It gives me sympathy for what I must have gone through as a child. My challenge now is to recognize my emotional reactions for what they are, (conditioned responses) and nothing more.
Last night I was extremely wrought up over my lack of progress with my homework assignments. At supper Alfredo put on a cd of Isaac Perelman. Listening to it felt like angels had come and lifted me out of my morass of frustration. When he saw my delight he put on another cd of 12 cellists playing with the German Symphony Orchestra, music from the Beatles. Then Marcus put on his favorite cd of Richard Garrett , a young violin virtuoso from Germany. The evening turned into a music fest. I told them that I won’t have to walk up the stairs to my room, I’ll just levitate.
Every Wed. we have a seminar in Spanish. We are given the vocabulary words on the previous Friday along with the outline of the talk and discuss it in class on Monday & Tuesday. Last week’s seminar was on Health & Safety in Bolivia. This week’s topic is on the Bolivian Family. I was amazed that I was able to follow about 80 % of the talk . Reading Spanish is the easiest, followed by listening. Engaging in conversation is the most difficult.
There are also short courses offered by visiting professors. Next week Jeff Klaiber, a Jesuit priest working in Peru, is offering a workshop on The Church in Latin America. Jeff does an excellent job in helping us understand the religious and political realities that influence mission and ministry in Latin America. The workshop will be in English. It will be in the afternoons at 4:30 - 6:30, every day next week
One day during class break thee secretary came up to me and asked me for my parents names. In puzzlement I gave them to her, then she said that after the last class I need to go with her to the Interpol police station to be interviewed. The look on my face prompted my buddy Veronica to offer to come with me. Then it was explained that this was a routine formality for all the students (including Veronica & tin and myself who are staying in Bolivia after the language classes end in June. At the police station in La Plaza Central, is was so apparent just how poor the government is. The facility looked like it was furnished from a “Good Will” store 50 years ago. Everything was dirty and worn out. We were fingerprinted and photographed and signed more documents for our extended visa applications. In the taxi ride through slow very busy traffic to this downtown plaza old wrinkled Indian woman would come up and knock on the cab windows begging. In the states I’ve gotten used to the site of “street people “,young men mostly, begging on the streets down town but to see very old woman doing this breaks my heart.
Veronica and I ventured forth in a cab to a hairdresser recommend by one of the professors. Cesar did a very good job and while he worked on my hair I closed my eyes and listening to the American rap music I could imagine that I was back at a hair salon in the states.
The following day I discovered that the frame on my eye glasses were broken. Mary immediately offered to take them to an optical shop for repair and when I gratefully accepted off she went to return in half an hour.
I’ve ventured forth on my own to do a little shopping on the Avenue of the Americas, 2 blocks from my house. I found a store that sold school supplies. Oh joy, now I own a magic marker, post it notes, several size note books. The avenue is a main thoroughfare lined with tiny, tiny shops and nowhere did anyone speak English.
