Fashion Statement

Arriving fashionably late is the Bolivian lady’s permanent accessory draped haphazardly across heaving shoulders as she enters rushed, appearing as though it was simply unavoidable. The charming smile and friendly kiss on the cheek is penance enough to pardon any tardiness. Be it a tea, a party or a wedding, unimportant is the nature of the event, inevitably there are some that will show up late. Punctuality is simply defined as presence. Though they dwindle in upon commencement you can be assured that the departure is a corporate event. Not five minutes will separate the moment when the first woman rises to take her leave until you have kissed the final fair maiden farewell.

Culture Collection

It was way back in March that I posted my first Culture Collection.

So now I am digging around in my pocket and feeling the well worn stones once again. Ah ha, I found it. Just by feeling it in my hands I know that this is the one I want to display. I pull it out and rub it a little with my thumb. It is a possession of mine. It reminds me of the possessions I want to talk about.

When you are graced with an invitation to a party here in Bolivia you can be sure that your attendance to such a momentous event will be acknowledged by a party favor. In Spanish they are called ‘recuerdos’ which can also be translated ‘memories’. For an adult party your gift will usually be given to you upon your arrival. Last night a group of ladies helped me organize the celebration of our first year of women’s ministry at church. Sure enough one of the gals had commissioned the creation of a tiny pin for each of the attendees that had a flower and a little ribbon printed with the name of our group, the date and the event. Such a nice detail! At a child’s party the favor is much more elaborate in the form of a goodie bag the size of the child’s head replete with candy, sweet breads, games, toys and all kinds of fun stuff. These bags are given to the children towards the end of the party so that there is an explosion of opening and immediate trading of the goods.

A special visit is also acknowledged with a gift. In the image you can see a very small sampling of some of the items that have been lovingly selected and presented to us during our visits around Latin America. Usually the gift is traditional of the country or includes the name of the country somewhere printed on the item. It is expected that the gift be displayed in your home and bears the name of ‘adorno’ or ‘decoration’.

Over the years this custom has become very endearing for me. When a carefully prepared gift is placed in my hands I receive it with gratitude knowing that I was remembered and that the giver is hoping that this token would create a warm memory of friendship in my heart.

Pray for Our Troops

Though my life is lived out on Bolivian soil my heart is still American. I love the fact that God permitted me to be born in the United States. For that reason I wanted to take the opportunity to ask you to pray for our troops. No matter your political views. Our sons, husbands, fathers, friends and brothers are laying down their life for the freedom that we enjoy. Pray that God would be with them.

Oil

So while a sweet gal from the church watches my kids and cleans the bathrooms for me this afternoon I head out to get the oil changed on the truck. Little errands like these are fun for me. Mainly because I get out of the house and see new things.

As I am driving up to the car place I see a paint store. “Perfect,” I think to myself, “Raimy needs to have some of that stuff that you rinse your brush out with when you use oil paints for an art project she wants to do.” I tell the guys at the shop everything he needs to know about the truck and head out the door. It is a beautiful day and the little walk is very nice. I passed: a couple fruit stands, a bread shop, some other oil change places, some corner markets, some car parts shops, some bicycle repair shops and a place that sells lawn sculptures. Then I come to the paint store.

The guy is helping another customer at the counter. I go up and explain to him that I need the stuff you use to wash out brushes when you are using oil based paint. This is not an art supply store, just lots of big paint buckets and big brushes around. So he gives me the normal response, “We don’t have any of that.” Knowing that was not true I explained once again. This time he said, “We don’t have that. But we do have…” And now I am going to phonetically write what he said: TEE nair.

One strategy I have developed in understanding Spanish is that sometimes the brand names and the newer technical terms keep their English spelling and are just pronounced in Spanish. So I listen to the way they say the word, picture how that would be spelled in Spanish and then read that word in my head in English. So this would be the Spanish spelling for the word he pronounced: Tiner. The letter ‘h’ is silent in Spanish. So I make the connection and understand he is referring to: thinner! He has paint thinner! Perfect for my little daughter in her first attempts at an oil painting.

So I ask how they sell it. They come in half liter or one liter. How much is the half liter? Six Bolivianos, the equivalent of about 90 cents. I’ll take it. He walks over to some large plastic jugs with screw tops down behind me. He crouches down and begins filling a personal size empty Sprite Zero bottle with thinner. He screws the lid on and hands me the bottle. I give him the money and chuckle as I walk away. I am carrying paint thinner in a half liter Sprite Zero bottle! That is just funny to me.

Culture Collection

Every so often on my walk through life I happen upon an interesting stone that begs me to pick it up, examine it for a bit, smile with amusement and put it in my pocket. I call it my “culture collection”. Thought I might pull some out to show to you.

So here in Bolivia the people are keen on every type of protest. You have your blockades, your strikes, your hunger strikes and your combo style where they do all of the above and everything shuts down for about 24 hours. I poke fun at it but it can lead to violence and putting people’s lives at risk. So I don’t condone it in the least. But I have to laugh because if I don’t find some bit of humor in it I will become a bitter old woman.

Yesterday, as I was out buying a purse, we drove across an intersection to a perfect parking spot just in the nick of time. A street full of protesters was noisily coming up. As we got out of the vehicle my friend asked, “What do we do now?” I said, “We cross the street.” And we walked right through to get to the purse shop with the smell of fresh sulfur from the fireworks filling our nostrils and the din of the crowd filling our ears. The grievance was a recent disagreement in police policies.

Earlier this week there was a march in which all the protesters had in their hands empty pots and pans. As they banged along they were hoping to find some solution for the recent rise in grocery prices due to an over-abundance of rain that had ruined much of the crops.

This morning we had a good laugh as we were coming back from our trip up and down the steps of the Cristo. My friend tells me that she was trying to go do her running around down town a couple of days ago and there was a blockade on one of the streets. She asked what the complaint was and they told her that they wanted the city to put more street lights on the street.

Sometimes they take turns protesting. The groups get together and one says to the other, “Hey, Tuesday we are going to have a strike because gas prices are going up.” And the others say, “Oh, we wanted to have a hunger strike that day because our company hasn’t paid us in about six months, but I guess we can wait until Wednesday.”

It was amazing to me when the prisoners in the prison had a hunger strike because they wanted a different warden.

Every once in a while the national news gets wind of an especially vocal group standing up for their cause. Then we get emails and phone calls asking us if everything is ok because they saw on the news that there were blockades. Usually I respond saying, “Oh, what are they complaining about this time?” In the six plus years we have lived here there hasn’t been a week that has gone by that there was not a public protest of some sort. So often is this the case that my language teachers so many years ago taught me a vocabulary group that included all the different words for the styles of protests that exist in this beloved Bolivia.

Ok, I am putting my stones back in my pocket. Maybe I will pull them out and show some different ones to you another time.