Uncertain Roads

My head is spinning.

On the morning of Sept. 11, I was getting ready to make the 2-hour bike trip to visit Don Vicente's bees. His wife was out of town, which meant he was alone at home and forced to cook for himself: He thus had asked me to bring some eggs, so we could have something to eat. Around the world we men are helpless without women. I put the eggs in a ziploc, wrapped the ziploc in a towel and tucked the bundle away in my backpack, praying that at least a few would survive the bumpy ride to Vicente's. Unfortunately, I never got there.

I called Peace Corps to check in, because they had activated the Emergency Action Plan a day earlier. Since the EAP had been called already some seven times since I arrived to Bolivia, I wasn't too concerned. But, as it turned out, this time was different: Violence had erupted in Santa Cruz, Tarija, Pando and La Paz; Bolivian President Evo Morales accused the American ambassador, Philip Goldberg, of fomenting the violence by meeting with opposition departamental governors; Goldberg was thus declared persona non grata and ordered to leave the country. My bosses told me I was not allowed to leave my site, and to remain on standby until further notice.

At 4:30 p.m. my neighbor told me I had received an urgent call from Peace Corps. I called the central office in Cochabamba, and was told I must immediately get on a bus to Sucre, because all volunteers were to be consolidated in Coch. the following day. This left me about two hours to buy a bus ticket, say a few rushed, uncertain goodbyes and pack my things.

I was pretty certain it was over then. Unfortunately my best buddy Jorge was out of town at this time, and my counterpart Valerio was out working construction, so I wasn't able to give them the news or say goodbye. But my friend Valentina accompanied me while I packed my things and waited for the bus, and she knew from my face how serious the situation was. I got on the bus as the sun fell, put on my headphones to listen to one of my favorite Bruce Cockburn songs:

There's roads and there's roads, and they're calling, can't you hear it
Roads of the earth and roads of the spirit
The best roads of all are the ones that aren't certain
One of those is where you'll find me till they drop the big curtain

Hear the wind moan in the bright diamond sky
These mountains are calling, brown-green and dry
I'm too old for the term, but I'll use it anyway
I'll be a child of the wind till the end of my days

I looked out the bus window and saw the glow of an adobe stove, burning in someone's home across the river. From the circular opening in the stove, the fire glowed in a perfect disk, and I imagined it was that family's own little sun. Then the bus turned a corner and it was dark again.

We stayed in Cochabamba for a few days, and then on the 14th we were flown in a military C-130 to Lima, Peru. Once all the volunteers had arrived safely a day or so later, we were finally told the news: Peace Corps Bolivia had been suspended, and our service was over.

We were given a few options: 1) Close our service in good standing and return to the US; 2) opt to wait a few months and re-enroll for another 27 months in another country; or 3) apply for a spot to transfer directly to another post. A team of 9 Peace Corps staff members from Washington was flown in to organize this process. With 113 confused, frustrated, and demanding Peace Corps Volunteers to deal with, it was a bit complicated. But, more than a week later, our futures seem to be clear. Here's what I decided:

After eight months in Bolivia, things were actually starting to feel pretty good. I was becoming comfortable in my site, Sopachuy, had made some great friends, and the work was starting to make sense. The experience was just starting and I am not ready for it to be over. But I am also honestly not ready to commit to another 27 months. Thus I applied and was accepted to transfer to a program in Paraguay, where I will finish the remaining 18 months of my service working in their agriculture and beekeeping program.

The program starts October 8th, and Peace Corps has kindly offered to fly us all home to the US first, to wait for medical clearance and visa details to go through. So it looks like I'll be making an unexpected visit to the Ville for a week or so, to see family and friends, have a beer at Cumberland Brews, and get mentally ready for this next test.

It's been a tough couple of weeks, man. It was not easy to say goodbye to Sopachuy, and to all of my wonderful PCV friends. But all of this was out of my control, so I will try to accept it and look forward. And, despite everything, I am truly grateful for the experience in Bolivia. I don't regret anything.

See you guys soon.

Consolidation: Relax and Refocus

Can it be September already? It seems like I just got off the plane in La Paz, clueless, scared and nursing an altitude headache. But that was seven months ago. Of course, when your work day is not ¨9:15-10:15 class, 10:25-11:55 meeting, 12-12:45 lunch...¨ but is rather composed of la mañana and la tarde (always with a siesta in between), time passes rather quickly.

It was an unusual August. Here in Bolivia there was a referendum election on Evo Morales´ presidency, and Peace Corps Washington was worried about possible civil unrest. So they consolidated all of PC Bolivia- 120 volunteers, plus staff - in the Rio Selva resort outside of Santa Cruz. The Rio Selva was easily the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in: Well-furnished cabins, pool, jacuzzi, sauna and steam room, basketball and volleyball courts, waiters who only take your plate away when you line up your fork and knife just so atop your plate. Needless to say, when I applied for Peace Corps, a swim-up bar was not exactly what I had in mind. But hey, I wasn´t paying (thanks, American taxpayers!), so I certainly wasn´t complaining, either. Of course, the staff lined up a full schedule of meetings and classes, but we also had time to relax. There were also evening events, including an open-mic night: My friend Jackie and I did a cool version of ¨Oh Susanna,¨ and later I played my tune ¨Well-wisher¨ (those who have heard this angsty justice-as-personal-responsibility manifesto can imagine that it went over well with a crowd of Peace Corps volunteers). There was even a cross-dressing dance: Conveniently I forgot to take pictures, just imagine the repercussions for my 2028 presidential run.

It was good to see everyone from my training class again, and also to meet some of the volunteers from earlier groups. Talking to other PCVs is almost always a therapeutic experience: We often chat with one another about the challenges and frustrations we are facing. The Peace Corps experience can be stressful, and just the ability to empathize with someone in a similar situation is helpful and necessary. It helps you to realize that you are not crazy, or alone. As one songwriter observed, one of the most comforting phrases we have is ¨me, too.¨ Equally encouraging was the opportunity to meet some of the more experienced volunteers, who have overcome the initial growing pains and are now comfortable, successful PCVs.

Along with being a nice break (and a huge expense for Peace Corps - the elections passed without serious incidents), consolidation was a chance to refocus and plan for the next few months in Sopachuy. I´ve been back in site now for a couple of weeks, and am starting to branch out a little more: Making worm compost with a local girls´ school, learning play racquetball (surprisingly, a very popular sport in Bolivia), planning visits to the campo with beekeepers and farmers.

After four months in site, I have gotten my bearings and am settling in. I have a feeling these next few months will be more productive, and tranquilo (assuming the political situation remains stable). Of course, there will be some surprises. But I´m looking forward to those, too.

Best wishes to all in the Ville. Rocks, BEAT ST. X. Everybody watch the presidential debates and then go vote. (For change.) Peace!