Fist weeks at work

Traducción aquí.

It has been already some weeks at my new work, after a quite difficult arrival, due to the "extra" politial inestability after the elections, here in Haïti.

While in Tanzania, I got this mail and subsequents calls in the phon from somebody in Barcelona. She said:-"Menditxu, we want you in here"- moments after I was "moonwalking" like a very tanned, and happy, Michael Jackson, in the living room of Mamade Kishwahili.

There I am , almost two months from that time. Doing what I shall explain:

Job Description: Public Hygiene Promotion Officer, that means, basically help people realize how to avoid getting sick for lack of...you got it hygiene. It´s kind of like been a mother..."clean you hands young man!"- the promoter said... And there the kid went, to the hand washing post...avoiding cholera once again.

I manage, or should I say I am starting to manage a team of 15 people, more than I would ever think I would. It kind of sounded scary already  then I got a position as Basketball coach back in College, but this is "My ultimate Challenge".

I have to say that the job is very interesting and you get chance to meet very interesting people from all ranges of life...from very poor people that have had the roughest year of their lives, to very motivated and smart young people that wants to put a little sand gain in towards improving this place, to retired wise elders that are still keeping track to Peter Pan and decided to spend x-mas away.

I have to admit that I am far away from having "thumbs-up", a lot of people surrounding us are still in tents, some of them still in mysery and most still fail the hygiene subject, witch in times of cholera is a risky business. Though that is why we are still here...to change little by little that reality; in my case the reality of people eating each others shit ( pardon my French), the reality of people getting sick for diseases that is Europe we don´t have in more than a century.

Starting overs, always the same, always different

La traducción aquí.
It is not been a long time since that, almost last, starting over yet it is here again.

One day, you fill out a paper and make a couple of clicks. One does not completely know the changes that those little things can make into somebody’s life, as well as those you love. It is the same way that you cannot look to the sky and be 100% sure that these little clouds will not bring showers thereafter.

Here I am now, again at the verge of the change, at the ending of an old chapter, at the doormat of a new adventure. In only three days all will be as usual, that is, new, different and challenging. The food, the slums, the skin of my fellows, the sunshine, all will be renewed yet another time, only this time I will be also changed. I just will not be going anywhere else, as I am already arrived to where I wanted to be years ago, when I left those rainy patches of lands, north of Bilbao. I have finally arrived to my final, yet, always changing destination. I am out of the slow train of tidal driven destiny. Now I just have to walk into the unknown of my certain future.

This week I signed my first contract as Humanitarian Worker, the career that I, endlessly, have pursued over the last three years. A moment was for me one of, both, joy and fear.

In one hand joy for I am now part of a movement that aims, within known limits and constrains, for a better place for us all, or at least a not worst one. A career that would place my little sand crumb in the desert balance towards the part I think would be correct.

In the other hand comes the big fear that I feel now, the one of not been good enough, the fright of no coping with the big responsibility upon my shoulders since that sign was embossed in papers. The responsibility, for me is that of knowing that a job not done well could make a difference between somebody fighting for a dinner tomorrow, or been in a box at his/her own funeral instead.

So all is the same, all is different, all is challenging and overall, I am sure that within the next weeks the positive will prevail.

The lines of the kite start unwinding towards Haïti soon. She knows that wind will always be wind, no matter how hard it blows, she will withstand.

Darwin's Dream...or at least ligth sleep

Huber Sauper filmed once, in Darwin's Nigthmare (en español) the poverty and injustice of those living from fishing Nile perch, the predator fish of Lake Victoria.Over there, hard work, indecent pay checks, profiteering, AIDS, abandoned kids, prostitution and gun trafficking  cohabite in the same neighbourhood.

Our case, in Darwin's Dream, takes place in Lake Orckococha, Potosí, Bolivia and it is very different. It talks about the hope of some newborn fishermen, in a newly stabilised trout fishing ground. Last Monday was the first fishing day in that lake, and what a catch! Over 360 fishes! With help of professionals, of course but impressionant nevertheless.

I thought about becoming a fisherman myself...but I think that others more used to take llamas to graze in the highlands of Bolivia though about it as a very demanding activity. One has to wake up early, collect ice, in an already iced climate condition, undo the knots in the nets, remove the guts of the fish...may be too much bother.I got really upset about the lack of motivation there. It seems that you one cared about the catch resting in the sun. I felt that Ratita and I were the more dedicated persons to them. The ones that cared about the project the most, even if you are the less benefited by it.

Last Friday, four days after that day, one of the Mr. Pandereta's tfirend, told us that they did not fish on Friday night, and therefore there was not catch on Saturday to be sold in the Market of Potosí. What a surprise for me! I should have bet a finger and a toe vs. 200 quits! I knew it!

You may want to add this to your list of potentially failed development projects! It is on mine since I came here. When the developers want developments and the ones to be developed what to develop without working, nothing more than a waste of money and time can happened. Another lesson learned, at least by me.

Translating " The Kite"

As you can get the english into spanish, you can get the spanish into english...
Click here to follow us in english.
Advertence: Be imaginative with whatever Google does not get irgth!

Traduciendo "la cometa"

Hace algun tiempo vi que se pueden traducir las entradas del blog de forma más o menos inteligible.
Clickad aquí para is a la traducción en castellano de las entradas en ingles.
Os advierto que alguna vez tendreis que hacer volar la imaginación.

Orchid friendship vs. Cactus friendship

When you compare things, it is often useful to catalogue them in groups, because it is better to draw conclusions. For example, people can be grouped in unpunctual or late comers, in short or tall...n hard workers or lazy-bastards...with many shades in between!

With friendship you can do the same, but I have to say that one division I like the most is the one noted in the title: Orchid friendship and Cactus friendship. But what is it each one of them I shall explain:

Orchids look really nice, smooth, colourful, the prototype of a flower, but they are very difficult to grow, they need lots of humidity, certain amount of sunshine, special trees to grow on. What for? One could ask Just to have a dozen of flowers a year. Too much bother.

Cacti tend not to be as gracious as orchids are. They are usually, but not always, a single falic structure full or spikes, not inviting you to be nearby. But God they are rugged! They need virtually nothing to survive, no water, even salty soil is good, no matter how much sun or UV light. They thrive, millimetre by millimetre and year after year, on the hardest of the situations. What for? One could ask. Typically to have a single, marvellous flower, more often than not the only coloured dot within miles, just a little occasional happy note in a desert of emptiness. 

Cactus friendships are the best for me! You don’t need to pay attention to them every day, week or month. Once a year, sometimes less, is good. You don’t have to “give then water” every other day; just a little phone call from the distant is more than rewarding for them. But when you see Cactus friends together, they blossom like no others do. Plenty of colours that had been kept away from the burning sun of distance. Plenty of love halted for maybe a year. Plenty things to be talked about since the last time they were together. Plenty and plenty or cold beers or tempered bitter to be drunk in the Pub.

I have a lot of cactus friends in my life and I am thankful for that, for I am a cactus person and therefore cactus friends suits me better that delicate orchids! From time to time I see one of those old cacti that have been by my side for years. We are always happy to see each other like no time would have pass, apart from a little fat over where or less hair on top of there.

All my Orchid friends, I guess they dried out long time ago, as I cannot think in many of them

As Bruce Lee would (almost) say in a commercial:

"Be Cactus my friend!"

Similing at "The Ghost of Past", embracing at the future's one

I once lived for awhile in the island where wind and rain are daily born, as if they were a bread or butter. Over there, I had a girlfriend. Nowadays, I nicknamed her "The Ghost of Past".

She was tender to me, really caring and made me feel very well. With her I was never alone or sad. It was her that made me stay in the country of perpetual clouds for almost two years. She was always ready for a pint, constantly prepared for a trip to Temple Bar by bike. She never let me down in the lab, when our cells would die. She lived with me, part of "The Aranleigh Crew". She worked with me at "The Dawson's Freaks", she even joined for a climb or a squash match at UCD. I loved her; I was on her hook of caresses and enjoyment. Once she almost made me lose sight and stay with her “forever and ever”.

But nice as she was, I had to let her go! She was not meant to be mine, and I was not expected to settle with her. I needed another girlfriend, one that now I call "The Ghost of the Future".

She is cuter and a bit naugthly, we all like that. Don't we? I am already dating her for awhile and things seem pretty good indeed. I have to admit it, she is not so tender with me and I have to face it. She will never be! Sometimes she doesn't count on me to make plans; it is never sure what movie we will watch, what food we will order, what place we will visit for holidays. In the other hand, life at her side is spiced up as it was never before, she always have plans for me, even when I do not know. She prepares me surprise parties when less expected. I know she also takes good care of me, in a truly different than my past Lady, but she is lovely as well.

From time to time, it happens for a minute that I would like to embrace my previous companion, but she is too far, too distant, too blurry. In fact, she doesn't exist anymore as I loved her, she already moved on to be another’s “Ghost of the Future”. Then I call Peiton, We chat for awhile and we reinforce ourselves in the good decisions we have done. My lady was her lady, and as me, He moved already onto the new lover that will guide him through the future.

A tribute to Lessons Learned and Good Food

When you do not know about something, it is best to listen very carefully to what experts in the area have to tell you. Once, I used to live in Hibernia, currently named Ireland, and it was there where I learned lots of lessons. They should have been about very fancy small scaled stuff, but at the end, it turned out that learned the most about food.

The thing I remember the most is about Italian food. It is a well known fact that Italians are a kind of Taliban for the pasta. I use to buy the cheapest pasta from LIDL, preferably the coloured one, as I found it funny in the plate. It was only when I met "F the Tall" (as SenilDion would appropriately named him once), in the great city of Dublin, that I learned about different kind of pasta.

I have to say that, at first it shocked me that he would pay two Euro for the stuff, but in honour to the truth, they were well expended, and well combined with sardines or whatever else.

But man is the only animal that trips over the same rock twice and I found myself in Potosi, buying pasta from a Chola in the market for about 0.01 Euro/Kg. Then, I got to know why the tag was that, as the pasta became a nasty chunk of dough.

I did as a good scientist would do (not that I have ever been one); Review past experiments and consult with the great minds of that particular subject...The information was there, in the back of my memory, "F the Tall" showed me the light. Although I knew that the price to pay was high, like most good things in life. I was ready to pay it, no matter what. Imported pasta ain't cheap in La Paz, but the deal is fair. Do you want delicatessen food in a HIPC, you have to pay it...

Exchange rate: 1 Peso Boliviano= 0.1 Euro.

Therefore I spent 2.6 Euro! New World Record?

Ratita and Menditxu expending their dimes in DeCecco
pasta in a supermarket of La Paz, capital of Bolivia.

Everyday a new surprise in "Hostal Carlos V"

Carlos V was a king, beter said, an emperor of Spain, and many other places that I can't recall. The thing is that apparently he gave the title of "Imperial Village" to Potosi. If it was me, I'd not use his name in this city, as the spaniards did little good for it, apart from stealing and killing millions. Anyway, it is not my city.

The thing is that, somebody here made a hostel after him and we happend to temporarily (or not that temporarily) life here. If Bolivia is the country of the unexpected, Carlos V is the hostel of the unexpected.

One day, you meet somebody that is travelling around the globe for 30 years. Another morning "Freddy Mercury" has toasts with egg at your table side.The next day, a mimo disguised of Santa Claus in roller-blades wakes you up at 8:30 am with a bell in the corridor. After that, next Tuesday, you have breakfast with life Jazz music. Another time you try to sleep at 23:15 when the construction workers are hammering down a wall next to yours. Suddently, the moning after there is almost nothing for breakfast, so you eat a Saltena in place in front. Last thing... well a documentary about a famous folk band from Bolivia was filmed here. Man, this is Boliviawood! And we are wether we like it or not in the heart of it!

When we get sick of it all, Ratita and I, we go tto the roof and enjoy one of the nicest views in town.

Well, what can I say, the people here are great and the place is beautiful...but I want to move out, to a place that we actually could call HOME.

Freddy Mercury does Potosí

The other night Freddy Mercury decided to come to Potosí and he broutgh along all the band. They claimed that, they never did a hardest concert, as for coming from the lowlands, altitude hits them as it would it any other mortal. No concesions in that regad for been a Super-Star.

I have to confess that, I am not the one that knows all Queen songs, but they did touch some of my feelings in that night with Bohemian Rhapsody, and many other hits. It is also fair to say that, as all great artists, they made themselves wait, for "as little as" two hours and a half, but the waiting was worthy.

Once Freddy was on the stage, all Potosí was 101% with him, in a way I have never seen before in here. Youngsters were jumping (and binge drinking), while the some elders, knew all lyrics that Freddy would sing. It was obvious that, even in a usually "cold blooded" audience, such as Potosi is, the band made it. The walls of the cathedral will remember them for a long time.

At the end, it turns out that most of the travel guides are outdated in respect to Potosí nigth life. OK, it is not Berlin, but there are always concerts, festivals and things to do. Maybe not until very late, like in Spain, but charming enough.

Social striking as a way of life

It is striking to see how and how often people strike in here.

• During our first week in Bolivia, the ComCiPo (Civil Committee of Potosi) did our first one. Two days, where they close the major roads of the city, disabling effectively all car transit, throwing firecrackers and stones to those brave enough to cross their barricades. Their demands were, mainly, a better exploitation system for Cerro Rico and other stuff. Imagine that ever since Juan de Villaroel arrived here, in 1545, to seize their silver, things haven't change that much. But now with Evo Morales in power, I guess miners though that it was their time, I guess not...they are still in a hunger strike.
  
• In a trip to Copacabana (to be written about in another entry), we crossed a straight in the highest water mass in the world, Lake Titicaca. It turned out that the boat crossing was closed, again for two days. Well we took advantage of that and do a trip to the sacred Isla del Sol. Surprisingly, after 48h, the strike turned out to be longer, and today may be the day that you cannot cross.
• Yesterday, the streets vendors, I guess completely informal economies, were on strike. What happens now is that as X-mas approaches, vendors from La Paz comes with cheaper produce, so they close the city roads and sit down in  from of the cathedral. Bolivia was, and is, a place where "offer and demand rules" are to be changed on demand and competence is stroked out by sitting down peacefully.
• The next one in the list has not happened yet, but give time to time, it is cooking at the minute...I'll let you know.

So far I have been here about four weeks, if I add up the amount of strikes...it sums up to at least 7 days.  25%, not bad.

Lomito, salchipapa and papachampi

One of the things that I like a lot about the evenings in Potosi is the smell of junk food in the streets.

There are not many options, but there are some:
Lomito or salchipapas, see pictures bellow.

The vendors, usually line one after another, their mobile huts painted all in blue. One big frying machine steams the water from the Potatoes, while a big pan-like structure fries the meat. The oils almost drops from the metallic walls.

The conversation goes like this:
-Good evening- I say politely.
-Hi my friend- Replies he/she.
-How much for a Lomito.
-4 Bolivianos (0.4 Euro)
-OK, I´ll have one then.- While my guts are already feeling the fat.

Until here, all is good, even my stomach reacts surprisingly well to the gourmet treat of the night. But as days, and therefore lomitos and salchipapas goes on and on, I feel adventurous and decided to change the spot for Lomito.

The conversation goes, again like this:
-Good evening- I say politely.
-Hi my friend- Replies he or she.
-How much for a Lomito.
-4 Bolivianos (0.4 Euro), but do you want egg?
Hmmm...I think twice, as that is not the usual conversation, but again and feeling adventurous I say:
-Ok, I´ll have it with egg then.- While my guts are, again and again, feeling the fat.

He puts an egg in the pan and then fill the bread with it and with plenty potatoes as usual.
At that point I feel estrange, my Lomito does not contain Lomito. It is an egg in a piece bread.

So I decide to further enquire the "Lomito Boy".
-Hey,"Lomito Boy". There is no Lomito in my Lomito. What is going on?
I must confess that, I thought it was a good deal: Egg and meat at the regular price of meat, but as in Bolivia one has to expect the unexpected...
The "Lomito Boy" says, quietly:
- You said egg, so egg I gave you.
After 2 seconds of wondering I decide ask for what I though it was mine, even for an extra couple Bolivianos.
- Can I have meat also in my (to that point) egg-lomitoless lomito? How much would that be?

"Lomito Boy", in that second starts a complex computing process that I cannot describe in English...But his eyes started to move in R.E.M.-like motion for several instants.
Finally he looks at me and with sight of relief like if he would have solve the equation and gaive me a dissapointing:
- No, no, no...That can not be.

I guess that it is as if you go to Andalusia and ask for Salmorejo with peanuts. Something like fish and chips in the UK, but dressed with oyster sauce, or even worst, going to Montevideo and ask for Papaschampi with...say vinegar. I´ll tell you when I get there.

Mrs. LaRosa

When I first saw Mrs. LaRosa, she was carrying her well-travelled rucksack. She needed some translation, so I stayed with her in reception, while she complained about the price of the room.

It turned out later, that she was not travelling, that that was her life. See, there is people that travel to get a rest of their living and there are few that travel as life. When they take holidays, they work, easy peesy . She was the latter case.

Mrs. LaRosa, commenced "living" more the 30 years ago, and over that time, she managed to visit the great wonders of the world, places that most of "living deaths" dream about in our daily life. Candada, Vietnam, Sry Lanka, all Europe I guess, Bolivia...longer list than she told me, and definitely longer than I would remember anyway.

As I said, she was not a traveler in the normal sense, therefore, I think that she didn't enjoy such activities as "The tour of Bla-Bla", nor the "Guided visit of the Whatever-mines"...I guess she enjoys travelling  persons better than their heritage to the world, but that is my long shoot. Notwithstanding that, she thought us the simplicity and beauty of spending one evening playing Yathzee, fuelled by some whiskeys.

Should I have to describe her  in few words, I would use; interesting, brave and grumpy.

-The first, because she had, and enjoyed telling, lots of tales about many dead corps she saw in several rivers across all continents...among other things.
-The second, because travelling for 30 years, mainly alone, by all the known and unknown places of the world takes been like that. She probably did make difficult choices along the way, challenging conservative minds on her quest to discover herself throughout the planet.
-The third, no doubt about it, as should all thing not be at their maximum potential, shouts and "for-Gods-shake's" would appear form her mouth.
In any case, we did enjoy her particular way, company and habits. I really think and hope  that, sooner or later, I'll see her again.

"Long life to those how have a vision of their existence and pursue it, even if that means to travel the word on its conquest"