Still seeing surprises

After being in Bolivia for over 6 months, many of the things that turned my head and dropped my jaw when I first arrived hardly draw a second glance anymore, because, as strange as some things may be, they are often an everyday occurrence, and I have become accustomed to them. Some examples are: the hundreds of potatoes that are traded, bought and sold every Friday in Tiraque at the largest potato market in South America with men carrying the sacs weighing over as much as 175 pounds on their backs, 11 passengers packed in to a Toyota station wagon taxi, campesinos riding on the top of the sacs of potatoes in big cargo trucks, the elderly women hunched over carrying a bundle of branches for firewood on their backs that is bigger than they are, men plowing their fields that are at a 30-degree slope using oxen, little children playing half-naked in the muddy streets or canals on hot days, women or children bringing their herds of sheep down the streets of town at sunset returning to their homes, the cholitas that frequent our plaza wearing the traditional polleras (skirts), finely embroidered blouses, two long braids, and carrying their wawa (baby) on their backs in a brightly colored aguayo (blanket, sort of). Actually, this last one, I still find beautiful, and I haven’t gotten tired of seeing them. Surely there are many more examples that escape my mind right now, because, like I said, I hardly notice them anymore.





One of the advantages of long-term emersion in a culture (by that I mean living among the people, rather than visiting them) is the opportunity to see beyond these surface oddities, these things that catch our eye as being particularly odd and distinct from our own cultures. When the initial period of fascination passes, then we can begin to notice the true nature of the people amongst whom we are living. We can begin to understand their joys and heartaches, the things that make them proud, and the things that cause them fear. And, although I am just beginning to scratch the surface of this kind of understanding, one thing I am sure of is that we share a lot more similarities than differences. The first time this idea became apparent to me was when I went to Russia with a Sister Cities delegation back in 1994 when I was 16 years old. I remember being fascinated by their customs and traditions, especially so soon after the Iron Curtain fell. I also remember being surprised at how much we had in common. The Russian teenagers I spent the summer with studied hard, loved rock-n-roll, dancing, soccer, swimming and playing at the beach. The boys flirted and tried to show-off for the girls, and the girls pretended like they didn’t notice. If someone had a guitar, the others would gather around and sing. They loved buying cold ice cream from the vendor on the street, even when they knew that it would spoil the dinner waiting for them when they got home. They were passionate, they loved, they feared. They lived in a different world from me, their childhood was one of communist poverty, and the freedom they now had brought them more fear and uncertainty than the prosperity and security it had promised.

Now, 13 years later, I find myself amongst a different kind of poverty, and a different kind of oppression, different cultures and customs, in a country whose history did not reach the demise or dissolution of its native people, but rather exploited them, withheld the opportunity for “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” and held them into poverty for the benefit of an elite few. Regardless, however, the human spirit is strong and always prevails. Like the Russians I knew, Bolivians love to dance, to play, to laugh, and to love. Getting to know another culture is enlightening, and helps us learn to embrace diversity. This is essential in the global society in which we now live. But I find myself learning an even bigger lesson: to embrace our similarities, our brotherhood, the qualities that unite us as Children of God, the love, laughter, and fears that we share in order to grow in understanding and mutual appreciation and enable us to see the same face of Christ in all those we meet. The same Christ that suffered for me, suffered for them, too. Their salvation is just as important to Him as is mine, and in this manner, my salvation is intertwined with theirs. We have the same Father, we are of the same Family. What we share and what unites us is far greater and far stronger than what divides us.



That being said, I want to mention something I saw the other day that struck me as one of the oddities that I couldn’t imagine seeing back home in the States. While driving down the highway to one of the rural communities for a funeral mass, I passed one of the Toyota station wagon taxis packed full of passengers. But this one was different. On the roof rack, tied down securely with leather straps, there were three sheep. And, Yes, they were alive.