a jungle trek, politics and the lost city

this summer, i went on a trek to the ciudad perdida, the lost city.  this ancient ruin was one of the first things that caught my eye when i started reading up on colombia.  a mysterious city, deep in the colombian jungle, lost to the outside world for hundreds of years--it quite intrigued me.  it was built around 500 BC by the tyronna indians, but relatively little is known about it because the political volatility in the area has restricted archaeological investigations.  so when i had a few weeks off of school for summer break, i packed up my pack and headed off to the costal city of santa marta. 

santa marta is similar in some ways to cartagena, but a good deal grittier and less touristy.  the fierce heat was glorious after six months in frigid grey bogotá.  i stayed at a nice little hostel and met up with some british and irish girls who were also going on the 5-day hike.  the next day we headed out into the jungle.

the trek was, frankly, a lot more difficult than i'd expected.  i knew we'd be hiking for about 6 hours a day, but i thought "enh, that's like walking all day.  no problemo."  but wrong.  i didn't think about the fact that hiking along ridiculously rough terrain, in 90° heat, dizzy from altitude, with 30lb. of gear on your back, might be a little more difficult.  and 6 months of bogotá´s ravishment of my lungs did me no favors on the trek.  so it was a good physical challenge, shall we say.

the lost city, and the jungle surrounding it, has only recently become [relatively] safe for tourists, especially americans.  this is because the climate and soil are perfect for the cultivation of coca, and the dense and nearly impassible jungle are a favored hideout of the FARC, other rebel groups, and the paramilitaries.  harsh eradication efforts and a major deployment of military personnel into the area have greatly diminished the presence of coca and guerrillas, at least in the immediate vicinity of the lost city.  although even in the height of the danger and instability, guides told hikers that everything was perfectly safe.  i was glad for this honest admission from our guide, who has been leading treks for decades, though it did not make me feel especially confident in his assurances that things were perfectly safe now.  i felt even less secure--and lets be honest, more enticed--when he continued his tale.

The hostages (R) and guerrillas (L) after their release.

in 2003, one of his treks didn't quite go as planned.  he explained that he was leading a group of 15 hikers, including Israelis, German, Spanish, and British fellows.  they broke camp one night, and while they slept ELN (leftist National Liberation Army) rebels surrounded the camp and attacked.  the guerrillas kidnapped 8 of the hikers, those deemed most physically fit and thus the best hostage candidates.  they left the rest of the hikers tied up, and force-marched the 8 captives through the jungle to various guerrilla camps, evading the pursuing colombian military for months until a settlement was reached.  the objective of the kidnapping--initially thought to be financial, getting ransom to finance their struggle against the government, turned out to be purely political, trying to get prisoner swaps, and more international attention for their cause.

Some of the hostages after their release

the thing that really bothered me was how our guide reacted to the kidnapping.  now, i know that it's a super stressful situation, but basically when the rebels attacked, our guide just peaced out and left the poor backpackers to fend for themselves.  he said he was scared, and that he was kind of embarrassed that the media was painting him as a hero when he actually just ran away.  it takes guts to admit that... but still.  i mean, he had a responsibility for these people, some of them were just kids, students younger than my little sister.  they probably weren't all fluent in spanish, didn't know what was going on, had been told things were safe, really... could have used some support.  i later found out though, that there was more to the story.  (there always is).  the main reason he peaced was that he had ties to the paramilitaries.  so he thought (probably with reason) that once this was inevitably discovered he would be killed, not just kidnapped.  ok valid, but these are my questions:

a) why do you have ties to the paramilitaries, why would anyone have ties to the paramilitaries, they're horrible and way worse than the rebels?
b) why were you endangering yourself and others by wandering around rebel-infested jungles when you knew these ties might get discovered?
c) after all of this, why are you still a tour guide here?  and, what was of more immediate concern to me--do you still maintain these paramilitary ties?  how well-known are they?  do i need to be concerned about them as you lead me blindly deep into the mountains?

well, as you probably guessed, i did not get kidnapped on the trek.  but i still find it ironic that... of all the tour companies, of all the guides, i happened upon this one.  figures.

i had the best spanish of the group, and i was interested in hearing local perspectives on the issues, so sometimes i'd walk alongside our guide and talk with him about politics.  i was absolutely shocked to find that, when i mentioned Plan Colombia, he actually strongly supported it!  plan colombia was a US initiative in the late 1990s aimed at curbing the drug trade.  although the initial proposal took a holistic approach to ending the conflict and the drug trade, including economic and social programs to get at the root of the problem, all this was scrapped in favor of a heavy-handed militaristic approach to 'fighting' the 'war' on drugs.  many people, myslef included, feel that the final plan colombia was The Worst Plan Ever, as i argue here, mainly because it ignored the root causes of the problem, contributed to further human rights abuses by strengthening the military and paramilitary forces, destroyed legitimate crops along with coca through aerial fumigation, pushing more people into coca cultivation or guerrilla involvement through economic pressures, hurt the health of the peasants, and generally just made the already-marginalized peasants hate the government, military, and their US allies even more.  

but he said that, for him personally, plan colombia helped.  increased military support led to more deployment of troops in the northern jungles, which eventually led to greater tourism in the area.  (after the kidnapping incident, treks were banned for a few years, but eventually the area was re-opened along with heavy army escort.)  and his paramilitary buddies benefited a lot--financially, materially, politically--from the policy as well.  "but what about the farmers?" i asked.  "for me, the plan was good," he said carefully.  i guess that's all you can ask--during war, people just try to get by, and you really can't fault them for taking a personal perspective on policies, instead of looking at them holistically, when the issues touch them so deeply on a personal level.


speaking of policies which touch people on a personal level, the people probably most touched by the government's tourism policies in the area are the indigenous kogis.  and though they benefit in some small ways--for example, when we passed one of their villages, our gide gave them a loaf of bread--i think they are largely hurt by tourism in the area.  some say that the lost city was never really lost to them, just set aside.  but now when they petition the government to use the ritual site of their ancestors, they are denied because this would force them to close down the park for a time and hurt toursim.  it is definitely the (non-indigenous) tourist companies in santa marta, and not the descendants of those who built the city, who gain from the growing international popularity of the site.  [making the hike on your own is illegal, it is required that you hire a tour company]  interestingly, one of the goals of the ELN kidnappers in the 2003 incident was to raise awareness of government marginalization of indigenous people in the area.

we passed some kogi children on the trail--they were small, barefoot, quiet and dark eyed.  their round bellies protruded beneath their loose, stained white tunics, and coppery streaks of malnutrition stained their long black hair.  because of the near-impassibility of the terrain, access to services like school and healthcare is extremely limited, i was told.  but the sad thing is that "preserving" the kogis in their "pre-columbian state" has become part of the attraction of the lost city itself.  i even saw "visit a traditional kogi village" listed as an attraction on a tourist brochure for the lost city.  of course they have a right to continue their lifestyle and culture as they always have, if they want.  but there seems to be--particularly in the case of the government's neglect--almost a policy of intentional "preservation," and i'm not sure if that's what the kogis want, particularly as someone else is profiting.  i think if the tourist companies worked more with the kogis, did more to give back to their communities, and maybe even were run by the indigenous people themselves, then a lot of these problems could be improved.

anyway, enough about the history and politics.  on to the expedition itself!  the landscape was incredible--dense forest, churning rivers, steep mountains, incredible waterfalls.  there was not a lot of wildlife, but the scenery made up for it.  it varied greatly with the wildly changing altitude along the trail.  we passed trees that were a thousand years old--i could hardly wrap my mind around that fact.  a pre-Columbian Colombian tree; just think about all that it's seen, how much has changed--and hasn't--over the course of its vast sylvan lifespan.

in places there were enormous trees swathed in vines, elsewhere the plants had wide tropical fronds, and in certain places it was grassy and almost sparse by comparison.  the rivers were swollen with this year's heavy rains, and the current was vicious; the week before a hiker had been swept away by a sudden surge in the river during one of the numerous crossings and died.  so we held on all the tighter to one another's hands, forming a human chain as we crossed, fighting the current together.  at one point we had to cross a gorge on little wooden box (although as it didn't really have sides, it was more of a platform than a box, about a meter square) suspended from a cable.  i felt rather like greg mortenson, and as the platform swung and jolted as a local 10-year-old worked the pulley system on the other side, i longed for a korphe-esque bridge.  and the waterfalls!  there really is nothing quite like jumping off a waterfall, i highly recommend it.  the rush, the relief, the freedom, the wildness of it.  they were probably the best part of the trip.  [*photo--we all went swimming in these ritual pools just outside of the Lost City.  they were once used in the ceremonies for which people gathered in the city.  they're supposed to be a sort of colombian fountain of youth, so i guess we're all immortal now.  maybe that's how we all made it back (relatively) unscathed, jaja!]

the lost city itself was incredible, but as everyone says it was really about the journey.  we were all elated to have made it there, and it was all rather unreal.  it still seemed like we were  walking through a whispered legend, that day was so far removed from our normal reality.  most of the artefacts have been lost, but the raised stone platforms that formed the bases of the buildings remained, as did the long steep stone staircase leading from the river to the lower tier of buildings, and the stone pathways connecting various parts of the city.  it is incredible that, without much more than the strength of their own hands, thousands of years ago these people were able to transport all this stone to the very top of the mountain to construct this giant city.  it made me feel a little foolish for complaining about the weight of my pack--though stuffed with water, wet clothes, soap, and a hefty first aid kit, i'm sure it weighed far less than even the smallest of their sacks of stones.

it's unfortunate, but still very little is known about their culture and history.  the city was not 'discovered' until the 1970's, and political conditions in this area have been no picnic between then and now.  especially after the hikers' kidnapping, external organizations were reluctant to invest resources and people in the area to find out more.  because of this, tourism is not yet very lucrative here, so investment is not attractive to private organizations.  pretty much the only organization in a position to invest resources for further archaeological study is the colombian government, and they're busy focusing their attentions on chasing down the rebels (and anyone else that opposes them), not to mention they don't even have enough cash to supply their schools with textbooks.  so, así es, and the guides were stuck saying "well, this area was probably for the richer people or priests, because it's better constructed.  and these might once have been houses, or maybe temples, we're not really sure..."

i have probably never looked worse, and never cared less about that fact--by the end of the day all of us were filthy, covered in mud and blood, reeking, ruddy, wild-haired, and drenched in sweat (and i do not use that word lightly, we looked like we'd just jumped in the river and were literally wringing the sweat out of our shirts, hair, shorts, and pack straps).  so we girls were a little surprised at all the attention we were getting from the hordes of colombian soldiers stationed at the summit of the city, the famous multi-tired platforms with the incredible view of the surrounding jungle. at one point, our guide and the few males in our group had somehow disappeared, and we found ourselves--a handful of young white(ish) girls, sweaty and in short shorts and wet tank tops--alone in a little cluster surrounded by a circle of at least 30 colombian soldiers, all clutching machine guns and staring at us silently and intently.  i guess being isolated on the top of a mountain for months on end lowers one's standards.

scrambling up endless switchbacks for hours on end, often almost on hands and knees, climbing over boulders, balancing on a knife's edge--a few inches of trail between sheer cliffs, fording engorged rivers known to sweep hikers away, sliding down mountainsides snatching at tree branches to keep from a free-fall, tightropeing along fallen trees to cross rivers and gorges--it all made for quite a bonding experience.  we all had close calls, and were constantly catching one another and warning each other about unstable ground and slick rocks.  i asked our guide what would happen if one of us got hurt--really hurt-- on the trail.  "well the terrain is too mountainous for a helicopter to land--the only place one could would be at the summit of the lost city itself, so you'd have to make it there regardless.  we could maybe strap you to a donkey, but it would still be a few days before you could receive any medical attention."  so essentially we were on our own--but at least we had each other.  so when one of the brits fell and twisted her ankle with a sickening crunch, we all chipped in, helping her bandage the rapidly swelling and purpling limb, carrying her pack, loading her up with painkillers, taking her hand to help her over the roughest parts of the trail to relieve some of the weight on that leg.  everyone got sick from the water save me and the two british girls, because we'd been in colombia for a long while and our stomachs were hardier from exposure to questionable water.  so we shared out whatever medicines we had, and divvied out the contents of the sickest ones' packs so they'd have an easier time of it that day.

at the end of the day it was absolutely heavenly to strip and jump in the icy river and scrub off the worst of the day's sweat and grime.  to guzzle as much iodine-treated riverwater as we could to replace all we'd sweat out, collapse on a wooden bench and load up on a giant plate of rice and beans.  despite the heaviness of our packs, someone managed to smuggle some rum on the trip, and we drank it in a delightful cocktail of river water, chemical treatment pellets, and knockoff koolaid in plastic tumblers as we talked and played cards into the night.  the rush of the stillness of the camp was like a runner's high, but compounded a dozenfold by the length of our exertion and the adrenaline rush of the day's danger.  and i have never slept so soundly as i did in those hammocks, despite their wretched smell, the omnipresent bugs, and the foul mosquito nets draped over our faces.  we looked like wobbly bananas hanging in a tight row under the roofs of the pavilions.  pretty soon after sunset we always crashed and slept like logs until sunrise, when we were up again wolfing down water and carbs, tending to the wounds on our legs and feet, and heading off again.

on our final night, our guide acquired us some local tea, and we shared it late into the night, telling stories and talking about all manner of things as we let candle after candle burn low and disappear.  it was so cozy, despite the lack of walls, sitting gathered around that little wooden table in that pool of light--the only that could be seen, save for the stars, in the deep wilderness that surrounded us.  it really is amazing how close a group of people can become in such a short period of time through shared experiences.  and how very similar people from such diverse backgrounds--brits, colombians, irish, kiwis, americans, and mexicans--really are.

random p.s. one of the boys kidnapped in the 2003 incident, a 19-year-old british fellow who ironically shares my surname (matthew scott), later escaped from the forced march by jumping off a cliff into the river during a rainstorm; the guerrillas probably thought he died.  after wandering through the jungle for almost 2 weeks, he was rescued by some indigenous villagers.  the others were gradually released, after much international negotiation and political concessions, over the next 3-4 months.  one of the hostages later made a documentary about it, 'my kidnapper.'  i haven't seen it, but it looks pretty interesting: 

p.p.s.  sadly my camera was stolen a few days after i returned, before i'd had a chance to copy over any of my pictures, so all the photos here are stolen from my friends' facebooks, or just the general internet.

Guest Post: Education in Colombia

One of my friends, who is also an English teacher in Colombia, visited my school last week and posted about her visit on her blog, The Wanderlust Chronicles.

So last week I went to school with one of my gringa friends who is a teacher here in Bogotá. She is here through a program called World Teach, which is a program that places you in a country and you teach English at a school that would not normally have the funding for English teachers and they give you a small stipend to live on. If you know what Teach for America is, it is essentially TFA but in a foreign country.

The school she teaches at is in the far south of Bogotá, which is the area of the city at the lower end of the economic spectrum. Most classes are between 35-45 students, which is a lot for a teacher to handle. She teaches English to the fourth and fifth graders; they were all really sweet kids…although one did ask if I was my friend’s mother (we are the same age).

One of the most interesting things I found out about the school, and the way most schools in the south of Bogotá work, is that there are two school sessions per day—one from 6 am to noon, and the other from noon to 6 pm. That’s how they handle the huge number of students attending public schools; if not, classes could have up to 90 or 100 students in them, which would be next to impossible and would not facilitate learning. It seems to me to be a pretty good system for coping with the lack of space and teachers, although a major downside to this schedule is that some kids who walk to and from school either have to wake up insanely early or go home really late, and it’s not always safe.

An unusual event occurred while I was observing one of my friend’s classes. She was in the middle of teaching and a man walked in. The head teacher lined up the students in turns, whilst the lesson was still going on, and each student received a tiny plastic cup. The man squirted something into the cups, the children drank it, and then sat back down. I was perplexed and trying to figure out if it was medicine or what that they were receiving, and my friend explained that every once in a while on random occasions, the Ministry of Health sends people to public schools to give the kids iron and other nutritional supplements. I have no idea about the long-term effectiveness of this endeavor, but it seems like a great idea to me.

Another great thing I noticed while at the school was that the kids receive a healthy snack, generally consisting of a sandwich, some sort of fruit, and juice, provided by some division of the government. They are given such a snack every single day, and apparently it happens in most of the public schools here. It’s very important because many of the kids might not be eating a whole lot or eating that healthy at home.

As for the overall quality of the teaching and education in public schools, according to some public school teachers I have talked to, some teachers simply don’t teach and just pass the kids along because it’s just a paycheck to them and they are not held to any standards. I certainly do not want to bash Colombian public school teachers, and I’m sure there are plenty of excellent ones, but my friend told me how she has seen some teachers just sitting and reading to pass class time because there are no consequences for them. Most of the teachers have no incentive to discipline or try to teach their kids, which means the kids aren’t learning, and many don’t see the point of learning.

Most schools in this area of town are public, and there is a huge difference between public schools in Colombia and public schools in the States. In the States, most people go to public school, and there are many excellent public schools. In Colombia, however, if you want a really good education, you generally have to go to a private school. Many private schools here are bilingual—they teach most classes in English or sometimes German or French—but there are private Spanish-only schools as well. The majority of the population attends public schools, but sadly the education system is neither well-funded nor well-regulated, and therefore the education of the majority suffers. Here, private schools are businesses, so in order to get your money, they have higher standards; in order to be able to get a good education, you have to pay.

Colombia is by no means the only country that needs serious overhaul on education. Many schools, teachers, and students are suffering in the States as well. Recently in Colombia there have been protests nearly everyday concerning higher education and the government’s policies. It is clear to everyone that transformations need to be in the entire education system, from primary to university, and while nothing has happened yet, at least people are talking about and demanding changes from the government, so I am hopeful.

Rescuing books from the trash in Bogotá

Cross-posted from the Idealist.org blog.  Quite relevant, considering the dearth of textbooks at my school.  I think the fact that a lot of kids at public schools don't have access to a single textbook, while rich Colombians are throwing away books (a sacrilegious act in and of itself in my bibliophilic mindset), says a lot about the staggering inequality in Colombian society. 

How one man’s idea to rescue books from the trash contributed to everyday life in Bogotá.     By Putnam Barber, July 7, 2011

Recently my colleague Elena interviewed José Alberto about his success in recycling books for schoolkids in Bogotá, Colombia. (You can read her original post in Spanish at Idealistas.org.)

In his work as a trash hauler, José Alberto observed usable books discarded by households throughout the city.

He knew that children in the low-income neighborhood near his home had difficulty getting the books they needed for their school work, there was no bookstore nearby, and the nearest library was a long way away.

So fifteen years ago, he decided to rescue them and make them available to the kids in his neighborhood. Starting in the ground floor of his own home, he has expanded the network of bibliotecas into eight neighborhoods of the city. As word of his project has spread, more and more Bogoteños donate used books directly to him, avoiding the detour into a waste bin.

Elena says that José’s entire family has been involved in this never-ending project for 15 years now: “They don’t have a car or even a little motorbike, and frequently they cross the city after somebody’s call to pick up boxes of books that then they carry in buses all across the city.” By opening his own home as a place to find books, José Alberto started something that has changed the lives of thousands of children (and their parents) in Bogotá.

amazons, playboy notebooks, and gender in colombia

colombia is home to some of the fiercest girls i have ever met.  even my girls in uganda--former child soldiers with the world's most vicious rebels--were not so strong and feisty and violent as these girls.  kids in general fight a lot at my school, so i guess it's logical that this would apply to both girls and boys.  i think it's an interesting commentary on their social circumstances, that despite their culture's more "traditional" view of women's roles, the girls fight just as hard as the boys.  because to survive growing up in a bogotá slum, you have to be tough, regardless. 

a few days ago, i saw a girl getting told off by the principal for not wearing her uniform--or rather, for wearing a non-regulation sports jacket over her jumper instead of the approved uniform sweater.  she did not seem especially moved by the principal's lecture on taking pride in her school and conforming to the mandates of authority figures.  she was a small skinny thing, 13 perhaps, with carelessly mussed, shortish black hair and a rather cocky expression on her face.  i noticed that her left eye was ringed with purple bruises.  the principal did too, and stopped short in his lecture to ask "what happened to your eye?"  my first thought was domestic violence--a tricky issue to deal with for teachers in general, but especially in colombia.  but that wasn't it.  "oh that.  a mugger tried to rob me, but don't worry--i fought him off,""  she said casually.

on another occasion, one of my fifth-graders--a sweet, clever girl who's always jumping out of her chair to answer questions--came up to me after class to ask me a question about our last test.  i noticed that, on top of her prim little school-uniform jumper, she was wearing a set of brass knuckles on a chain 'round her neck.  i'm not sure if they were actually functional or more for show, but either way i was a bit shaken.

i spend a lot of time in the principal's office.  he's my host dad, so i'm often in there asking questions, trying to get copies made, or asking for a ride home so i don't have to pay for the bus.  a few weeks ago, i was in there when a girl-gang was getting in trouble for beating people up.  the girl-gangs here, i'm told, give the administration quite as much trouble as the boys.  it appeared to be some kind of revenge issue or turf war.  and these were no cat-fights--more like battles to the death between angry lionesses.

FARC soldier

the ringleader, a short, rather burly girl with impeccable makeup and perfectly arranged hair, stood with her arms crossed, hip cocked under her pleated skirt, scowling.  it seemed so incongruous: these girls were about 16, standing there with those neat little uniforms making them look at once both innocent and mature.  in the US you might expect fighting from some little girls--tomboys-- but that they'd grow out of such "masculine" behavior by the time they hit puberty.  but not here.  it's odd because in many other ways gender roles here are strictly defined: women are essentially barred from a lot of 'manly' jobs--and jobs that might place them in the dangerously powerful position of provider in the family.

in fact, in stark contrast to uganda and many other developing countries, school dropout rates for girls are not really a big issue here.  this is because there are so few economic opportunities for girls and women anyway that their families figure that, unless they get pregnant, they might as well just stay in school.  a sort of backhanded benefit to being a girl in colombia.  even for women who do find jobs outside the home, motherhood is seen as their primary objective.  and in relationships, men are expected to be the assertive ones--it's even taboo for a girl to ask a guy out.  [these are, of course, generalizations, but it's consistent with what i've observed and what i was taught in my cultural training].  but then you have things like girl-gangs and female FARC.  i guess it just goes to show that in certain political and economic circumstances, culture adapts.  you do what you gotta do to survive, and learn to live as you were brought up.  culture is not without contradictions.

colombians are technically "amizonians."  i was curious as to what the linguistic connection was between my neighbors and the fabled female fighters of greek mythology.  so i did a little investigating.  legend has it that, sometime in the 1500s a spanish explorer was mucking around the amazon river when he and the rest of his band were attacked by a fierce band of indigenous women-warriors.  "they are skilled with their bows and arrows and each does as much fighting as ten indian men," wrote one of his companions.  he was so impressed with their fighting prowess that he came back to spain and told stories about them, and they eventually decided to rename the river after these female fighters who reminded him so of the warrior-queens of old.  there is some debate as to whether this story is actually true, but i believe it is, and that the blood of these ancient warrioresses runs in the veins of my fierce little fourth graders today.

of course i'm not saying i'm happy with this phenomenon.  violence is wrong regardless of whether you're a boy or girl, and heaven knows it makes my job a lot harder having twice as many fights to break up.  i spend a significant portion of the class every day working with the kids on nonviolence.  but i do think it's an interesting phenomenon.  in a way, i'm glad the girls are standing up for themselves--i just wish they would do it in a more peaceful fashion.   i wonder if this has implications for domestic violence issues in their communities--my girls don't take shit from anyone, and i highly doubt they would in the future from a boyfriend or husband.  if they get hit, they sure as hell will hit back.  on the other hand, maybe the reason they are so quick to fight back is that they've grown up with domestic violence.

i'm very protective of my little girls.  they're like my hundred little daughters, and i get fussed whenever i think something is poisoning their innocent little minds.  it's probably just the myth of childhood innocence, but still...  because of this, i am very displeased with the notebooks the boys bring to school.  it is quite commonplace here for little boys to have notebooks with cover photos so shocking they would make the cover of playboy look tame.  it's ridiculous, and entirely inappropriate for a school setting.  these boys are eight years old.  eight.  i'll come round checking on a grammar assignment or something "how's it going?  nice job, natalia.  and sebastian, what'd you get for number... oh my goodness.  that girl on your notebook is wearing nothing but a belt.  and wow, juan diego over here's got a topless girl wearing a thong and stilettos..." 

ok, i couldn't find an especially scandalous
one when i looked at the store today, but
if i find a better example i'll post it

my girls, especially the 5th graders, are at that awkward, vulnerable age just between little girls and teenagers.  some look like they're 6 and some like they're 16, and there are feet of difference in their height.  i remember what it was like to be that age; they're very impressionable.  so this is exactly the worst time for them to be constantly inundated with these impossibly airbrushed oversexualized images of femininity.  the whole point of these girls being in school is to show them that they have value and potential and opportunity beyond the traditional female role of providing sex and reproduction.  but this idea kind of gets shot to hell by these stupid notebooks.  what sort of message does it send to the girls?: " it doesn't matter if you know your logarithms or can explain cellular respiration or ace your english test.  your male peers' ideal of femininity is still this vacant, curvy, half-naked pinup girl."  and they're reminded of this every single time the class opens their notebooks. 

i am also not pleased that a sex shop opened up a block from my school.  it's painted bright pink with a garish neon sign, and the stuff they put in the front window makes even me a little uncomfortable, and i'm a brown student!  society (colombian and american) oversexes little girls enough, they don't need to be bombarded with stripper outfits and rubber genitalia every day when they walk home from school.

there are a number of other lingerie shops, almost as scandalous, near the school.  most shops in this part of the city are the front rooms of people's houses.  one day i saw a pair of girls from my school, maybe 7 and 10, walking into one after school--they obviously lived above the shop.  they wore their matching school uniforms--plaid jumpers, white stockings and mary janes-- and were clutching notebooks. "how was school, girls?" asked their mother from behind the counter.  "fine mommy," they said.  "all right, now go do your homework," she said, and the girls went into the back storeroom, passing dominatrix outfits, barely-there nurse costumes, pink handcuffs, and... disturbingly... "sexy schoolgirl" costumes.

for a society that's almost 100% catholic, colombians sure aren't very conservative or discreet about sex.  in fact, bogotá seems to embody the stereotype of the repressed catholic school girl who is actually crazy promiscuous.  there are sex shops all over the city, and the transmilenio (bogotá's version of the metro) passes straight through the red light district.  on my way to a meeting, or to get some school supplies from the north, i'll look out the window and see curvy topless women standing under streetlights on the main road, girls in skimpy lingerie advertising themselves in the doorways of brothels.  

"i worry about my girls.  especially the pretty ones," said a friend of mine who teaches a similar age group in the costal town of cartagena. "what are they going to use their english for?  i mean, they can't all become waitresses," he added darkly.  sex tourism is a huge issue along the coast, especially in the caribbean cities of barranquilla and cartagena.  at airports in colombia, there are signs similar to this one (which is from mexico, i think), basically saying "welcome to colombia!  please don't rape our children!"

i saw this quote from an american schoolteacher--a schoolteacher--on the issue: "On this trip, I've had sex with a 14 year-old girl in Mexico and a 15 year-old in Colombia.  I'm helping them financially.  If they don't have sex with me, they may not have enough food.  If someone has a problem with me doing this, let UNICEF feed them."  i want to punch him in the face.  and then go start some women's job-training initiatives in touristy areas of colombia.

"Don't mistreat children--they are our future" a public
awareness campaign by the FARC rebels
to promote children's rights.

luckily for my sanity, sex toursim isn't a huge issue here in bogotá, primarily because tourism itself is not that big here as it's dangerous.  prostitution is still an issue though, and statistically speaking, some of my girls probably will become prostitutes.  a friend of a friend who works for the police here was talking about a raid they'd done recently on a brothel* near the city center.  they found 8 and 10-year old girls "working" there who'd been sold by their parents.  but i don't know how i could deal with the knowledge that potentially a significant portion of what i was doing here in colombia was training girls to become more lucrative prostitutes for foreign tourists.  that's one of the reasons i requested not to be placed on the coast: because of how inherently problematic a tourist-based economy--sexual or otherwise--is.


**this is kinda going off on a tangent here, but nicholas kristof happened to write an op-ed today, called raiding a brothel in india.   i usually love nick kristof, and this is a nice little anecdote, but it doesn't really scratch the surface of the issue, or of really effective ways of dealing with it.  for the for a more in-depth look, check out the documentary holly about sex trafficking in cambodia, or for the more hollywood-inclined, trade about international sex trafficking into to the U.S.**

the world's most hilariously inaccurate representation of bogotá

from "mr. and mrs. smith" (1:50-6:00)

there are so many problems with this scene. flying in on a military helicopter to an itty-bitty jungle village? (yes, the other 8 million residents and 600 square miles are just hiding under the trees) what's with all the tropicalness?  and prancing about in that little white sundress? she'd last about 5 minutes before she caught her death of cold and got drenched in rain 'til her dress was transparent. bogotá is always freezing, dark, and drowning in downpours.  but the biggest problem with the scene is the stuff exploding right and left, the constant machine gun fire, the absolute chaos.  yeah, bogotá was pretty dangerous then, and still is--but not like mogadishu during black hawk down or anything.  crikey.  honestly, though, i love this clip.  i think it's absolutely hilarious how clueless people can be about colombia sometimes.  and developing and war-affected countries in general, for that matter.

la gente unida jamás será vencida

as i said in my last post, there were giant protests across the country last week against proposed education reforms.   i was strongly advised not to go.  i debated with myself for a while, but finally i just thought, screw it.  if i followed every state department warning, i'd spend my whole life locked in a pupi little apartment in the north, with a private security guard holding a machine gun at the gate.  and that's no way to live.  or experience colombia.  that's not why i'm here.  if i always did what they said, i'd probably not even be here in the first place.  and anyway, this is an issue that's pretty important to me.  and that i'm kind of invested in, as a teacher in colombia.  so i went.  i haven't been to a protest in months, and i've never been to a protest like this.

 

there were rumors that it might turn violent.  warnings that the FARC and ELN rebels might infiltrate the protests and incite violence to stick it to the government.  apparently they've done this before at protests.  but these rumors seemed to me absolute poppycock, even (and maybe especially) because they came from the government's intelligence agency.  the government tends to take the convenient witch-hunt approach of accusing anyone who disagrees with them of being rebels.  it's so handy for suppressing popular dissent.

there were also some worries because at some student protests the week before, they chucked homemade explosives about.  not good, guys.  protests are great, but violent ones, not so much.  plus it totally degrades your legitimacy.  but i didn't think this one would turn violent--the organizers and student leaders had promised a peaceful protest, and this one was so big and well organized and observed that i trusted they'd stick to it.

i was a little torn at first, because in some ways, this wasn't my fight.  but in other ways, it was.  i am a teacher in colombia--i have a responsibility to stand up for the rights of other teachers and work to improve their working conditions, even if i won't get those benefits myself.  but mostly, it was because of my kiddos.  i love those little tykes, even and especially the troublesome ones.  and having the opportunity of higher education--whether or not they wind up going to college or technical school--makes a huge difference in their motivation during primary education, and even in their outlook on life. but if little alejandra knows that she has no opportunities in life other than running a hair clip stall in the market like her parents, what's her incentive to put effort into studying english?  or to anything in school, for that matter, beyond maybe basic arithmetic.  that's bad news for me and for her.

it was a teacher work day, so there were no classes--i think that's why they scheduled the protest when they did.  at around 7 am, i was grading some papers when i heard loud shouts, chanting, and horns blaring on the street.  i rushed outside half-dressed to see what the commotion was, but people were too distracted to notice my pjs.  a crowd of students bearing banners was marching and shouting and running through the street.  they took up the whole 4-lane highway, much to the dismay of commuters.  hordes of police officers on motorcycles followed them.  "not nearly as many as the last one..." commented my host brother, who'd come out to see the fuss too.

i headed down for the central square, the plaza de simon bolivar.  it was pretty packed, with a big stage at one end where union and advocacy leaders were giving speeches.  they were pretty interesting, too--i learned a lot more about the issues with the education system in colombia.  and it was inspiring to see such passion from so many people.

the plaza was also packed with street vendors, which seemed a bit odd at first but i suppose was quite economically logical.  mixing with the shouts of support to the speakers and chanted political slogans were calls of "fresh orange juice--just 400 pesos!  chicharones!  papas fritas! gaseosas y agua frío!"  people pushed carts filled with barrels of fresh-squeezed juice, tart salted mangoes drenched in lime juice, sizzling skewers of dubious-looking meat, crispy empañadas and arepas, trays of deep-fried pork rind, and churros glistening with sugar and hot oil.  i think brown student groups could take a leaf from colombia's book--put all that on the main green and you're sure to get a bunch more people at your protest--one thing's for certain, college students are always up for good (and preferably free) food.

after a while, i went to check out the marches.  there were 5 coming from various parts of the city, all converging on the plaza.  some of them had been blocked by the police (bad form, guys).  but others had made it through.  there were so many people! they just kept coming and coming down the street with their signs and flags and banners.  people lined the streets cheering them on, joining in the chants.  some people from the top floor of an office building came to the window, waved and shouted their support, and started throwing confetti out the window like it was a parade.

it started to rain, but they remained unfazed.  "¡abajo, abajo, abajo a la privatización!"  i joined in with their chant, smiling wryly as i remembered learning that word in spanish class almost 10 years ago with that infantile rhyme: "izquierda, derecha, delante detrás. cerca de lejos de, y algo más. ABAJO, arriba, enfrente, encima. y ahora, muchachos, se acaba la rima!" who knew that one day i'd be putting that knowledge to this use? ¡la gente unida jamás será vencida!" that has a much nicer ring to it in spanish than in english.

we continued along the road towards the museo del oro and the national bank.  these were bigger streets now, and they were thickly lined with police in full riot gear--big shields, bullet-proof vests, stern helmets, guns, batons, bandoliers of teargas.  private security guards stood in front of the bigger shops and building.  at the smaller shops, people pulled down their metal gratings and peered nervously out at the scene. some students went up to empty walls and started graffitiing political slogans and opposition messages against the reforms.  a bit further down the road a few teenage boys got into an argument with the police.  as the argument got more heated, the crowd got more nervous.  then the boys started waving machetes at the police.  yikes.

i am pretty terrified of machetes.  perhaps it's because the LRA rebels, who have been on my mind a lot over the past 5 years, are known as the tong tong (chop chop) after the machetes they use.  i remember when i was in rwanda, heading towards kigali from the ugandan border, i saw a group of teenage fellows on their way to work in the tea fields, holding machetes.  it's been almost ten years, but it still sent shivers down my spine.  and i did not feel much better now.

deciding this might be a good time to peace, i went down a side street to the broad boulevard near the museum.  it's a lovely little place, full of cafes and restaurants and shops--a nice place to hang out.  but it had a somewhat sinister feel today--imposing black tanks with dark windows and bullet proof plating were parked in front of the church, a few meters from the marchers.  they had those triangular plough shaped things at the front like trains have for knocking aside cattle.  except these were for knocking aside people.  the street was packed with police, all geared up and looking ready for battle.

a handful of protesters turned down a side street and advanced with their banner, painted on an old bed sheet.  almost immediately, a phalanx of police converged and started towards them.  they made for quite an intimidating sight, marching sternly towards the students.  they were in even more riot gear and armor than the other police, and looked rather like stormtroopers--and not the sort of goofy ones in episode 4, the super creepy ones in episode 3 all dressed in black and ready to do darth veder's bidding.  the students held their ground, and the crowd murmured nervously.  this might turn into a showdown, and it could get ugly.  however, as the stormtroopers neared, the students slowly backed away and dissolved into the crowd.

then suddenly we heard shots fired and an explosion, there were screams, and we ran.  out of the corner of my eye i saw a plume of white smoke rising up from the crowd of protesters not far away.  you always see that in movies--a BOOM and then everyone scatters, but this was the first time i'd ever experienced it.  it's the most instinctual thing in the world--you hear the shot and you're halfway down the street before your mind even realizes what your body is doing.  i sprinted past a group of police and security guards--they were running away and barricading themselves in the bus station, pulling down the metal grating to block the door.  oh great, thanks for protecting the people.

eventually, we slowed down and paused, listened.  silence.  i had no idea what had just happened.  no one did.  who had fired the shots?  was it even gunfire?  it sounded almost like a cannon, but what is this, 1812?  were people hurt?--dead?  what had catalyzed the situation from an uneasy stalemate to all-out explosions?  slowly, the chanting started up again.  we looked at each other, made a decision. "you're an idiot.  and such an adrenaline junkie," i told myself as i crept back towards the main road.

there were a few more explosions, all further off in the crowd.  we fled and returned like waves crashing and receding along the shore.  i found out later that police had fired into the crowd something called "debilitating grenades" (that's the best translation i could come up with)--apparently some kind of explosives filled with a temporarily stunning gas.  it sounds rather like tear gas.  6 people were injured--not too severely, but still.  there were similar incidents in other cities, a girl was beaten by police in medellín, etc.  but by all accounts, it was a relatively calm protest--at least as calm as a protest can be in colombia.  which was an interesting culture shock.  i've been to a lot of protests, but i'm so accustomed to the right to protest, the assurance that everything will be fine.  it was interesting to experience a protest where people were actually risking something, and coming forward anyway because they felt so strongly about the issue.

education reforms

there was a giant protest in bogotá last week with the teachers, university students, and education administrators. hundreds of thousands of people protested in various cities around the country.  now i'm no expert on the issue, i've only had it explained to me or read about it in spanish, but as i understand it, this is the problem:

government is instituting a package of education reforms, which seems to be designed mostly to help with the budget.  of course everyone's tightening their belts these days, but in my opinion this is the wrong way to go about it.  as often happens when governments try to save money (ahem republicans in washington), they cut social services first, and this falls hardest on those who can least afford it--the poor.  so they're privatizing a large fraction of the community colleges and public universities.

now privatization is often good for development, and can lead to greater efficiency. but in this case the result is this: the poor are going to lose almost all access to tertiary education.  what's the result?  quality education will continue to become increasingly concentrated in the hands of the wealthy.  colombia's already heavily unequal society will become even more divided.  the rich will get richer, the poor will get poorer. not good.  it is also thought that with privatization, the universities will loose their focus on public service and the common good--community colleges in colombia have traditionally focused on research, curricula, and projects that will help improve the lot of the common people in colombia, not just earn more cash for the school.  all that could change soon.

the protests are also calling for better conditions for teachers in public schools.  teacher salaries are low in colombia (just like in the US) and there's a gignormous gap between the salaries at public and private schools.  there's a huge problem with retention of good teachers in public schools--they can make so much more money at private schools, and the conditions and resources are so much better, most teachers light out of the public school system as quick as they can.  so you wind up with the least trained, least effective, and least motivated teachers teaching in the roughest schools, the worst neighborhoods, with the fewest resources, for the poorest and most troubled kids in the city.

"Health is a right--it's not negotiable"

the protests are also calling for better healthcare and more union rights for teachers.  lousy conditions on these fronts just further hurt teacher motivation.  and they're calling for better funding for preschool education--which is especially important for children from poor families who aren't exposed to the supplemental education and early childhood development opportunities their wealthier peers are.

 the proposed education reforms will likely most hurt two vulnerable groups in society because of their low economic status: the Displaced people who fled their land because of the war, and the indigenous people and ethnic minorities.  this will further degrade their already low economic and also social status. 

like in the united states, in colombia education often gets the short end of the stick.  whenever something needs to be cut, there's a shortfall somewhere and resources need to be diverted, or something unexpected comes up, you can bet that the education pot is the first one they'll dip into.  like this winter with the floods--of course it was an emergency and the spending was necessary, but a lot of the money came from the education budget.  [incidentally, what is one of the biggest problem faced now by the displaced victims of the floods?  oh, yeah, lack of education infrastructure, and access to quality education...]

anyway, the education budget gradually gets chipped away and doesn't get replenished.  and the tricky thing about cuts to education spending is that it takes a long time to really feel their effects.  it's not like the kiddos are going to vote against you, they're too young, their parents often have other, more immediate problems on their mind.  the real blow won't be felt until maybe a decade later, when the kids graduate with substandard educational background and hurt the economy.  by that time you're well past your term of office.  bloody election cycle.  and it's all compounded by high levels of corruption in government anyway.  congratulations,  you got re-elected by wiggling the budget to favor short-term gains over long term economic and social growth.  you win, but your country loses.

9133 shoes

monday was the international day for landmine awareness and action.  there was a demonstration to mark the day in the main plaza in bogotá (plaza de simon bolivar, where most of the protests happen, and where the state department says i should often avoid).  i didn't realize this until i was reading about it in the paper, but there are more landmine victims in colombia than in any other country in the world besides afghanistan. landmines were banned by the mine ban treaty in 1997, but they continue to affect colombians, particularly in rural areas where the FARC and paramiliaries have been active.

the 9133 shoes displayed in the plaza represent
recorded victims of landmines in colombia since 1990. 870 of them are children's shoes--landmines disproportionately affect children, because they haven't been educated about them, or because they tend to play in areas where adults don't go. this is becoming an even bigger problem as people displaced by the war are finally starting to return to the homes they left.  the fighting may have shifted, but the danger is still there. landmines kill someone every other day in colombia, and since i got here in january, 72 people have been killed.  pretty chilling statistics.

i remember in south sudan seeing the red signs along the main road leading up from the border checkpoint to the market in nimule "danger: landmnes.  do not leave the road."  it was scary to think that just by straying from the path we could, potentially, die.  we passed huts and fields, where people were obviously living off of the main road.  little kids waved at us and screamed "muna!" (white girl).  they lived and played on this potentially mine-riddled land.

the schools where i was researching had NGO posters on the wall describing different types of mines, and how to recognize and avoid them.  i couldn't read them, but i studied them during breaks, just in case.  but the thing is, it's hard to be on your guard like that all the time.  one night my friend and i were perched  on the back of a motorcycle, heading off to a bar on the edge of town where the expats and aid workers hang out, when the driver said "we must take another route." he was a little evasive when we asked why, but eventually said, "the road right by your house, it has been closed off.  they think they have found a landmine and are trying to disable it."  it turned out to be a false alarm, but was still pretty scary.

the first time i heard about landmines, i was in first grade and saw a picture of princess diana with some girls in west africa.  i asked "mommy, why do those girls only have one leg?" and she said it was because of landmines, but i didn't quite get it. i wondered what they did with their extra one when they bought new shoes. the first time i was really exposed to the issue was when i was about 12 and reading this series of  books about afghanistan by deborah ellis. they're pretty great books, especially at presenting the issues to kids--showing children how war impacts children. in the story, the girl's brother has been killed by a landmine.  a girl in the story makes a living crossing minefields, and a boy in the book lost his leg to a mine.


these stories really impacted me.  they were just kids' books, but based on interviews in refugee camps in pakistan.  the idea that kids my age and even younger had to live with the reality that they might just be walking along one day, even well after a war had ended, and then suddenly, BOOM--they'd be dead or terribly maimed... it was frankly terrifying.  this is one of the worst weapons of war--long lasting, deadly, and almost target civilians and children with their indiscriminate destruction.

it was while reading these books that i decided i wanted to be an aid worker.  specifically, that i wanted to work on emergency education for war-affected children.  i remember quite clearly one night i'd stayed up until like 3 am to find out what happened to shauzia and her buddies in the story. and i got this vivid mental picture of myself standing outside a school tent in a refugee camp in pakistan. it was hot and dusty and i was watching the sun set, lost in thought about what had happened that day, and how we would move forward educating these children.  and i was entirely satisfied with what i was doing with my life.  and... well one thing led to another from there. i guess i've always vaguely kept that image in the back of my mind.  it's a good thing my sister had to read this for her book report and recommended it to me, or my life might be very different! but then again, i guess we all have a number of turning points in life, and we all eventually wind up where we're supposed to be.

P.S.  the US has not signed the 1997 international mine ban treaty. big surprise!  the US kind of sucks at signing on to international human rights legislation.  they also haven't ratified the UN convention on the rights of the child (just chillin' like a villain with somalia on the "only countries in the world that have not ratified" list), or the rome statute to join the international criminal court, and they take a sort of "maybe if we feel like it" approach to not funding armies that use child soldiers. but i digress.  there seems to be opposition to the treaty from the military, which tends to oppose anything that might potentially impact what they can and can't do (see: the international criminal court).  obama mentioned over a year ago that maybe we should look into signing the mine ban treaty, but it doesn't seem like a lot of progress has been made on that front.  if you want to do something about that, go HERE to sign a petition or write a letter to your member of congress about it.  thanks, you rock!

picture above: sign in a bus in colombia urging people to respect those with disabilities.  wheelchair, leg blown off by landmine, just your average disabilities.  toto, i've go a feeling we're not in kansas anymore) 

baking in bogotá

baking has become one of my favorite pastimes here.  i've always liked cooking, and it feels strange to have someone else always cooking for me--whenever i ask my host mom if i can help in the kitchen she's like no, no, i've got it, and you don't know what you're doing anyway.  which is true.  i'm not used to cooking from the scratchiest bit of scratch, and there's not a lot i can make from the top of my head without a recipe or directions of any kind.  but, i'm getting a little tired of my rice-and-potato diet--variety is the spice of life, but the traditional colombian diet seems to be both literally and metaphorically devoid of spice.  and the whole one-meal-a-day thing tends to leave me hungry round about nightfall when i'm just sitting down to grade my mountains of papers.  for all these reasons, i decided that i wanted to start baking more. 

of course i didn't have room for cookbooks in my suitcase, so i turned to the magic of the internet.  my mind immediately fell on my dear friend sarah rosenthal, who writes an awesome baking blog with her sisters, aptly named The Baking Sisters.  it is full of delicious recipes, pretty pictures of baked goodies, and amusing anecdotes and you should all check it out!  sarah is an amazing cook--she always brought the best treats to cast parties and her roommates were the envy of all for their constant exposure to delicious smells and free food.  one snowy shabbat a few years ago i had the pleasure of cooking with her, which was great fun, and i was wicked impressed with her skills.  but i'd always been a bit too intimidated to actually try one of her recipes.  until now--there's a first time for everything!

the first attempt was chocolate chip cookies--specifically, chocolate chip cookies for kids with no teeth.  chocolate chip cookies--sounds pretty simple and foolproof, right?  but oh, just you wait... i first read through the ingredients list, carefully translated it, and went over the list with my host mami to see if we had the ingredients.  apparently she doesn't bake much, as the only things we had were flour and eggs.  so i jumped on the bus and went in search of ingredients.

 the first challenge was that chocolate chips do not appear to exist in colombia.  i went to several different stores and searched everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found.  eventually i found some M&Ms, and figured that those were vaguely similar to chocolate chips.  but they were expensive and imported, so i grabbed two baggies, hoping that would be enough.  they also did not have real brown sugar, but this brownish kind of granulated sugar that resembled sugar in the raw and wouldn't pack at all.  it was worth a try, though.  after a long search i found baking powder and vanilla.  i also remembered that we had some "buttery spread" at home, so decided to use that instead of buying real butter, as this was getting expensive.

My tragic first attempt at chocolate chip cookies

when i returned home  i started skyping with my friend from home who was also baking the cookies.  i couldn't find the flour, though, and had to go find my host mama to locate it.  "here it is," she said, handing me a sack of cornmeal.  oh dear.  i'd forgotten that people don't really use wheat flour here--arepas and empañadas and such are all made with corn flour.  so harina is assumed to mean corn flour... i should have been more specific.  but all the stores were closed so i decided to try it anyway.  i tasted the batter.  bleh!  it was like cornbread with chocolate on it--and not the sweet kind of cornbread you get at fresh fields, a bland salty home-on-the-range cornbread.  to cover up the cornmeal flavor, i added a bunch more sugar--that weird crystallized "brown sugar."  soon it got too dry, so i had to add water and some more vanilla, just for good measure.  in the absence of a whisk or electric mixer, i stirred it around with a fork and my hands.

when i opened the bag of M&Ms, i realized i was still a cup short on chocolateyness.  so i went for my box of bribes--the little candies i use to try to get the little estudiantes to actually do their homework and such.  it occasionally works.  i had a few little pieces of white chocolate, a candy bar i'd gotten free with a set of colored pencils, some malt balls...but i was still short.  searching the cupboards, i came upon the giant brick of chocolate we use to make hot chocolate in the morning.  it is cinnamoney, none too sweet, and nearly impossible to break bits off of.  after much hacking with a giant knife i was able to get a few chunks to throw in the mix. 

we didn't have a pan, but i found this metal sheet that was part of a grill.  it wasn't especially flat, which led to problems down the road, but it was the best i could do.  also, my host mama informed me that i couldn't use the oven--apparently it doesn't work very well, i have never seen it in use, and we use it as a cupboard.  so i had to use a toaster oven.  it ended poorly.  the fake-butter and all the excess not-brown sugar sort of melted into puddles while the lumps of cornmeal with their eclectic mixes of candy slid down the sloped sides of the scrap of metal and coagulated in the corners.  when i tried to scrape them off the metal, they simply disintegrated into an unnervingly rainbow-colored pile of mush.  delicious!

my later creations have been substantially more successful.  sunday has become my baking day, because everything closes up early, and even the bus routes shut down, so there isn't much to do in the evenings.  last sunday, i tried another of sarah's chocolate chip cookie recipes.  i decided to try again at finding chocolate chips, as they are somewhat integral to the recipe.  i have been warned never to go to Exito--the colombian equivalent of target, walmart, the grocery store, an insurance company, nursery, travel agent, and food court all in one--on a sunday, as it can get quite crazy.  but this quest for chocolate chips had led me to exito on a sunday almost every sunday this month.

there's a lot of resentment towards exito in bogotá.  the arguments are similar to those leveled against walmart--that it's pushing out local businesses, taking over all the industries in an area, and no one can compete with it.  but at the same time, it gives people--especially in poorer, more remote areas--access to things they wouldn't otherwise have access to, like books and electronics.  and lots of people really depend on their inexpensive staples, like their $10 weekly staple sack--some of the cheapest calories you can find in the country, but critical for many, like my students.  i'm not sure about their labor policies, and i'm sure their products aren't exactly fair trade, but then again look at labor conditions in other parts of colombia.  but actually, one of the biggest reasons for bogoteños' resentment of exito is that it's a chain from medellín, and they feel like it's invading their part of the country.  ah regional resentment.  i guess bogotá doesn't like admitting its not the only player in the game of the colombian economy.

anyway.  i didn't know the spanish word for chocolate chips, or even if there was one. "¿se vende chocolate chips aquí?"  i asked hopefully.   the girl restocking the shelves looked at me confusedly.  i hadn't really expected that to work.  i tried again, as i had at the other stores, to explain what they were "do you sell bags of very very small pieces of chocolate, which are used for baking cookies and deserts?"  but this time, my roundabout explanation worked.  

¡oh, chips de chocolate! she said.  of course, why didn't i think of that? anyway, she led me to an unexpected back aisle where i found a few bags of mini chocolate chips, kind of shoved up between some spices.  it would do, though.  i stocked up and headed home.

My second attempt at making cookies.

while i was baking, our adorable 2-year-old neighbor, pakeri, came by to visit.  she was quite fascinated with what i was doing, so i asked her to "help me."  this led to an unfortunate incident in which 2 cups of chocolate chips were added, rather than 1/2 cup.  but you can never have too much chocolate.  she liked playing with the dough, and rolled a bunch of miniscule balls of batter (which i surreptitiously augmented).  i still didn't have a cookie sheet, though, and had to make do with an assortment of casserole dishes, the sheet of metal from the grill, a glass platter, and a ceramic bowl.  nevertheless, they turned out pretty well, especially in comparison to my first attempt.  a little hard and extremely chocolatey, but delicious nonetheless.  and they sure beat rice and potatoes in flavor.

yesterday i made some raspberry crumble bars.  i was drawn to the recipe because in the baking sister's blog they were originally made for an AJWS bake sale, and i'm a big fan of that ngo.  they were a lot easier than the cookies and smelled awesome.  it was tricky to tell when they were done, though.  the fire kept going out in the stove, and because of the ridiculously high altitude i have to bake everything longer and hotter, but i'm not sure exactly how much.  also, i still don't have measuring spoons, so i'm using actual teaspoons and table spoons, hoping they're vaguely the right size, and estimating for the fractional amounts.  it's a very inexact science, and probably will lead to dessert disaster at some point.  but ah well.

this morning i noticed a corner was missing from the bars.  my host papi came downstairs and said in english "mmm, they were rich"  i smiled at the  slightly awkward translation of the spanish word rico-- which means wealthy, great, delicious, or sweet, depending on the context--and at the fact that my creation had his seal of approval.  huzzah, this is indeed improving relations with my host family!

p.s.: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH!!!!

it only hurts when i breathe [or, of course you're sick! you're vegetarian!]

last week we had quite a fright.  i had just arrived to teach my first class of the morning when there was a bit of a commotion.  the kids were all running around the classroom, and rumors were flying about what had happened to their classmate who had just been sent to the infirmary.  this didn't seem too out of the ordinary--kids in general get sick a lot, which is compounded by lack of access to good sanitation in the area.  add to that how often these kids fight, and you get a lot of sick and hurt kiddos.

but it soon became apparent that this was no ordinary scuffle or sniffle.  ten minutes into the lesson, we heard sirens, and an ambulance came driving straight into the schoolyard as the guards unchained and unbolted the huge metal gates.  it was like watching a portcullis being lifted, i'd never seen the door actually opened, just a tiny peephole to which i have to defend my reason for being there every morning and a little slit of a mini-door where the stern guards let me through.  i tried to keep the students calm and somewhat focused on the lesson--they were shouting and standing on their desks trying to get a better view--but i was just as confused and curious as they were.

their regular teacher came running back to the classroom and grabbed her purse.  "i've got to go with him to the hospital.  you take the class for the day."  there was a flurry of "what happened to him? where are they going? is he going to be ok?  what's wrong with him?"s and i tried to pretend to be calm and said "don't worry, i'm sure the doctors are taking good care of him.  sra. inez is going with him to the hospital, i'm sure we'll all know more soon..." my numbers-greater-than-10 worksheet suddenly didn't seem so important anymore.

as substitute teachers don't really exist in colombia, i wasn't sure what to do when i was supposed to switch classes. i had 80 more students waiting, but i didn't want to leave these ones alone.  i eventually did some juggling with the other teachers, took over one of their classes, and somehow it all got sorted.  the next day in the teacher's lounge i saw profesora inez, and asked her what on earth had happened.

Displaced children in a South Bogotá slum waiting for food (NYT)

"well, i think he's going to be o.k., but he'll be in the hospital for a while.  he has a severe lung infection.  oh, that poor boy--he's had a lot of health problems.  he lives up in the mountains in the slums for the Displaced with his brothers and mother.  they get up at 3 or 4 in the morning every day and walk miles and miles to get to school here.  and back.  their mama is very passionate about education, she wants to make sure they get the best schooling they can so they can have more opportunities.  there are schools up in the mountains, but they're not as good as this one, and they're a lot more violent--it's just not a good environment for learning.  but i'm sure you can imagine, what with the poor sanitation in the slums, bathing in that cold water, and walking that far every day through the bad air, the dust and pollution.  he caught a gripe* last year and never really got medical treatment for it, so it just got worse and worse." 

wow.  my first touch of the war hitting home.

i'm kind of frustrated by the lack of medical attention in the school in general.  the school has over 3000 students, and they spill over into three different buildings, one of which is a mile away from the main campus.  and one nurse.  in one of the buildings.  a number of my students have had fighting-related injuries (not from fighting in my class, thankfully, but the aftermath from previous classes or recess).  and if they're unlucky enough to be in two of the three buildings that have no infirmary, the best we can do is send them home.  i'm afraid this one poor fellow had a concussion, i found him in the back of the classroom crying and holding his head.  i stupidly, automatically, said "do you want to go to the nurse?" and he said dazedly "what nurse?"  it was decided that he should sit outside by the gate and wait for his parents.  his papi arrived an hour later, on a bicycle, popped the boy on the back, and went off.  i do hope he's o.k.

two girls came up to me crying the other day after recess with skinned knees and bloody stockings.  ---"she hit me!"----  "NO, she hit me first!" ---"girls, why are you fighting again?  violence has no place in a school!"  i probably mucked up the grammar on that, but i think they got the idea.  "now let's see... uuf that looks bad, do you want to go to the nur--i mean... bathroom to wash it?" i finished lamely.  the bathrooms have no paper towels or toilet paper or even soap (which is a health issue of its own), and are usually locked up, so that wasn't going to be especially helpful to the girls, but it was the best i could do.  perhaps they could splash some water at the wounds to get some of the dirt out.  "i don't even think we have a first aid kit here," i thought exasperatedly.

this is probably coincidental, but on the subject of illness, the day after the ambulance incident a gripe hit me hard, like a kick to the back of the knees, and knocked me out for a good week or so.  i'm still not in tip-top condition.  i couldn't even get out of bed for several days. not fun.  my host mami took me to the doctor, which was an adventure.  after waiting for several hours, he saw me and asked what was up.  i asked if he spoke english, because i really wanted to avoid miscommunication, and when he nodded i gratefully explained my symptoms in english.  he did not react in the slightest and then said "now tell me in spanish.  um... it'll be good practice for you,"  it was obvious that he did not, in fact, speak any english.  i sighed and went at it again.  he stopped me and corrected my every grammatical error.  i was not in the mood for a spanish lesson.

finally he said, "well, of course you're sick--you're vegetarian!!!"
"um... i don't think that's it.  i'm pretty sure it's the flu.  and altitude sickness."
"you at least eat chicken and fish, right?" he asked.  when i said no, he shook his head as if to say 'what am i going to do with you?'  he continued, "but how do you expect to to be healthy and have energy if you don't eat meat?"
"um... i eat other things?  it's never been a problem before.  so about the flu..."
"but it's just not natural!  God made man to eat meat.  yes, you can survive without it, but you're going to pay a very high price health-wise."

after a long lecture on how i was disrupting the natural order of the universe by not eating animals, he prescribed me some cough syrup and unmarked black pills for congestion.  when he noticed that i looked like i had chicken pox, i was so covered in bedbug bites, he prescribed me an orally-ingested bug spray.  (i was a little wary about eating bug spray.  and i think that's kind of sidestepping the root of the problem, that my bed is infested with bugs)  as for the rest of the symptoms, he prescribed... sugar water.  yes, sugar water.  isn't that the classic placebo?  he said it would give me strength.  i was not impressed.

here are some reasons why bogotá is a bad place to be if your lungs are not happy:

• it is almost 3000 meters above sea level.  meaning the air is wicked thin.  so it's hard to breathe normally, you never feel like you've got quite enough oxygen, and being sick makes it doubly so.
• because of the high altitude, and also kind of lax environmental regulations, there's tons of pollution in the air, which makes it harder to breathe.  and easy to get sick again.
• the weather here is kind of london.  it's wicked cold and grey and damp and rains every day, which isn't exactly ideal for boosting the immune system.
• sanitation isn't great, particularly in poorer parts of the city, and soap is not too common--not just in the schools, but everywhere.  pack in a population of almost 9 million people, and you've got a little fandango of germs on the loose.
• because it's built on a mountain, everything's all up and down, just like providence or san francisco.  so there's no just going for a gentle stroll or running an errand.  going out requires climbing a mountain.

when i wasn't passed out, i spent a lot of time while i was sick watching pirated glee episodes.  thus, i post this ironic tribute to bogotá:

"it's so hard for me to breathe!  tell me how i'm supposed to breathe with no air?  living without you [in bogotá] is like living in a world with no air."

*gripe literally means flu, but it is used pretty vaguely to describe lots of different ailments--everything from sneeze or a stomach bug to lethal pneumonia.  which probably tells you something about the medical system here.  respiratory infections are common and dangerous, particularly for children--they're one of the leading causes of death for kids under 5 here.

also, on this subject, i saw this statistic that blew my mind.  it was from a world health organization report from a few years back, but still shocking.  the leading, number one cause of death in colombia is violence.  that includes violence from the war, narcotrafficking and gang violence (where's the line, often?), crime, and domestic violence.  together they comprise 16% of all deaths in the country.  and over a quarter of all the years of life lost in the country are due to violence.  which means that if you're gonna die in colombia, there's a pretty good chance that you'll die young and violently.  now there's a cheery thought.