El Cuaquero

A note--No pictures again, because I can´t make my computer work in this internet cafe.  Sorry.  Will insert pictures into this post, and do a similar photo dump as last time when I can get my computer and the internet to be friends... (also, I can´t figure out how to make a colon on this keyboard, so there are lots of dashes in this post)

Thursday Morning.  I go through my usual routine--emerge from under seven blankets, mix boiling water with cold water to wash my face out in the courtyard, resting the plastic tub on a stump.  Modesta, Emma´s mother, encourages me to drink something hot right away.  This morning it is coca tea.  She also warns me about the low door to the kitchen for the fifteenth time.  We chat about her day ahead selling snacks in the square; it loks rainy so there may not be much business.  This day is different, though, from the previous few--we´re going on a trip.

Annie, Neal, Emma and I sit in her parents´ courtyard, looking ahead at our schedule in the now-emerged sun, waiting for her brothers to arrive.  We also look back at the trip so far, and ahead--there have been some hard days, but we feel good about how things are going.  We will be driving today with her brothers Andres and Solomon, and her father Militon.  We are heading north, first to Achacachi and then to Sorata (where I am now, frustrated at the internet cafe).  Solomon arrives with the mini-bus and we load in, our daypacks stuffed for the four day trip.

In Achacachi, a mid-sized Aymará town with a large regional dairy, we buy some food in the market (bread, avocado, bananas, chizitos and other sundry snacks) and then head to a small Quaker boarding school, El Cuaquero. Andres and Solomon both attended this school years ago, and they tell us stories as we explore.  They are fun to watch banter, and Andres is particularly hilarious.  A small door off the street opens up into a sprawling series of structures--a church that hosts the yearly meeting, holding thousands; two dormitories; the classroom building; a futsal/basketball court.  Fifteen years ago this school had hundreds of students.  Because of civil unrest before Evo Morales´s presidency, and economic pressure to move to the city (most Aymará move to El Alto, a rapidly growing suburb perched above La Paz) the school has had a some hard times recently.  It was down to only a couple dozen students a few years ago, but is now growing again, up into the fourties or fifties.

We start the day chatting with Alvaro, the very youthful new principal of the school.  We meet his father also, along with some members of the school board ("the Junta").  We share a great potluck lunch with these folks--we´re getting used to the Bolivian potluck.  Lots of potatoes, oca (looks like a carrot, tastes like a sweet potato), cheese, hot sauce, sometimes some meat, more potatoes.  After lunch, students begin to materialize; Neal and I play some futsal (small-sided soccer) with some elementary school kids and Francisco, an old guy with boundless energy.

After the military-style roll call, we introduce ourselves to all the students (lined up by grade). We´re getting pretty used to this drill, as this is our third different school.  Neal and I head to an elementary school classroom where we are faced with only six students (this will be a breeze).  We decide to run the "how to have a short introductory conversation" routine out of our bag of tricks (as I said, we´re getting used to this). These students have had very little English instruction, and never by anyone who speaks English.  It goes well.  The next class is bigger, and we go to the "head-shoulders-knees and toes" routine.  This one is fun because it involves a lot of speaking English to the kids and making them figure out what you're talking about. By the end of the class, we´re pretty sure they know some body parts, colors, and things in the classroom. Or at least they got to smile a lot and move around.

Annie and Emma are off doing something else that sounds fun.  All I know is that Annie later shows us a sweet little undulating box made out of rolled up newspaper bits.

After school, Neal and I play some basketball with teachers and students, then futsal.  We are pretty confident about basketball (playing on a team that includes Emma´s brothers) until one of the opposing teachers, a chunky young woman named Eunice, starts making every shot she takes.  Luckily, no one other than the gringos is much taller than 5´5" and our height advantage carries the day.  Soccer is fun and ends in a tie, I think, when we need to get on the road.  Neal and I, still not totally used to the altitude approaching 13,000 feet are happy to be done.We spend a last bit of time with the teachers, eat a sandwich, and then jump back in the van, off to Sorata.

And we´ll tell you about this place soon!  (hopefully with pictures)...

Heart,

Sam