When I first arrived in Bolivia, I was all geared-up to jump into my mission work. Beginning the first week of July, I started training to become a missionary - a preparation on all fronts: mentally, emotionally, and physically. There were many doctors visits and immunizations; many lectures and group discussions on cultural sensitivity, cultural adaptation, conflict management, and the like; and much prayer and reflection. When I landed in Sucre, I was excited to finally put into practice everything I had taken in for five plus weeks.
But it took me a while to realize that I was in Sucre - and not in Montero. My call to do mission work has been placed on hold while I become better equiped to help the children in Montero - by learning their language. While we are all called to be God's missionaries everyday of our lives, in whatever capacity God is asking us to live out His mission for us - I have had to mentally switch from missionary in Montero to tourist or traveler in Sucre, as I pass my time in Spanish school.
Sucre is well-known in Bolivia for its amazing museums, beautiful architecture, and its history of Bolivian culture and independence. So, I have taken to passing my time outside of classes and my studies by trying to enjoy fully the beauty and reality of Sucre.
My second week in Sucre I had a free morning, and I ventured out to the Parque Cretecico - a national park where they have preserved the footsteps of dinosaurs from the Cretaceous Period. When I was a little girl I was fascinated by dinosaurs, and even wanted to be a palentologist... so I was pretty stoked to go see my first real, physical evidence of their existence! Like most things in Bolivia, my excursion to this dinosaur park had many unexpected things. When I approached the common means of transportation to the park in the main plaza, I was embarassed to see a blue truck (previously just a bed) where they had built small wooden benches for the travelers, and there was a giant dinosaur head above the windshield. As if getting inside this truck wasn't weird enough in the plaza, everyone we passed along the way stared at us as we passed. I felt like a dork, and worse, passing the poorer areas of town I felt like a rich tourist.
The actual park was a little overrated. The footprints were on the otherside of a cliff, and they were hard to see from that distance (although I respect them trying to preserve the history). They had rebuilt lifesize, plastic models of the dinosaurs who had roamed the area and left their footprints. But somehow without having the eyes of a child, the monsters were less than thrilling. I felt like this would have been so much more worthwhile to see if there had been a small child there to watch their reactions, instead of trying to think about how exciting this would be if I was young again.
The following weekend I decided to travel three hours via bus to visit Potosí, the highest city in the world at 4000+ meters. Potosí is known for its huge silver mine, Cerro Ricco (also containing large amounts of lead and iron). The mine was discovered sometime in the 1500s, around the time Spain was invading and conquering South America. The minerals and silver that was coming out of Potosí were so pure, that the city quickly became one of the largest cities in the world at the time, with a very elaborate, ornate culture. It is said that they have found enough silver in this mine to have built a bridge to Madrid (instead of sending all of the silver there by boat).
The mine is still operating, and the men who work in the mine are continuing work of generations in their family. The mine has awful working conditions, and when I went to tour the mine I was wading in ankle-deep muddy water for almost half the time, and there was a constant smell of sulfer. The workers are expected to work 12-18 hour days, and they are only paid each month if they find enough silver. They work all alone, and the farther into the mountain you go, the hotter the air is, and the more toxic. The men who work at the deepest levels could find the most pure minerals, however they can only stay in the mountain for one hour at a time due to the toxic gases. Children as young as 12 years old work in the mines, and the life expectancy of miners once they begin, can be as short as 15 to 20 more years. There is a documentary I hope to see (and please watch the truth yourselves) about a 14-year old boy who works in the mines, La Mina del Diablo. To make the work a little more tolerable, and to help with the effects of toxins and the air pressure on the body, the miners chew coca leaves. On our tour, we each brought the miners a present of coca leaves and a bottle of soda to keep them going.
It was interesting to compare Potosí to Sucre, because they are both Spanish settlements in the Andes mountains, around the same time. While Sucre is famously called the "White City"of Bolivia, and has a very grand feeling about it despite its relatively quaint size, Potosí is full of colorful buildings, and fills like a much smaller town. Each street is a huge incline (or decline), and the narrow streets (which can barely fit a car) make the narrow streets of Sucre seem generous and roomy. I found the architecture and urbanism of Potosí to be very intelligent and beautiful. The weather is much colder and "uglier" (as Bolivians say) than other cities, and the colorful buildings conteract this constant drab. Although each street is on a hill, each narrow space carefully frames a church steeple, or a mountain in the distance. And the narrow streets open up to a variety of plaza types and gathering spaces. Besides the buildings being colorful, the architecture is much more ornate than Sucre, especially the buildings from Potosí's boom years. Each church was more elaborate than the previous one I saw, with stone and wood carvings of tremendous detail.
My day in Potosí ended on a more sour note as I was pick-pocketed on the bus home to Sucre. It was a mental mistake on my part, and my first slip-up in many travels; the man stole my wallet complete with credit and atm cards, and my Nikon camera. But Jesus was protecting me in many other ways, as I only lost material items, and was not harmed or threathened in anyway. In many ways, I had to chuckle a little at God (after about 30 minutes of feeling totally stupid, and another one or two hours at just being mad at myself). Because in His calling me to be a missionary, He has asked me to give up many material things, many items that bring comfort, and to try and find He's riches that can grow only from poverty. The Nikon camera was the only thing I brought with me that I was super-protective over, and I thought the worst of everyone when I had it on me. It put me at odds with the people of Bolivia, and with my purpose for being here. Having it taken away has honestly been - a little freeing. He is asking me to more radically give up material things. And He is calling me closer to His heart, asking me to be with His children who live in poverty.
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