Mom and Dad’s visit
Two months ago, two worlds collided: my parents came to visit me in Bolivia.
Mom and Dad arrived in late June and spent a week getting to know my life here. They met my friends and coworkers (and Saúl, of course), visited two libraries I work with, and traveled with me to Concepción, where my work partner, Sandra, and I have gone several times to lead workshops for teachers. While they were in Santa Cruz my parents stayed at my house, so we were able to chat over breakfast or supper, just like old times—except that we were eating fresh papaya with coconut yogurt instead of breakfast cereal, and wearing long pants in June. (It’s winter here in South America.)
We packed a lot into our week together, and there are a lot of memories to share. But one of my favorite moments took place in a small village an hour out of Concepción. We’d gone to nearby Candelaria to meet some of the teachers Sandra and I have taught in our workshops, and to give my parents (both teachers) the chance to visit a rural Bolivian school. While we were there, we found out that San Pablo, another half-hour away, was celebrating the day of its patron saint. Some of the youth from Candelaria was going in order to compete with San Pablo’s soccer team, we were told; wouldn’t we like to go too?
Why not? So we piled into a truck (myself, our hostess in Concepción, and most of the soccer
team crowded into the flatbed; my parents sat up front with the driver) and rattled down the dirt road to San Pablo. Mass was concluding as we arrived, but we were just in time to see a painted statue of Saint Paul carried in on a wooden platform by some of the women of the town. After the saint was settled into his place of honor, guitars, violins, and a drum began to play and the dancing began. How neat, we thought: we’ll get to see some traditional dancing from eastern Bolivia. Little did we know the townspeople had us pegged as participants, rather than spectators.
Shortly into the first dance number, one of the older women grabbed my dad’s hand and pulled him out of his seat. It wasn’t so much as a request as a command, so my dad had no choice but to join the circle. My mom enjoyed the spectacle until someone grabbed her hand, and soon she was dancing too. I was taking pictures, which saved me for a while, but before long an older man half my height had grabbed my hand and I too was part of the circle.
There was something special about that moment, something symbolic. Not only had we been welcomed to that community, we’d been included as members of it. We were participating in something as modern as the digital cameras recording the experience, yet at the same time ancient: the indigenous people of this region were probably dancing in much the same way when the Spaniards first arrived. (Speaking of worlds colliding!)
It was a significant experience. And like so many new experiences, once we got over our nervousness about looking foolish, I think we even enjoyed it!
Mom and Dad arrived in late June and spent a week getting to know my life here. They met my friends and coworkers (and Saúl, of course), visited two libraries I work with, and traveled with me to Concepción, where my work partner, Sandra, and I have gone several times to lead workshops for teachers. While they were in Santa Cruz my parents stayed at my house, so we were able to chat over breakfast or supper, just like old times—except that we were eating fresh papaya with coconut yogurt instead of breakfast cereal, and wearing long pants in June. (It’s winter here in South America.)
We packed a lot into our week together, and there are a lot of memories to share. But one of my favorite moments took place in a small village an hour out of Concepción. We’d gone to nearby Candelaria to meet some of the teachers Sandra and I have taught in our workshops, and to give my parents (both teachers) the chance to visit a rural Bolivian school. While we were there, we found out that San Pablo, another half-hour away, was celebrating the day of its patron saint. Some of the youth from Candelaria was going in order to compete with San Pablo’s soccer team, we were told; wouldn’t we like to go too?
Why not? So we piled into a truck (myself, our hostess in Concepción, and most of the soccer
team crowded into the flatbed; my parents sat up front with the driver) and rattled down the dirt road to San Pablo. Mass was concluding as we arrived, but we were just in time to see a painted statue of Saint Paul carried in on a wooden platform by some of the women of the town. After the saint was settled into his place of honor, guitars, violins, and a drum began to play and the dancing began. How neat, we thought: we’ll get to see some traditional dancing from eastern Bolivia. Little did we know the townspeople had us pegged as participants, rather than spectators.
Shortly into the first dance number, one of the older women grabbed my dad’s hand and pulled him out of his seat. It wasn’t so much as a request as a command, so my dad had no choice but to join the circle. My mom enjoyed the spectacle until someone grabbed her hand, and soon she was dancing too. I was taking pictures, which saved me for a while, but before long an older man half my height had grabbed my hand and I too was part of the circle.There was something special about that moment, something symbolic. Not only had we been welcomed to that community, we’d been included as members of it. We were participating in something as modern as the digital cameras recording the experience, yet at the same time ancient: the indigenous people of this region were probably dancing in much the same way when the Spaniards first arrived. (Speaking of worlds colliding!)
It was a significant experience. And like so many new experiences, once we got over our nervousness about looking foolish, I think we even enjoyed it!
Photo captions, from top:
My parents enjoying a quiet moment on the balcony of my house in Santa Cruz
San Pablo’s patron saint makes an entrance. Notice, in the background, the traditional thatched houses and mud brick oven.
Mom and Dad join the dance
posted by The Enríquez-Zandstra family @ 4:06 PM
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