"Not ideal!"

These smiling people make up an apparently random sampling of MCC Bolivia personnel: Bolivians and North Americans, serving in a variety of capacities (administrative support, libraries project, volunteer programs, and rural development). What had brought us together was a visit to the town of Moro Moro, where Patrocinio had some meetings with townspeople, Laura wanted to check out potential host families for new volunteers, and Sandra and I had agreed to lead a workshop on child psychology for teachers and library committee members. Saúl came along as part of his “orientation” to MCC’s programs, which he hadn’t had time to complete as a new staff member because of the backlog of work when he’d first signed on.




Why do we look so happy? It could be the enjoyment of each other’s company—and we did enjoy spending time together, whether laughing over funny stories at dinner, hiking around the hills behind Moro Moro, or singing in the truck on the way home. Or it might be the fact that we were really, really looking forward to returning to Santa Cruz in that truck, rather than by bus, which was the way all of us except Patrocinio had come. This was the trip I was led to describe, in an email I sent to my parents, as “not ideal.”

The trip from Santa Cruz to Moro Moro never feels short. It involves spending an average of 8-10 hours in a slightly cramped, slightly aged bus which almost always runs behind schedule—especially if you’re lucky enough to get stuck with the driver who likes to stop and spend some social time with his buddies in one of the towns along the way (while the passengers sit and wait). The roads are quite good until you hit the foothills between here and Cochabamba, when you begin to snake around some pretty fierce curves and landslides are the order of the day during rainy season. This is not rainy season, but an unexpected rainy day on Friday had made things a bit slippery, especially once we hit the end of the asphalt in the late evening.

We didn’t have any serious problems, however, until we hit the ascent to San Juan del Chaco, one of the countless small towns we had to pass along the way. That’s when the serious mud-slick began, and the bus started fishtailing as we rounded one of the curves. The driver tried starting up again, but the front wheels just spun and spun. When it became clear we weren’t going anywhere, we stopped. It was now 10:00 at night, and we were still at least two hours from Moro Moro. And some of the steepest climbs were still ahead.

Now what? The driver, his assistant, and a few intrepid passengers started shoveling stones under the wheels, hoping to get enough traction to pull the bus over to the side of the road so other vehicles wouldn’t get stuck behind us. Meanwhile, Saúl, Sandra, Laura, and I got out and walked around a bit. The moon was high and bright, and the stars pricked out vividly against the black of the sky.

Eventually, the tires grabbed and the bus was pulled over to a safe spot on the shoulder. Chilled because of the altitude we’d already attained, the last of us passengers climbed back onto the bus and settled in to get what sleep we could.

I have to take my hat off to the Bolivian road service. By 7:30 a.m., when we decided to risk starting off again, a crew was already running heavy machinery over the stretch just ahead, packing down the mud and clearing the way for us to pass. Our other ally, the morning sun, dried the terrain out enough that we made it into Moro Moro with no further problems, arriving a little before 10 a.m.—almost 19 hours after we’d left Santa Cruz. Our workshop was supposed to have started at 8:30, but fortunately our hosts Brian and Krista had posted a sign explaining that it would be postponed until the afternoon. Saúl headed off bleary-eyed on a fishing expedition he’d already planned with Patrocinio and Nathan, another MCCer who lives nearby. Laura, Sandra, and I gratefully headed off to rest until lunchtime.

In the end, everything else went well. The workshop participants showed interest and participated actively with questions and comments. We also had a productive meeting with the library committee, in which they shared their progress and plans for the future. The fishermen didn’t catch a thing but had an excellent time hanging out and loading up on fresh vegetables bought from local small farmers. In our times together as a group we laughed together, shared experiences, and got to know each other better.

Ideal? No, at least in terms of logistics and hours of sleep. Still, by the grace of God, we could leave with a smile on our faces, knowing it had been good.