Bolivia seen through Western Eyes

As one stralls down the muddy streets of Santa Cruz for the first time, one cannot but help feeling a mysical estrangement to such a vibrant continent as Sounth America. These were some of the first impressions I had as I arrived to Bolivia and perceived the country for the first time:

This is without doubt a different world than the one we live in. Being at home one can try to imagine how things are on the other side of the world, but our imagination can only build on the reality we are already accustomed with. Here in Bolivia, the world is turned upside down. The norms and safeties that one has gotten used to in Europe, doesn’t exist here. There are different rules, and a different society, and amazingly enough it all seems to work out pretty fine.

My first experience with Bolivia was getting picked up at the airport by three kind musicians and a driver. And as we are cruising down the streets o the city centre in 100 km/h, with no security belt and pedestrians walking innocently into the street, we find ourselves getting pulled over by a police car. Apparently it is normal that the police pulls over cars on Saturday nights, because they want money to get drunk. They would usually make up an excuse for you breaking the law, and then tell you to give them some money and they would let it slide. But not tonight, because as it turned out our driver had been drinking.

Apparently, alcohol consumption is only too widespread in this country. I guess it is one of the evils that the Europeans brought to the continent in time gone by, and thus the purity and innocence of the indigenous peoples was ruined, and their destiny set on the same wretched track as our own society. We were sent to an open restaurant while our driver was escorted to the police station. Since it was in the middle of the night, we seemed to be the only ones that weren’t all drunk. There was only one dish on the menu at this fast food restaurant – burger with fries. And for drinking, soda and… soda.

Our driver eventually came back, escorted by his cousin, and told us what had happened. The police found out he was drunk, and he had also broken the law by driving into a one-way-street in the wrong direction. The police officers that pulled him back told him that they would wipe his record clean and forget any of this happened if he gave them 400$ bolivianos (50EUR) in cash, there and then. This is a very big sum for the Bolivians, even for police on the hunt for drinking money. And as they let him go, they told him which way to go so that he wouldn’t be stopped by the police again. A Saturday night in Santa Cruz the police will be swirling through the streets looking for someone to exploit, or simply pointing a gun at them to get a few Bolivars for a beer, and the rest of the week the police will be lazing around as real crime went on unseen in the rest of the city.

Next day it was time for me, and the choir that was staying in Santa Cruz to leave home to Santiago. They had been staying over at a mission house for the weekend to rehearse for a festival next week. The choir of Santiago, just as the small string orchestra they have there, consists of youth between the ages 11 and 19. They are all school kids, some with work on the side, and they try to fit in rehearsals on the side. Practicing culture is not really a concept that this culture has grasped yet. Thus, most of the teachers and directors are Europeans and Americans.

The Bolivian peoples are very kind to foreigners. They made me a lovely fruit salad for breakfast, and treated me kindly for the whole day. They call me “El profesor”, and as all other white, blue eyed person in this country, I have become known as a “gringo”. You wouldn’t think, compared to the neighbouring countries like Venezuela and Argentina where there is a myriad of different races and nationalities presented, that Bolivia would have so few white peoples living with them. Methinks I only saw one single other white person (gringo) for that whole day, and he happened to be one of the choir teachers from San José. The population here consists of what I would call beautiful red skinned Indians. They all have this Bolivian look about them, and it is only too apparent that I am not one of them, no matter how much sun I try to get on my skin.

The bus trip was an adventure. Not only was the bus driving at 120 the whole way and in stead of stopping at red lights and road crossings he would only sound his horn to make everyone jump out of the road, but like every other vehicle here, there were no seat belts. And every now and then we would stop in a village where plenty of small children and adults would surround us trying to sell us food and snack. The traditional food here in Bolivia is mostly meat based. They have very few vegetables, but corn, rice and potatoes make up a good side dish to the meat. Dried meat, especially chicken and lamb, are easy to find with the road snack sellers. They also sell soda, candy and fruits, and these strange small bread buns that are filled with melted cheese. I remember once reading an article about healthy food being a luxury only the rich can afford. The reality of this becomes only too apparent in this country.

As the bus strolled down the country side, I could observe the nature gradually becoming more tropical. There were more palm trees, banana trees and mountains coming. And believe it or not, even the sub-tropical forests of Amazon have seasons! At the moment it is the end of the winter, also called the dry season, and most of the trees are without leaves. Soon they will become green again, and the real outlook of the rainforest will be seen again. There were also less farms, factories and road posts as we got further away from Santa Crus. The poverty took another form. In the city it could be seen in the ghettos, huge areas of simple houses covered in garbage and a vibrant street life. In the rural part of the country, poverty could be seen in the tiny farms, owning a pack of chickens, maybe a donkey and a pig, and a very simple way of life, often without electricity and sanitary facilities.

Knowing that Bolivia is one of the worlds poorest countries, with over 2 million inhabitants living below the UNESCO poverty line of 2$ a day, the reality of these peoples only becomes too obvious when it surrounds you everywhere. But they don’t seem too unhappy about it, because their life style is not a consumption based one, as ours is. The middle class, like here in the village where I live, has very simple houses with little furniture and broken walls, roofs, floors and pretty much everything would need to be fixed or restored according to European standards. Incredibly enough, you will see them all dressed very neatly and they all seem to have a smart phone. It is kind of like a paradox, but the smart phones (as long as it is not an I-phone) can be easily bought from a cheap Chinese manufacturer.