Building Walls in Bolivia Builds Cultural Bridges

by Martie Wachs, Amizade, Ltd, Pittsburg, PA

Last October, my husband Marvin and I traveled to Cochabamba, Bolivia, to help build an orphanage. There were only three volunteers on this particular trip. Besides Marvin and me, there was another fellow named Jim, an enjoyable companion and hard worker whom we had known on a previous volunteer trip in Nicaragua. 

Jean Carla, a native Bolivian who was Amizade’s Bolivia Director, was just like a fourth member of our group, traveling with us everywhere, and working side by side every day.  She was young and effervescent, and completely dedicated to the orphanage project. She took great care of us, and shared the beauties and charms of her native Bolivia like the world’s best ambassador. 

The orphanage, Hogar de Los Niños (Children’s Home), was quietly hidden several miles out in the country in the midst of corn and alfalfa farms. Five years before, the home’s one nun and a handful of homeless, parentless children existed by wandering the streets of nearby Quillacollo and begging for food and occasional shelter. When a benefactor donated this land so the children could have a place of their own, the nun and the children first stayed in corrugated tin shelters on the land. But since the involvement of Amizade and several other local organizations, one new dormitory building has been completed, and several more buildings are planned.

Our job on this trip was to remove the corrugated walls currently housing a kitchen and storage area, and erect brick walls to replace them. It seemed a daunting task at first, with only three volunteers and Jean Carla, but we had two others who made it all possible.  Felix, a Bolivian mason, was our engaging and patient supervisor and coach. He showed us how to blend just the right amount of water with the cement to create the perfect mezcla, pile the mezcla on the wall and ease the bricks expertly to the right position, scoop up the mezcla droppings with a trowel and slide the mezcla into the waiting spaces, move the measuring string to the next position, and use the plomada to be sure the wall was rising straight. “Un poco mas” (a little more) was his favorite expression, and he used it often, assuring us we had it almost right, but that with un poco mas it would be perfect.

Felix’s helper, Moises, was a whirlwind of energy. Moises had been an orphan who was raised by one of the nuns at the Hogar. His dedication to the work was obvious, and his loving attention to the children was touching.

A Typical Week

During the “work week” we lived at the Casa de Retiros, a large retreat center where we had sparse, but comfortable, motel-like rooms and ate our meals in an expansive dining area. Our days were full – up at 6:30 for breakfast, work at the Hogar from 8:15 to noon, back to the Casa de Retiros for lunch and a short siesta, then back to work on the Hogar from 2:30 to 5.  By the end of the first week, the outside walls of the new kitchen were halfway up. Taking each day separately, it was hard to notice the progress, but remembering back to the first day, you could see the great strides we’d made.

Our reward was a long weekend in Cochabamba, enjoying some of the tourist attractions, wandering through the food market, rich with unusual sights and smells, and walking the lively streets of the city  The city was a delightful mixture of old and new, beauty and fading beauty, wealth and poverty. It was a good and renewing break.

The second week of building seemed harder. Jean Carla had told us at the beginning that the energy level of volunteer groups seems to sag in the second week, so I was determined not to let that happen to me. But many of these walls were double bricks wide, and much more difficult to assemble.  My confidence in my newly-learned bricklaying skills began to erode when I had to take the mezcla and brick out to start all over again, sometimes two or three times before the brick was finally at the right angle and level.  When Felix came over to inspect and said, “un poco mas,” I would sigh deeply and start over. And when his inspection resulted in “esta bien” (it’s good), I’d smile with relief. 

But I eventually got better, learned some tricks of the trade and settled into the rhythm.  It amazed me that I could concentrate on the perfect mixture of mezcla and placement of each brick so intensely that I lost track of time. There was a camaraderie among us that eased the day along – teasing and joking, listening to Felix’s and Moises’ favorite Bolivian music, interacting with some of the eager and curious children.

Nearing the Journey’s End

By the middle of the second week we had finished our walls, and stood proudly in front of them for a group picture. We had a celebration day with the children, playing soccer, performing native dances (theirs were cumbias and Bolivian “fighting” songs; ours the Texas two-step), and culminating in a festive lunch at the Casa de Retiros dining room.  The kids were animated in a way I hadn’t yet seen them – eyes alive and sparkling with excitement, but still more well-behaved than most American kids I’ve known.  A three-year-old named Shirley, who’d been wooden and solemn at the Hogar, began chattering confidently as she stuffed down more food than her stomach could possibly hold.  The day was magic.

And then we headed back to Cochabamba for a little more sightseeing and preparations to return home. I bought a few souvenirs at the local craft market – among them some colorful woven cloths, and some wood inlaid pictures of Bolivian scenes. But those were by no means the most important souvenirs I brought home with me. The taste of dulce de leche (Bolivia’s national sweet), the touch of mezcla and brick, and the knowledge of the hope they bring for so many children, the smiles of Felix and Moises and the many friends we made in Bolivia, and the sound of Shirley’s chattering were souvenirs far more valuable than any tangible gifts. 

I’ve always found deep and satisfying challenge in immersing myself in another culture. (Although another culture doesn’t have to be a foreign country, it is my personal preference. But it can also be a different neighborhood in your own town, or another community in your state or country.) When you truly see yourself – your politics, your personal habits, clothes, gestures and everything you represent through another’s culture’s lens – you chip away at the complacency, the self-satisfaction that can so easily settle in around us.  It’s a reminder that the world isn’t just about us, that there are people everywhere who are good and kind and struggling to make decent lives for themselves. 

Since September 11 many in the U.S. have drawn closer to family and friends in an effort to enrich the relationships they care about most. While that is a good trend, it is just as important to look beyond ourselves, widen our friendship circles and embrace those with cultural differences. The events of September 11 happened to the world. Terrorism is a terrible illness, but so are complacency, self-righteousness and narrow-mindedness. Caring, helping, giving, loving, learning and sharing with others are the cure.

Martie Wachs is an independent traveler who has volunteered at a number of locations. She wrote this story on her recent experiences with Amizade Ltd.