BLOQUEO

BLOQUEO

09.05.1994

It is almost five months to the day since we arrived in Bolivia and I regret very much that I have reached the conclusion that not only is Bolivia going nowhere fast, it is going nowhere - PERIOD.  If I had any doubts on this score they were dispelled completely by the events of the past two weeks.  (end of April-beginning of May)

For more than a month the schools all over the country have been closed and teachers (particularly primary teachers)  have been on strike with thousands of them on hunger strike in an attempt to press upon the government the need to improve salaries and conditions of service so that they will be able to eat - literally.  At the moment families of the children attending school have to pay the equivalent of US$1 to try and make up the teachers' salaries because, if not, they would simply starve.  The government wants to reform education in the country (and rightly so, because it is a total disaster) but they have proceeded to do so without consulting with the teachers.  The health workers are in a similar situation.  The trade unions stress that the 7% salary rise which the government was proposing is insufficient and does nothing to take workers out of the misery trap that they are in.  Then there are soon to be trade union elections.  The campesinos maintain that the only source of income they have is coca leaf, and unless and until the alternative development projects being promoted in the area can provide a real alternative they simply cannot afford to stop growing coca.  In this they are 100% correct.  The alternative development projects over the past 20 years have been an utter failure and there is no questioning that fact.  It is simply and patently true.

In view of all this unrest and upheaval, on Thursday April 28th. a nationwide campaign to block all roads came into force.  The campesinos responded to the call and by midnight April 27-28 all the roads and pathways in the country were blocked by human barricades later reinforced by tree-trunks and any other material to hand.  By morning all traffic was stopped - buses, trucks and everything with thousands of passengers caught in the way. The entrance to the dairy was the point chosen to set up the block at this end of the village so we were completely closed in with the blockade on one side and the river on the other.  Two thousand people were at this barricade.  Between Entre Ríos (the scene of the helicopter attacks last time around) and Bulo Bulo there were nine thousand people over a distance of 25Kms.

As is frequently (nearly always) the case, alternative development projects become the focus of people's frustration and there is a danger of assault.  The UMOPAR (the army anti-drug patrol) came by to protect the premises, but we told them (in the nicest possible way, of course) that we would rather protect ourselves, thank you very much.  If there is any protection you don't want and that is the UMOPAR. In fact their presence anywhere is a sure-fire recipe for reprisals.  The best protection you can have under these circumstances is to have good relations with the campesino leaders which, fortunately, the project has been fostering and developing.  In any case, the first night we thought it wiser to put out all lights on the complex so as not to attract attention to ourselves.  The following day some campesino leaders came and asked if they could have the lights  of the central passage on at night because they have to check the change-over at the barricades and they needed light(!), so the next night we put those lights on again.  


A group of World Health Organization experts were caught in Chimoré (where Robert’s office is)  with the potential head of a new project.  We were asked to check up on them, so Filippo who was at Chimoré went to see them.  The head was terrified out of his wits and decided to hire a private plane to get flown out.  Since there was room for only him and 2 others, the remaining two had to stay on and the next day they decided to walk (50Kms.) to Villa Tunari where they had a car.  Since this guy then had to justify the expense of hiring a plane, he put the wind up everybody in the UN offices who started sending messages for us to evacuate.  Even if we had wanted to, that was impossible, because there was nowhere for us to go.  The only escape route is the river and we don't have a boat or a canoe.  Anyway, it was panic stations in Vienna and God knows where else.

The news regarding government  reaction to the blockade was worrying, because, as usual, the Minister of the Interior wanted to bring in the troops.  If that were to happen, it would have meant a massacre and a great deal of violence.  Edgar Tapia's daughter who lives in Germany called up to say that there had been a news flash in Germany that 2 members of the US DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) had been kidnapped.  That gave us some cause for concern because then the US would definitely have wanted to put the boot in. It was difficult to get any reliable information about this, but we eventually found out that what had happened was that these two had been trying to pass themselves off as doctors in a Red Cross car but were detected by the campesinos, who took them out, gave them a real hiding and then let them go.  (This is the same ploy that they used in March when they used a UN vehicle to masquerade in).  It was worrying, because the silence was ominous (no helicopters or planes or anything like the last time) and we thought that the Americans were probably planning an Entebbe-type strike at night.

Eventually we prevailed upon Edgar Tapia to call all his government contacts to find out what was happening.  The Minister of the Interior wanted to strike, because, he said, the campesinos were behaving violently and had to be put down.  This was a patent lie:  the people were sitting out on the road - men, women and children - with their cooking pots and candles at night.  In view of this, Edgar provided true information based on what he had seen with his own eyes.  He called everyone he could get hold of, including the President's wife and son, and gave them reports of events.  This was most important because the only (mis)information they were getting was from US intelligence sources bent on armed intervention, and the fact that these people have known Edgar for many years and he has been involved in campesino affairs for decades meant that they could not disregard what he was saying. This sowed the seed of doubt as to the veracity of the other information, giving the other ministers who were not in favour of armed intervention something concrete to negotiate with and so any such action was postponed.

On the Monday (the fourth day of the blockade) the US was really getting itchy and they called a government ministerial meeting at the U.S. Embassy!!!  (If that isn't controlling the affairs in someone else's country,  I don't what is).  Intervention was on the cards again that day.  Again we pressed Edgar that he had to do something and the endless telephone calls began again.  Fortunately they yielded their fruit.  Next step - to try and get both sides together in some kind of meaningful discussions.  More phone calls.  Gradually the teachers and health workers worked out an arrangement.


All day Thursday (a full  week after the blockade had begun) the campesinos trailed up and down to the river and on the return journey they carried rags and sacks filled with stones.  Trees and branches and pieces of wood were beavered up to the road in readiness in case no agreement was reached.  In the afternoon negotiations were broken off.  Low profile policy once again. Under the trees at the entrance to the dairy the men sat sharpening their machetes.  Finally in the evening of Thursday May 5th.  it looked like some kind of agreement was being reached.  

The campesino leaders came back from La Paz to explain the basis of the agreement they had made.  This then had to be submitted to popular assent and, if the grass-roots accepted the agreement, the barricades would be lifted.  The whole procedure is like something out of another century.  Since modern communication systems are virtually non-existent, everything must be done by word  of mouth, not much different from medieval kings and queens or their representatives touring their territory.  Effective communication is face to face.   The leaders from the Chapare began at Villa Tunari and processed along the route explaining the agreement.  As assent was given at the different spots the barricades there were lifted and the leaders continued to the next place.  After Chimoré, however, they only passed quickly through our barricade, because they wanted to go to Bulo Bulo first. In this area the Eje Pachacutec is strong, and therefore they believed it would  be better to convince the people there first.  Pachacutec was an Inca leader (I don't know what century yet) under whom the frontiers of the Inca Empire were extended by 250Kms. EVERY DAY and he just lopped off the heads of the vanquished - well, they did have a head trophy tradition.  

At 10p.m. we went out to do the rounds of the barricades to see what was happening.  Great trees across the road, grass huts erected, people lying everywhere.  Under the MILKA sign lay lots of young men in a circle with their bag of coca leaf in the centre, all chewing quietly away.  The women had set up kitchens and were cooking and washing and tending to their children who lay on the ground.  Life goes on as usual within the bounds of abnormality.  One of the local leaders came across to greet us.  They do this as a sign to the people that you are friend not foe.  In the course of the week we had supplied them with pasteurized water, cheese and the last of the milk from the dairy.  They estimated that their leaders would not return before about 11p.m. but in fact it was almost midday on Friday before the barricade outside the dairy was lifted and we could get out.  Just as well, because we had run out of everything except cheese and yoghourt - no bread, no milk, no eggs, no fruit, no nothing.

Thousands of passengers, either in buses or trucks, sat there on the road for a full  week and nobody complained. What hardship you might say.   But is it?  In fact, in their own homes there is not much more in the way of creature comforts than what they had on the road.  No beds, mostly; no chairs.  In the evenings the people sit out on the roadside and chat.  In the daytime they sit on the ground to do their daily chores.  The children lie on the ground anyway.  They wash themselves and their clothes in the river.  Many people only have candlelight.  

The lesson I learned from all this is that any country that governs its people on the basis of what pleases or displeases the US is going nowhere except down the drain.  There is no future until the nation is governed as an autonomous entity with its own goals and achievements set in accordance with the needs of the people.  The basic needs of these people are improved nutrition, education, health care and a basic infrastructure to allow the country to compete at a minimum level with the rest of the world.  


I have just sent off a translation for the UNESCO encyclopedia on archaeological studies in South America.  Skeletal evidence shows that the women in the 10th century had little access to protein and that their diet consisted mainly of carbohydrates.  When the skeletons of today's women are examined by future archaeologists, they will find exactly the same.  Hardly a single girl after the onset of puberty has an unspoiled tooth in her head and by the age of 20-odd, once they have had a couple of children, they have no front teeth at all.  From my observations as I drive up and down this road, I would say that at least 60% of children do not attend school.  Health care is virtually non-existent.  Unless these priorities are set and a concerted effort is made to achieve concrete goals in these areas, Bolivia (and most the the Third World) is a write-off.  

As for alternative development, the focus is all wrong.  It should be aimed at fostering small local initiatives, instead of embarking on a lot of white elephant projects with no future.  The burning question, however, is whether they really want alternative development to succeed...  I harbour great doubts in this regard.  Time will tell in this direction, because Robert's project has adopted a totally different approach from everyone else.  Fortunately, Filippo and Edgar also believe in sustainable development as the only viable path to follow, but we shall see just how serious the powers-that-be are about making it work, because parts of it CAN work.  But will they let them?

I have just read a book entitled "The Big White Lie - The CIA and the cocaine/crack epidemic" by Michael Levine, an ex-Drug Enforcement Agency man, who explains how for years the US has supported and kept in power all kinds of dictatorial and fascist régimes in South America, including the García Meza Dictatorship in Bolivia in the 80s on the basis that bigtime drug barons were (and are?) the strongest bulwark against the spread of communism.  Now, GET THAT! And the sad thing is that it is true.  Drug traffickers practise red blooded capitalism no holds barred and they own everybody who is anybody.  In the course of the last few months it has come out that the former government of Jaime Paz Zamora, which had always been held up as a paragon of virtue, was up to its neck with drug barons of every description - with the connivance of the US.  If you can get hold of that book you should read it.

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THE MILKA ANNIVERSAR

THE MILKA ANNIVERSARY FAIR


30.03.1994


March 29th. was the 3rd. anniversary of the founding of the dairy plant, so they had a fair.  All the milk producers came along and spent the day sitting around on the grass eating and drinking ambrosia, a beverage made with milk and an alcoholic drink, like an eau de vie.  It is traditionally made in the byre as soon as the cow is milked but here, of course, it was made with pasteurized milk.  I think it was pretty strong because it had 1L. of this alcoholic potion for every 3L of milk!  There was a band playing altiplano music with pan-pipes, wooden flutes (quenas) and a huge drum called a bombo.  

The main events of the day were a bicycle race from Valle de Sajta to the dairy (about 15Km) and a five-aside football championship between the teams put up by all the associations participating in the project, a number of local teams  and the project team.  It lasted all day, and in the end the project team won against the Comité Cívico from Ivirgarzama.  The UMOPAR (the drug control police) wanted  to take part too, but none of the other teams would play against them so their kind offer had to be declined.

The local radio station sent along a representative to record the events.  As he was trying to record the prize-giving, the band kept playing away and beating on their drum. Someone told them to keep quiet for a minute or two but they just played on.  By the end of the day they had drunk 22L. of ambrosia and at 10p.m. went off on their truck still playing away for all they were worth.  Another association team also brought along a band, but they played a wider variety of instruments, such as the small South American guitar and mandolins.  They were very good indeed.

Another event of the day was a tombola with a small Holstein bull as the prize.  He had been wormed and washed and shampooed with my dog shampoo to get rid of the ticks and then brushed until he shone.  However, the person with the winning number was not there when the draw was made. He turned out to be a young boy from the village who likes animals so that worked out not too badly.

The day before the fair the producers were paid for February.  There are 280 of them and I got roped in to help out with the paying procedure.  It was quite interesting to see the number of people who could read and write, those who could only sign their names and those who can only make their mark with their thumb.  There were also people who could speak no Spanish at all.  Next month I am going to ask if I can help again, because I would like to do a survey to see what proportion of the illiterate people are women and also to see what relationship, if any, there is between illiteracy and the quality of the milk they produce, since hygiene and animal care play a large part in that.

MONTERO

MONTERO

29.03.1994


In the middle of March a friend of the vet at the dairy came to visit. When he saw Simon he fell in love with him straight away and insisted that we should take him to a dog show which they were going to hold in Montero, near Santa Cruz in eastern Bolivia, about 250Kms. away.  Since it was at the week-end, we decided to go for the jaunt and so that I could see what that area is like.  

The further you travel from the project area the fewer trees there are, because the colonization programme has led to the felling of forest.  The change is gradual, of course, but as you cross the River Ichilo which marks the border between the provinces of Cochabamba and Santa Cruz the difference is more marked, because Santa Cruz is the boom area and it has opted for cattle ranching.  The ranches are huge in Santa Cruz compared to the small "chacos" and "chacras" in Cochabamba.  First of all the pasture lands are similar to the "dehesas" in Andalucía or Extremadura with numerous trees left standing for shade, but the closer you get to Santa Cruz the fewer trees are left until, as Robert told me (because I did not get that far), Santa Cruz itself is like a desert with a tremendous erosion problem.  Since the trees have been cut down, it is windy there (This I noticed when we touched down in Santa Cruz on the incoming journey) and the wind increases the erosion.  

The distance between Chimoré and Santa Cruz is more or less the same as to Cochabamba, but the road is infinitely better, being surfaced all the way except for a 50Km. stretch which is either a series of sand dunes or a quagmire, depending on the weather.  This stretch was also surfaced at one stage, but the Brazilian road-building company, Andrade y Gutiérrez, did not put in any drainage, so, when the rains came, they just washed the surface away.  The asphalt was also supposed to be a certain thickness but when it washed away it was clear that it was only about 5cm. thick!  Unlike the road to Cochabamba, which crosses mountains and so forth, there is no excuse here for bad  road-building, because the terrain is absolutely flat.  The only technical point to be borne in mind is that when the rains come they are torrential and good drainage is essential. Never mind!  They have just won another tender to build more roads somewhere else in the country.

As the terrain changes, so does everything else.  There are fewer indigenous people wearing the traditional Andean dress.  There are more European features to be seen and a smattering of Brazilian-type Negroid mixes.  The villages are hives of activity and, like the farming, things are done on a much larger scale.  The rice de-husking factories (ingenios) are proper factories with silos etc. and not little one-man-band, back-yard activities.  People do not cart their goods on their backs as they do on the altiplano and in the Chapare: there are plenty of horses and carts.  Most people ride horses using the traditional Andalusian tack. The sensation it gave was that you were getting nearer to Argentina and Brazil, which is true in geographical terms, of course, but also in cultural terms.  Altogether the pulse of the area  is quite different.


The dog show was to be held at a place called Guabirá Expo-norte, which turned out to be the Montero fairground on the outskirts of the town.  The agricultural fair was on, which is why they were having the show at all, and business was brisk.  There was a magnificent bull hall with beautiful animals immaculately turned out.  Another pavilion housed the horses, also in peak condition.  The installations were first class with a clean individual stall for each animal with its feed and water containers and plenty of straw on the ground.  There were also stalls with agricultural machinery, mainly for the harvesting of sugar cane, and  a Mennonite display with hand-made ox yokes and other leather harness.  They also had a model pump made of wood which consisted of a wheel with a cord and little rubber rings.  When the handle of the wheel was turned the system pumped up water from a well.  They had three models: one for wells up to 10m. deep, another up to 20m. and a third for wells of up to 30m.  Most ingenious.

It is interesting that there is a considerable Mennonite community here.  They have immigrated mostly from Canada and they wear distinctive clothes: the men wear blue denim dungarees with a checked shirt underneath and a big hat.  The women wear long dresses with long sleeves and a scarf covering all their hair, for all the world like orthodox Jewish women.  Their children are spotlessly clean and impeccably well behaved.  They are farmers and run their farms on a traditional basis using animal traction and intermediate technology, like the water pumping system.

Eating places were not scarce and, once again, the predominant food is, like in Argentina, great steak barbecues, which people were tucking into with gusto.  

At the dog ring the police put on a display first.  We did not get to see that because they asked everyone with a dog to move away out of sight of the ring so that the police dogs would not be distracted.  Then there was a kennel club exhibition of dogs belonging to the Santa Cruz Kennel Club.  They mostly belonged to one lady who owns a breeding kennel.  She had Siberian huskies, salukis, Yorkshire terriers, miniature pinschers, Kerry  blues and Argentinian dogos, which are white like bulldogs but bigger and very aggressive.  There was also an Old English Sheepdog and I can't remember the rest.  From her married surname, Justiniano, the kennel owner may be a relative of one of the government ministers.  She was a typical example of the archetypal Santa Cruz woman, who, from all accounts, is not shy to show her female attributes to best advantage.  However that may be, she certainly was a professional at showing her dogs off to best advantage. She took each one around the ring and then a minion came on and stood with it while she took the next one around.  

Then we had the competition and Simon won first prize.  Amazingly, he behaved very well, walking and trotting around the ring nicely.  The only flaw was when the vet came to examine him he wanted to jump up and kiss him all over, which was not in the script at all.  Afterwards people kept coming up and asking if they could have their photo taken with him and he posed like a film star.  Other people, who had long-haired dogs, wanted to know which shampoo I used on him and other such trivia. We met other vets who insisted that we should register him with the kennel club and show him.  He is probably the only dog of this breed in Bolivia and they are fascinated by the novelty value.  Some of them knew something about the breed because they had seen them in the US. Anyway, it was fun and took Robert's mind off the problems of work for a day, which was a good thing in itself. All in all, the only trivial day we have had since we arrived!

A FIRST UPRISING

A FIRST UPRISING

07.03.1994


The events of the weekend March 5-6 were unexpected, dramatic, perturbing at times, but uplifting and gratifying on the other hand.

Early on Saturday morning (about 8 o'clock) after Robert had left and I was on my way to Chimoré, one of the drivers flagged me down on the road to ask how he could contact Robert because the truck which was collecting the milk for the project dairy had been detained at Entre Ríos by the campesinos who had mobilized during the night and all the tracks were blocked.  I raced to the Chimoré office where Robert was supposed to be but he was not there.  However, the watchman said that he had heard him on the radio to the driver, a young fellow called Oswaldo and only about 18, trying to reassure him, but they had not been able to make direct contact with each other.  This probably meant that he was making his way to the scene so I returned home.

Robert had come back to the dairy plant to pick up René, the manager, who would be able to direct him to where the driver was.  Radio communication was out of the question from then on because the campesinos are highly suspicious of anyone using a radio since they think that they are probably spies passing on information to the security forces.  Robert and René had to talk their way past all the blocks, but progress was slow as at every block they had to convince the people that they were from UNIDO and that they were only trying to get their driver out and what was the point of establishing good relations if they were going to be put in the same class as everyone else when it came to the crunch etc. etc.  They left Marcelo, a vet who had just started work at the plant that very day, as a voluntary hostage at one point and continued on their way.  They allowed a campesino to drive the vehicle so that there would be no suspicion.

About 10:30 the helicopters started to arrive.  They were swooping over the roof of the house where they then turned around and went back to the area where most people were concentrated.  Robert and René had to abandon the vehicle several times and run for cover because they were firing tear gas grenades and smoke bombs.  The confusion was great.  Finally they managed to reach the milk vehicle.  Fortunately Oswaldo, young as he is, had had enough presence of mind to turn around and go back to the milk producers and return their milk to them, since by the time he got to the dairy it would have been no use.  It was 2:30 in the afternoon when they returned.  Oswaldo was pale and shocked because at one point a number of people who had been hired by DIRECO, a government body for the forcible eradication of coca, had jumped on the back of the truck narrowly escaping machete blows from the campesinos who were in hot pursuit behind them.  One of the fugitives was his own cousin but, despite this, after a few hundred metres he stopped the truck and told them he was sorry but he could not allow them to travel in it and they got off. His cousin's head had been split by a machete blow and he is now in coma in Santa Cruz. The others have all disappeared.


In the middle of all this commotion two UNIDO people had come to do a study for the setting up of micro-industries plus the travel writer from the Financial Times.  We had something to eat at the dairy dining-room until word came that the main road was going to be blocked by a march so they had to be to be removed.  Off they all went and I stayed.

As evening fell, one of the dairy workers and the new vet who had gone to the village came to say that there was talk in the village, where 15,000 people from all over the countryside were now gathered, that one of the UNIDO drivers had once worked for DIRECO and people were talking of coming to the dairy.  All these thousands of people had been out in the blazing sun all day long with nothing to eat or drink.  The adults keep going by chewing coca leaves which mitigates hunger, but what about the children?

From the description they had I could work out which driver it might be, so I decided to go with one of the workers to Chimoré to try and contact Robert.  Fortunately when we were about half way there we saw his car coming back so we turned around.  When we gave him the news he went pale and raced back to the office to try and find out if this was true.  In the meantime all communication in Spanish ceased on the radio.  Only Quechua could be heard as the campesinos sent messages to their families to prepare food and bring it down and they would meet them at predetermined points.

When he and Edgar came back, they said that Mr. Baker's wife (he is the essential oils expert) had arrived (which was true) and had invited us to a cocktail party!, (which wasn't) so I went and got changed, packed overnight things in a bag plus the dogs' food and we set off.  Since there was a shortage of food in the village with so many people around and the men were drinking chicha, the possibilities of people assaulting the dairy, which is on the opposite river bank from the village,  were quite real, so we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and it was more prudent not to provoke them by having these "gringos" around the place.  It turned out that this driver, the son of an Italian, had indeed worked for DIRECO, so we drove to Villa Tunari where he lived, about an hour and a half away, and stayed the night at a hotel there.  Another worry was that this driver was the one in charge of transporting the two UNIDO personnel!  

On Sunday morning Robert and I went on a recce to find out where this guy lived.  We found the UNIDO car and then Robert and Edgar went to speak to him.  He was dismissed there and then and they collected his UNIDO  polo shirt and hat.  That was a relief to get rid of him, because his presence on the team could have been a danger to everyone.

When we reached the dairy, to our surprise we found that the staff had baked a cake for Robert's birthday, so we had birthday cake and decided what steps to take next.  There was still a shortage of food in the village, of course, and the village authorities were appealing to everyone to share what food they had with the people from other places who had none.  In view of this, and as a means of repairing any possible damage which might have been caused by the talk on the previous night, it was decided that the truck should take fresh water and two smaller vehicles would take 1,000L. of milk and 200Kg. of cheese to be distributed.  Edgar Tapia, who is well versed in political manoevrings, prepared a statement in Spanish which was then translated into Quechua to be read on the radio.  Basically the message was that in response to the appeals of the authorities and as a humanitarian measure the dairy was providing milk and cheese for the women and children.


At 1p.m. we set off for the village.  As we entered people surrounded the vehicle.  Most of them cannot read so they just stared at the UNIDO emblem and eyed us most suspiciously, especially since Marta, René's wife who is Mexican, her two children and I are all fair-skinned and, in comparison to these people, so is Robert and we all have European features.  We smiled and waited until Robert and Edgar spied someone they knew, whereupon they got out and went off to talk to him.  At that point Roberto Céspedes, one of the chief campesino leaders and the head of one of the Associations involved in Robert's project, saw them and came straight across.  That was our passport to safety.  

When he was told what we planned to do, he immediately arranged for the bus station to be cleared so that the vans could park in there in relative shade.  He then announced that the women and children should form a queue.  The campesino leaders, armed with pointed staves, then took charge of keeping order and thousands of people queued for their glass of milk and slice of cheese.  When the women and children had all been served, what was left was distributed among the men.  Everyone could have water.  It was a gift in itself to see those tiny toddlers gulping down their milk and the women coming up and thanking you for helping them.  Three and a half hours later when all the provisions had run out we packed up and left.

Unfortunately, as we were about to finish, the TV cameras arrived and started filming.  This we did not want, because all these things are interpreted depending on the slant they are given by the TV producer, but they would not listen and carried on filming anyway.  

The scene was totally medieval.  Here were thousands of people milling around, poor and ragged, and the only arms at their disposal were sharpened staffs and in some cases bows and arrows! It reminded me in some ways of what it must have been like in Vietnam, because before Saturday there was not an inkling that a mobilization was planned, but their own jungle drum system works wonderfully well and on Saturday all these thousands of people just materialized as day broke. Many of them had walked for miles throughout the night  and had to make the same trek back again when it was all over.  They had set a deadline till 3p.m. on Sunday for the Prefect to come and discuss their situation, but he did not come.  How could he?  His son is the director of DIRECO which is responsible for the eradication of their coca plantations.  Last night they were waiting for a decision to be made as to whether they should send a delegation to La Paz.  That is less than useless because they do not listen to them.

This is now a crossroads because, depending on how the government decides to tackle the situation, the Chapare will either be militarized or they will start negotiations.  The only people who benefit from all this are the big-time drug-dealers, because in the last week the price of 1Kg. of coca leaf has fallen from 360 bolivianos to 82, so we must ask ourselves who are running this show.  In Villa Tunari, while Robert and Edgar were dismissing the driver, in the full light of day a truck was being loaded up with tons of coca, beautifully packed in white parcels, and it would drive without incident through all the police controls.  This man is well known and nobody says a word while the campesinos are  hounded and beaten: it's crazy!


Depending on how this initiative was interpreted or misinterpreted, Robert might have lost his job, but in any event I think they did the right thing.  Since we have been here, I have come to understand why the situation in Somalia and the war in Bosnia are such a mess.  The UN is a totally useless organization, not because the people on the ground are not competent, but because the fat cats sitting in their plush offices are a shower of incompetent nitwits whose only concern is how to hang on to their post and all the privileges that go with it.  They do nothing and decide nothing.  It is frustrating and appalling. Not only that, but the organization is so hide-bound and procedure-bound that the correct procedure takes precedence over the reasons why the project is being run in the first place. From the point of view of the project, I think the initiative went a long way to dispelling any suspicion regarding the orientation, and in the dairy plant it has served to forge a team spirit and sense of solidarity which were totally lacking.  

On the Saturday, as they were trying to make their way through the blockade, the campesinos kept telling Robert and René that a UNIDO vehicle had already gone through and they assured them that this could not be so, since theirs was the only one.  However, on Monday "intelligence channels" revealed that the armed forces are masquerading as UN people, or not even so much masquerading as using vehicles with UN stickers to gain access to places where they could not normally go.  However, some of these people are going around in combat fatigues, so the only conclusion to be drawn from that is that they want to discredit the UN and the only conclusion which can follow from that is that they do not want these programmes to succeed.  The final conclusion, if you follow that line of reasoning, is that they are controlled by the drug barons.  No other conclusion is possible.  If that is the case, then, no negotiations will take place and they can militarize the whole area.

On Friday March 11th. a government delegation with a retinue of some 50 journalists, both national and foreign, wanted to visit the project accompanied by the chief of UMOPAR  (that is the military body for the forcible eradication of coca financed and trained by the US Drug Enforcement Agency) plus a military convoy.  Robert and Edgar refused to have anything to do with it and told the UN people in La Paz that it was a totally irresponsible move.  They managed to convince them of that, but on the Friday, despite all kinds of protestations, the UMOPAR chief still managed to squeeze through and visit the dairy plant. Robert handed him a yellow overall which he had to put on over his military uniform.  The atmosphere could be cut with a knife!  However, all the military retinue were refused entry and Robert and Edgar have already explained the situation to their association leaders, so for the moment at least the crisis is past.  

BUA RECUARTE THE YU

BUA RECUARTE - THE YUKIS


01.03.1994

Some time after he came to the project, conversation  with one of the agronomists, who is a Quechua, turned to the tribal people in Bolivia.  As Robert expressed an interest in the topic, José mentioned the possibility of visiting one of these tribes and, of course, Robert showed even more enthusiasm.  Nothing more was said, but the day after I arrived in the Chapare (Feb. 12) José came to say that he had managed to make contact with the Yuki tribe and it might be possible to visit them. He himself had tried to contact them 3 years ago, but he did not dare enter their territory because he did not have a contact.  The priest from the parish of San Carlos was wounded by an arrow when he once tried to land without permission. Now a member of the tribe lives in Chimoré, the village where the project office is, and José got to know him.  It was arranged that this contact would speak to the other members of the tribe and see what they thought.

On February 28th. José was calling insistently on the radio and Robert could not understand why, so he went up to the essential oils plant which is where José works.  Lo and behold two young couples with a 2 month old baby had come up from the tribal area to examine the prospective visitors - complete with bows and arrows!  They are keen to make contact because they are under the yoke of an American missionary, called Alan (I don't know whether this is his name or whether it is Allen a surname) who has forced European clothing upon them and forbidden the use of their traditional medicine and they are having health problems.  They want to have an alternative and would like to find an outlet for their handicraft, which is the reason why they brought along some bows and arrows to show.   Robert bought some from them for they are beautiful: the bow is made of ebony as are the tips whilst the arrow shaft is made of bamboo with coloured bird feathers at the end for the flight.  Each arrow head is different depending on the kind of animal it is designed to kill.  For large animals the arrow tip has a kind of elongated bamboo "spoon".  When the arrow sticks in the animal, the weight of the shaft pulls downwards and the blood runs out through the "spoon" until the animal drops dead.

Having examined the proposed visitors, at first they wanted to charge 200 bolivianos per person, but Robert said he did not think that they were zoo exhibits.  If they wanted to be that he would have no part of it and would not go, but if what they wanted was for him to go and evaluate their situation and see what outlets could be found for them and help in the medical line, then that was a different ballgame.  A visit was arranged for March 11th.  The expert in essential oils, David Baker, was there during this encounter and he was dying to come also, so he and his Granadian wife, who was due to arrive on March 4th, came on the expedition too.  We had to get equipped with sleeping bags and mosquito nets!

There are some 34 families, about 160 people, in the Yuki tribe and they are fortunate in that they would appear to have secured their territory.  There is another tribe, the Yuracarés, who are apparently being squeezed between the Yukis, the colonizers from  a settlement called Villa 14 and logging interests.  They are more difficult to contact and their predicament would seem to be more acute.


On the appointed day Robert was unfortunately unable to come on the trip on account of an impromptu visit from a government minister and the chief of the UMOPAR which had been announced the night before.  Robert was refusing to meet the military personnel and also refusing them entry to the project in view of the damage this could do. So, he had to remain behind.  We therefore decided to make this first visit a one day affair.

Setting off from home at 6.30, by the time everyone was organized and we reached the river bank it was 8.30.  The boatman, a member of the Yuki tribe who now lives in Chimoré, arrived shortly afterwards with his dugout canoe and we all clambered in.  The canoe is made of a tropical hardwood called "ochoó" and it has narrow bench-like seats at intervals. This particular one was powered by an outboard motor, although the traditional canoe is manoevred using a broad-ended paddle.

The course of the river Chimoré is approximately 1Km. wide, although at the moment the water does not fill the whole course.  After heavy rains, when the river is in spate, it is impossible to travel on it because the flow of water is too powerful: it uproots trees and carries them downstream making any river-borne travel extremely dangerous.  On our trip Ademar Arias, the canoe owner, navigated for his son who manipulated the engine.  Navigation involved spying out barely covered sandbanks  and pointing out the route to avoid the large number of tree trunks sticking up out of the water or lying under the surface.

On both banks the vegetation is thick and tangled especially the further downstream one travels because then the settlers are fewer and consequently interference with the natural growth is less.  After about one and a half hours travel the settlers are left behind and Yuki territory begins.  Numerous kingfishers were to be seen diving for food and settling again on branches of fallen trees.  Also to be seen were herons, both of the great grey variety and white ones, tern-like birds, and many other divers and waders as well as an ibis.  We also saw three turtles.  All along the river route are magnificent deserted beaches of fine, white sand.

Three hours after our departure we finally reached the Yuki village, called Buá Recuarté.  We did not call on the American missionary who lives in style in a pretty large house with a very large radio communications antenna and AN AIRSTRIP!!  The whole community,  men women and children, was waiting for us in the community house.  Having explained that we had come mainly to hear what they had to say and find out what they would like to do, we did just that.  The chief of the community, a young man called Jonathan(!), explained that they had three main areas of concern.  They had health problems and required help to obtain medicines.  They would like to find an outlet for crafts as a source of cash because, if they had a medical emergency, although they have an outboard motor, they had no money to buy fuel, and they would like to cultivate some crops both for their own consumption and perhaps for sale outside the community.


Ademar wanted to provide them with a ready solution, suggesting that they should cut down 10 hectares of forest and plant banana, but fortunately Jose, who is an agronomist, intervened and explained that, since they had no agricultural tradition, that would be unwise.  The first thing they would have to find out is where to plant, depending on the soil and climatic conditions, then what to plant and how to rotate their crops so as not to deplete the soil and then have to cut down more forest, because that way in 20 years they would have no forest left and no soil either.  They understood the logic of that since conservation is an integral part of their culture.  

Then we had a look at their crafts.  They make hunting implements, such as bows and arrows which could be marketed as decorating items, hammocks made from a string made out of tree bark and bags and baskets made from the same material.  The hammocks and bags, which also have beads incorporated in the design, could certainly find a market.  However, since there are so few of them, Jose pointed out that it would be better if they combined forces with their Yura neighbours, who have a larger repertoire of crafts.  The Yukis and the Yura are traditional enemies, but it was pointed out that when it is a question of survival it is better to work together rather than against one another. After about two hours we left having agreed that they should contact the Yuras and set up a date for another joint meeting at which these matters could be taken further.

Each extended family has a wooden house raised slightly off the ground.  They have a school building, a building which proclaimed that it was a clinic but did not seem to have any supplies and a carpentry workshop which does not function.  Cocoa and coffee grow freely as well as sugar cane.  The children use the cocoa husks to make little toy boats.  Some people had little monkeys no bigger than a Barbie doll: one was russet coloured and another one was a beautiful greenish-yellow.

Their language, which is rather harsh and guttural with many aspirations, does not belong to the Quechua group.  The language has been written down (presumably by the missionaries) and there were children's books there.  These, I imagine, had been printed by the mission.  The role of the mission remains a bit of a mystery to me.  Apart from brainwashing them with outside ideas and divorcing them from their native culture (they have lost all knowledge of their traditional natural medicine), I did not see much else.  Why is this man, who has been there for 29 years, not helping them with their health, cultivation and marketing problems?  Someone who is in the media has suggested that what the "pastor´" is really involved in is shipping cocaine.  Can that be true?  Nothing is too fanciful here.


P.D. When I returned to Chimoré in 2003, I arrived by bus at dead of night in the middle of the rainy season and had to climb over bodies lying in the dirt street to get into the only hotel (That is an optimistic description) to spend the night.  The following morning I saw that the bodies I had stepped over were those of Yuki tribespeople who are being flushed out of their lands and are now destitute.  It was a sorrowful sight to see.  They are despised by the Quechua colonists and their future is bleak indeed.  I subsequently contacted Survival International but, although they were aware of  developments about ten years our of date, the Yukis are not a priority for them and no action has been taken.

LA CANCHA AND CARNIV

LA CANCHA AND CARNIVAL

A visit to La Cancha, the vast market, part of which is covered and part of which is open, is an interesting experience.  Apart from the fact that it is large (I spent 2 hours trying to find a place but could not), it sells everything from electronic goods to shoe laces.  There is a gallery which sells only cloth with little cubicles where tailors and dressmakers sew frantically on their Singer sewing machines. Another gallery is full of shoes, another electrical goods, another plastic ware and cleaning materials and so on.  Dotted at judicious intervals are places where food is cooked in enormous cauldrons and served at tables covered with plastic tablecloths where the market people can eat.

At least one section is devoted to food.  Indigenous women sit hunkered down surrounded by large baskets filled with fruit and vegetables.  "Compráme, caserita, comprá unos plátanos.  Papas, durazno, broccoli ....." - an incessant litany of all the things you can buy.  They don't call you María like they do in Andalucía, but casera (housewife) or mamita from the Quechua mama which is used in direct speech to refer to any female person no matter how young.  In between annoucements they eat stew - eternally tripe and pasta it seems to me - from plastic or enamel bowls.

The meat section follows.  No antiseptic packaging here divorcing the red objects on offer from the reality of where it came from. Men wheel wheelbarrows overflowing with bleeding meat through to the stalls where it is required, the ears still furrily in place and the eyes too.  To one side sits a woman patiently scraping the fur off the skins with a blade, much as people have done since the dawn of time.  The blade may be of metal now, but the process remains unchanged since the Stone Age.

Much crowing and squawking and cackling floats down from another passageway.  Here squat the women with their wooden crates and cardboard boxes out of which crane chickens and ducks and turkeys and rabbits.  Hamsters lie huddled up together in their boxes.  I suppose they are eaten here too: after all their name in Spanish is little rabbits from the Indies and, after the llama, they were the first animals to be domesticated by the Andean peoples.  The odd rooster runs around loose crowing all the while, from time to time jumping up on a shelf or some other vantage point to get a better view.

In the midst of it all tiny little ragged men stagger under the weight of the loads they carry on their backs.  The loads, which are secured by ropes tied around their chests and backs, (not like in Guatemala where they use a wide strip of woven cloth  and bear the weight on their foreheads) are almost as big as they are, and they bend double beneath them, their eyes fixed firmly on the ground.


Much in evidence at the beginning of February were all kinds of colourful masks, a must at Carnival time.  However, for the children the most important artefact is a water gun.  They run around squirting water at each other and at any unsuspecting passer-by who might happen along.  Also in great demand are bags of balloons.  This is because in Cochabamba at Carnival time children and young people blow up the balloons, fill them with water and then throw them at the young girls as they pass by.  However, there have been some incidents in the town because some smart characters have been blowing up 2 or even 3 balloons together and adding ice to the water, and this, when thrown, is a lethal weapon.  The police are to be out in force keeping an eye on the revellers to make sure that they do not surpass the limits of fun.

Merrymaking hots up - or should I say wets up? - from Friday until Shrove Tuesday when it reaches its peak.  On the Monday it is Trade Union revelry: pick-up trucks ride round the town full of workers armed with buckets of water and balloons which they throw, filled with water, at the pedestrians.  The children, for their part, stand at strategic points along the way with buckets of water and return the missiles.  They also ride around with huge water guns and target people as they go.  I have been keeping safely out of the way.

Shrove Tuesday is the BIG DAY.  On that day the Ch'alla (the apostrophe denotes a glottal stop) takes place.  Originally this is no doubt a fertility rite, because in the afternoon families prepare to eat their "puchero", the typical dish for this day, but, before they eat, half of the food along with drink is poured on the earth as an offering to the Pachamama, or Mother Earth, thanking her for her goodness during the previous year and asking her to be bountiful during the year to come.  The custom has been extended to include the tools of the modern world, so that office workers and shopkeepers etc. "wet the head" of the tools which help them earn their living.  Since all businesses are closed on Shrove Tuesday, they have this party on the previous Friday when not much work is done!  It is also the custom to make any investments at this time, so if you buy a house or a car or anything else, you have a "ch'alla" for it and decorate it with streamers and balloons.  People also buy new clothes now.  Since we had just bought our Mitsubishi in preparation for moving to the Chapare where some mode of transport is essential, a car, we had to "ch'alla" it too!  Then everyone has open house and neighbours visit one another.

There are lots of convents around the house where we stay in Cochabamba and they also paid courtesy calls on one another: young nuns were posted as lookouts at the corners to warn the others when someone was coming.  All great fun!

In the morning in the country the fields are blessed and seeds scattered and in the towns people bring along the tools of their trade (taxis, buses etc) to be blessed. Another custom is that on Shrove Tuesday men dress up as women and vice versa, another inequivocal clue that this is/was a fertility rite.

Then things die down until "Temptation Sunday" when there is a big parade through the town.  All this takes place to the inevitable accompaniment of fireworks at all hours of the day and night.  Fortunately after Shrove Tuesday we came down to the Chapare where it is altogether quieter in that respect.

08.02.94

PEOPLEWATCHING

PEOPLE-WATCHING


19.01.1994

We have now got a telephone in the house in the Chapare.   Well, we have got a telephone when it works, which is not always, but it is better than nothing, I suppose.

UNESCO is proving to be a faithful friend.  They have sent me 2 small jobs so far and this week I hope to receive a larger one: three chapters for the History of Mankind encyclopaedia.  They are all about archaeology between 700 and 1,500: one on sites in Central America and the Caribbean, the second on sites in the Andean region and the third on sites in the Amazon region.  Of course, they will be all the more interesting since I am actually here.  The only problem is that the second translation nearly never appeared because the courier company simply didn't tell me anything about it.  I managed to get it because the driver went to collect a packet they had notified me about on March 8th.  Four visits proved fruitless and on March 18th. we all went to Cochabamba, but the courier office was closed.  I managed to spy someone in the parent company office and got him to go with the driver to get the key and open up the courier office (the following day there was to be a civil strike, so I HAD to get it that day).  Knowing how things work (or don't), the driver personally went through every envelope and packet in the office and found my translation which, officially, I knew nothing about.  I hope the same does not occur again.  They ought to be a little more careful next time, because the day after the strike I went in myself and tore strips off the poor guy who didn't know what had hit him.  He was further embarrassed because there were people waiting to send or receive packages and they could all hear what I was saying.  He kept wanting to provide some justification, but I just didn't let him speak at all (As far as I was concerned, there was none).  I was FURIOUS!  Just at this moment I have a problem in that my laser printer has developed a fault and I have to get it repaired - and pronto.

In between times I am teaching the campesino association members how to use Wordperfect, so that when their computers arrive for their agroindustrial plants someone will be in a position to use them and they won't be so much waste material standing around. Once they get the hang of that I will probably have to teach them basic book-keeping.  It is quite an experience to see those hands, some of them more used to wielding a machete, manipulate a mouse!  Some of the least expected people are the most adroit.  My best pupil so far is a little lady in full traditional dress who took to the computer like a duck to water - no fear, nothing, she just dived in head first.  Quick of mind too.  

Sitting around in public places - and I have been doing a lot of that since I've been here - is highly educational.  The place where I have spent most time is at the telephone company's office to send faxes.  Here you realize pretty rapidly that the world of instant communication and the global village are rather distant concepts.  


To send a fax you have to fill in a fax request form (there are also request forms for long distance calls and telegrammes) which you take to a queue, and when you reach the head of it you hand the request form, along with your fax, to the man (it is usually a man, whilst the telephonists are usually women) who charges you a deposit of 25Bs. and tells you to take a seat.  The document is then taken to the telex and fax office, which is around the corner and down a corridor, where it is handed to the operator who, in the fulness of time, will send it.  When he or she (the fax operator can be of either sex) has sent it, all the transmission information is entered and the fax, together with the transmission printout, is returned to the first man who then enters the data in his computer which proceeds to print out the bill.  Your fax is then returned to you with the bill and, usually, some money, because a 1 page fax to Europe works out at 22.5Bs.  This procedure may take anything from 15 minutes to an hour and a half. It will be interesting to see how much a similar fax will cost from a private telephone line, but I have not had the chance to find out yet.  (A one page fax to Europe costs 10.14Bs. from a private phone, so quite a little profit there for the telephone company).

It is during these long vigils that I have the opportunity to observe the other mortals who are waiting to make telephone calls, send faxes or telegrammes.  Apart from the people who are sending faxes, who are usually employees from small companies which do not possess their own machine, most of the people waiting are indigenous people trying to call their families.  Since most of them come from small villages where there is usually only one phone box, they have to wait endlessly for the person they wish to speak to to be located.  

"Juana Mamami!  The person you wish to speak to is not available.  Will you wait?"

“·Yes, I'll wait"

"Julián Valencia, no person of that name is known there.  You must have the wrong number" ..... and so it goes on, and they wait uncomplaining and shrouded in infinite patience until their call finally yields its fruit and they are told to proceed to one of the call boxes.

A large number of the people are trying to call their sons who are doing their military service.  He is not on duty at the moment.  He has gone out.  Call back in three hours .....  But then they do manage to make contact and when the father comes out of the box he relays the information to those waiting.

"He says he took the train from Santa Cruz to Tarija and the fare was 30Bs.  He says he is well and is surrounded by his companions and friends.  He says to tell Mother not to worry.  He is fine."

This business of the military service is quite a phenomenon.  On the whole the sons of the ruling classes, due to their "enchufes" or other privileges conferred by their class, manage to evade this "patriotic duty", with the result that the majority of the people who do military service are poor and, generally speaking, indigenous people (the two almost inevitably go hand in hand).  This is amazingly shortsighted on the part of the authorities, it seems to me, because in the event of civil strife and an uprising the only people who have been taught the use of arms are the indigenous communities who, in my view, are the ones who would want to take up arms.  However, they don't seem to have thought of this minor detail!


One day, as I waited for my fax to be processed, a little Indian girl came up to play with the dogs and we got engaged in conversation.  Her name was Esther, she was 10 years old, and she had a dog called Lisa which she bathed every Saturday. She, together with her father and mother, had left home at 6am. to put a call through to her brother who was doing his military service.  They had been waiting for 2 hours already.  She was very curious about where I was calling to, and when I told her I was sending a fax to France, she exclaimed "France!  Oh, it must be beautiful there!"  (As it turned out, she didn't have a clue where France was and I had to explain to her). I told her there were beautiful things and horrible things everywhere, but she didn't seem convinced.  Then she wanted to know how I had reached Bolivia. The idea of travelling in a plane was most seductive: that really had to be the most wonderful thing in the world!  Then she asked me if I liked Bolivia.  When I told her that I did, she looked amazed and said, "Well, I don't."  Why not?  "In Bolivia everything is filthy and I hate filth.  I would like to be a doctor when I grow up to teach people how to be clean."  

The various stages of "acculturation" or "cultural disintegration" (depending on how you look at it) are also apparent at the telephone company: from the Juana Mamamis with their polleras or wide pleated skirts covered by a full length apron, their hair beautifully plaited and topped by a magnificent brown bowler hat with beige trim around the brim and a little beige tassle hanging over the left side to the little indigenous lady wearing western dress, every step is represented.  Generally the first identifying feature to disappear is the hat, then the voluminous skirt and then the plaits.  The very last symbol to disappear is the colourful woven cloth or awayu worn over the shoulders, presumably because it is a useful article in which babies and wares may be carried without hindering arm movements.

On the whole, the men wear western attire from the moment they come to the city.  Only old men, who have lost hope of ever finding employment and have given themselves over to mendicancy, continue to wear their ch'ulos, and they will never be making telephone calls - only sitting on the steps at the entrance begging.  Young male children also wear these colourful woollen hats with ear flaps.  When they grow up they abandon them.  In a way the mode of dress, indicative of the degree of (at least outward) acculturation, reflects the relative positions of men and women in the chain of cultural transmission.  The men must conform to the pressures of the society in which they are trying to make a living while the women cling to their origins and are the main links in the chain of cultural continuity.

The position of women in Bolivia is quite interesting.  There seem to be many women (of the privileged classes) in remunerated work and in positions of responsibility: the new chief of customs is a women.  Among the  indigenous community I believe that the machista philosophy is not a native one.  Rather the concept of the "couple" - of a "whole"  - is the one which is respected.  However, ill-treatment of women is quite commonplace nonetheless, and not only among the lower classes.  According to an article published in the paper the other day a large percentage of the women who report ill-treatment are from fairly well-to-do homes.

Now, here's the rub.  Apparently Bolivian legislation "authorizes" the progenitors and direct descendants of any woman to "chastise" her.  This privilege also extends to brothers-in-law and other more distant male relatives if they all live under the same roof!  Naturally the article was asking for this anachronism to be removed.


The ubiquitous baby is another phenomenon.  Almost every indigenous women is carrying a baby on her back.  They are swaddled like mummies and, wrapped in their cloths, lie unprotesting on the ground or wherever their mothers happen to leave them while they earn their living selling or whatever.  We have been here for more than a month and today, January 19th, I heard a baby cry for the first time.  There must be a secret somewhere which western mothers ought to learn!

BOLIVIA FIRST IMPRE

BOLIVIA - FIRST IMPRESSIONS


06.01.1994

In the words of Dilip Mukherjee, the tea expert from Calcutta, this is a God-forsaken place.  I would qualify this by quoting Porfirio Díaz, president of Mexico at the time of the Mexican Revolution in 1910, who said, "Poor Mexico, so far from God and so close to the United States".  Although, in geographical terms, Bolivia is much further removed than Mexico from the United States, the one remaining superpower dominates every aspect of life.  

Government policy is determined by whether the U.S. approves or not, and mostly policy revolves around the U.S. drug eradication programme: if you are a good boy and do as we say then we will give you aid.  When government people here say "and then the ambassador came in", they mean the US ambassador - nobody else counts! The newspapers are dedicated to articles about the U.S. reaction to Bolivia's coca programmes. Since we saw the first television interview with the President, who said a lot of sensible things, we have since come to think that he must be a CIA plant.

Unfortunately, aid comes mostly in the form of materiel for repressive measures.  One example will suffice:  a project was allocated US$16M. for alternative development.  However, of the 16M. 15.3M were spent on machinery of war by USAID and only $700,000 were spent on anything to benefit the people, in this case a pig-rearing installation, except that $700,000 was not enough to finish it, so the building is standing there with no electricity, no water and no sewage, but the USAID plaque is up on the wall to celebrate this magnificent donation.

Mexico may have been far from God, but My God! God's self-appointed representatives are here in force - mainly in the shape of U.S.-based evangelical churches: Pentecostals, Seventh Day Adventists, Church of Christ of the Latter Day Saints etc., etc., etc.  This, of course, is all a part of the Rockefeller policy of promoting religious proselytization as part of the anti-communist campaign.  Communism may have disappeared as a force to be reckoned with, and the US may not have agreed with many of the underlying ideas, but they certainly believe wholeheartedly in Karl Marx's opinion that "Religion is the opiate of the people": if you brainwash people with these sectarian ideas you have them under your thumb and captive as long as you can keep them there.

The most unacceptable part of this, as far as I am concerned, is that the churches they build (at least in and near the cities) are enormous edifices, all the more striking since they are surrounded by poor, insanitary housing and squalor, and there would seem to be very little effort put into improving the living conditions of the people.  Filippo, the Italian agronomist, spent last year in the south of the country where a Swedish missionery ruled with a rod of iron, but the only thing he was interested in doing was spreading his creed with virtually no efforts to teach people about hygiene or help them improve their lot.  A significant fact is that among his flock a large number of children died of cholera with no attempt on his part to teach the parents, particularly the mothers, how to avoid such diseases.  VOLVO trucks abound.  Why? Because the Swedish church representatives have the exclusive on importing them to the country.


In economic terms Bolivia would seem to be divided into two separate economies.  A primary teacher (one of the worst paid professionals in Bolivia) earns between 175 and 300Bs. a month (US$65) depending on years of service, a maid earns between 200-300Bs. plus her keep if she lives in, other salaries are around 500Bs. and an engineer might earn about 1,000Bs. (US$250).  The Prefecto of La Paz, the most important prefecture in the country, told Robert that he earned 1,200Bs. a month, his technical personnel earn 500 and secretaries earn 180, so, he said, I am in no position to demand efficiency and no corruption from my staff when I know that what they earn is insufficient. Food, especially fruit, is cheap: a pineapple costs 1B. (25 US cents), but, as far as I can see, everything else is expensive. So, how do people manage?  I have not managed to answer that question. The only response I can think of is that they don't.  The Trade Unions claim that the cost of a family shopping basket for one month is 1,850 Bs. and they are pressing for wage increases so that people can meet their basic needs.  If their calculations are correct, then there are a lot of people living below the breadline. I think the dichotomy is pretty well summed up in the bathroom of the house in Cochabamba: the bathtub has massage nozzles and jets of every description (which I never found out how to use) and yet the water coming out of the taps has to be boiled before consumption.

Teachers are on strike with over a hundred on hunger strike to force the government to do something about their salaries.  The government wants to reform the education system (and it needs it), but the teachers say no amount of reform will do any good if they are not adequately rewarded for their work.  The other day there was a demonstration of former casino workers demanding that the casinos be re-opened.  I don't know when or why they were closed.

On the other hand there are large Japanese and American 4 wheel drive vehicles everywhere, certain people have telephones and faxes and TVs and wear fashionable clothes.  Anything you want you can find - household appliances, electrical goods etc - but all at European prices. What do these people do and where do they earn their money?  One answer might be that people who run import businesses make money, or people who have their own business of whatever kind.  These people work in dollars, so they don't lose on inflation.  In any case, the economy is dichotomous and I still cannot reconcile the prices with what people are supposed to be earning.  A lot of it is said to be drug-related earnings.

The exchange rate was 4.45 bolivianos to the US dollar when we arrived and now it is 4.71.  The currency is grossly over-valued, it seems to me.  Virtually the  only foreign currency you can change (and that you can do on any street corner) is the US dollar.  Pounds Sterling are a non-starter: there is only one place in the whole of Cochabamba where you can change them and they give you nearly the same rate as for the dollar - 5Bs. instead of 4.5 - so you make a great loss in such transactions, and pesetas are absolutely out.


One of the main reasons, it seems logical to assume, why things are so expensive is that Bolivia makes virtually nothing.  Apart from raw materials, such as tin (the bottom dropped out of the market in the 70s), antimony, oil and natural gas (which is sold to Argentina and Brazil - a new contract has just been signed by the President to sell the gas at give-away prices), and forestry products (unfortunately), they sell almost nothing else. There is an explosives industry (fundamental if you have all these coups taking place all the time and as we learned to our horror at Christmas and New Year when there were fireworks exploding all night long), milk processing (the milk is excellent, just like it used to be with proper cream and everything), and not much else that I have been able to discover so far.  Everything is imported. The industrial and commercial power house of the area is undoubtedly Brazil: towels, bedlinen, crockery, pots and pans, fridges, toilet furniture, foodstuffs, cleaning materials, you name it, everything comes from Brazil.  Apart from that, the main supplier of such goods is the US, but these are more expensive.  Electronic goods come from either the US or Japan. Chile is beginning to increase its trade because bilateral relations between the two countries are improving.  The other strong economy is Argentina but, although Bolivia has a border with Argentina, they do not look in that direction and there is very little trade.

The Japanese, who have a strong presence  in the Santa Cruz region, have got the market sewn up when it comes to cars: Toyota, Nissan, Mitsubishi, and on a more modest level Suzuki, rule the roost.  A close second comes the US represented by Ford and Chevrolet.  There are some Volkswagens made in Brazil, but not so many.  The odd Renault (very odd) and no, but no Citroens or Peugeots.  British cars none at all, except the very exceptional Range Rover.  The cars here need to be very sturdy because outside the towns most of the roads are dirt roads tending towards rocky river beds. Land Rovers, we are told, are imported by the son of the British ambassador, but he must be a rotten businessman because you cannot buy them anywhere.  The reason we know that he imports them is that Robert was at the airport one day and a lady came along driving a Land Rover, so he went up to her and asked her where she got it.  She turned out to be the wife of the ambassador and told him that her son imported them.

At first the traffic was a complete mystery, but I soon realized that it was very simple.  There is no need for indicators, lights or any other accessory in your car, except the horn.  There are no lines on the roads and no traffic lights or give way signs or any such superfluous nonsense. As you approach a junction, you toot your horn and the person who toots first crosses the junction first - dead simple!  However, you need eyes on the back, front, sides and top of your head, because at night cyclists and motor-cyclists ride around with no lights, and outside the town dogs, sheep, cows, ducks, pigs, chickens and anything that may feel like it lie down in the middle of the road to sleep.  It must be said, however, that the animals respond very well to the horn!

Public transport between towns is the domain of the "flota" whilst urban transport is done by "micros".  However, there are other kinds of transport which seem to me to be an excellent idea:  there are "trufis" which are minivans that carry a small number of passengers on a fixed route and "trufi taxis", cars which work on the same principle but carry fewer passengers.  They are cheap, frequent and efficient and I think many places could adopt a similar system.  The trufis are privately owned and, I suppose, have a licence to ply a particular route.

Retailing, as would seem natural, is not very advanced.  There are some supermarkets, but small, and no hypermarkets.  Mostly you find small shops which sell the essentials.  Then there are the open and covered markets and street vendors who will sell you almost anything.  There are some shopping centres with a number of small shops but these are pretty exclusive and would seem to be for the yuppy population.


Hygiene is a difficult task for the majority of the population.  There are schemes to provide water and sanitation but, for the most part, this is lacking.  All water must be boiled before use, particularly during the rainy season, but many of the families that live on the street can only drink from the fountains.  As a result illness is rife.  50% of deaths are children under the age of 5 and the primary cause of death is diarrhoea. Second are respiratory diseases and third polio and other children's illnesses.  Another fairly indicative scene I saw reminded me of the American western films where the quacks sell medicine in the street.  At the open market there was a great throng surrounding a man who was extolling the benefits of his potions and explaining the dire consequences for the target - worming remedies.

The population must be at least 70% indigenous and most of the rest mestizo.  There is a very small ethnic European community who, of course, are the dominant class.  In general the people are not handsome as the Brazilians are handsome,  Some of the indigenous women have quite beautiful facial features and when they smile their faces light up, but they are careworn as a rule.  When they are young the indigenous women have a very upright carriage but, as they get older and carry children and heavy loads on their back, they get increasingly bent.  Where in Brazil even fat people move with grace, here the people do not: the gait of the indigenousAndrean peoples is fairly stiff and since the rest of the population is a mixture I suppose they inherited the gait too.  The Europeans are pretty graceless at the best of times so .... What people do have, especially the indigenous people, is magnificent thick hair!

The people are peaceful, courteous and quiet, they speak in low tones (inherited from the Quechua speakers, I think, who are very soft-spoken) and are generally amenable.  On the whole they have no drive, but this may be due to the fact, as someone suggested to me, that there are no incentives in society to make an effort because they don't seem to get anywhere. With so many military coups in the past there was no incentive for national or foreign investors to set up businesses, so employment opportunities are scarce and poorly remunerated.  However, they do seem to be steady workers, even if they don't "knock their pan out" working.  And why should they if they get paid so poorly?  However, people do make an effort to get work.  A fellow who has a qualification in rural development went to the Chapare to see if Robert could give him a job: this involved taking a bus from Quillacollo to Cochabamba (a relatively short journey) and another bus from Cochabamba to Chimoré which, by bus, is an 8-10 hour journey depending on the state of the "road"!

With such a high percentage of indigenous population, similar to Guatemala, one of the first things which struck me was that there is virtually no sign of  crafts anywhere.  Whereas in Guatemala there was an awareness, even among the upper classes, of the treasure their country had in terms of indigenous culture, here this does not seem to exist.  The awayu or cloth which the Indian women use to carry babies and goods on their back is brought from their home villages and I have yet to see any place where it can be bought.  I have been told that there is one shop in Cochabamba where they sell some, but I have yet to find it.  Alpaca wool is certainly appreciated abroad but here the only people who seem to value it are precisely foreign traders who sell alpaca sweaters at inflated prices.  I have found one shop in the centre run by a Bolivian where prices are more reasonable but there is no general awareness of what the country has to offer and most certainly no attempts to promote it.

Again a newspaper article may give us the clue by bringing us back to the ubiquitous churches.  Apparently over the past 20 years the policy of these organizations has been to devalue indigenous culture.  This can only be part of the explanation, because in Guatemala there are plenty of such churches too and yet there is a strong awareness of the value of indigenous culture.  Perhaps the difference lies in that in Guatemala the upper classes see the cultural (and commercial) value of their heritage, and here people do not.  All American (and unfortunately Middle American) aesthetics rule O.K? - plastic doilies and all!


These are simply first impressions which may be modified as time goes by, but I think it does no harm to record one's first reaction as a kind of control.

Some weeks ago Robert committed the cardinal sin of eating a piece of fruit withour peeling it and within 10 minutes was struck down with an almighty attack of Moctezuma.  Three days later he was so weak he could hardly move.  A group of doctors from the World Health Organization (whom he was suppoed to be conducting around) ended up having to visit him instead.  Although he had been drinking fluid he had electrolytic deficiency due to the loss of sodium but mainly potassium salts and had to have oral rehydration therapy.  He lost a fair amount of weight but is fine now.

Our boxes arrived on January 21st.  I use the term boxes advisedly, because about half the contents were missing.  I was on my own because Robert was at a meeting which lasted all day and he did not get home till nearly 10p.m.  Before the boxes came the transport company called to warn me that at least 2 of the them looked as if they had been opened and I should check them at once.

When I started to unpack I realised immediately that the boxes were half empty, so I started to check against the inventory.  It wasn't really necessary, because every single item of value, from the computer to the Irish linen tea towels, including the brand new video camera and my flute, had  disappeared in a meticulous sacking operation.  All the decent clothes have gone too, so I think we can safely say that we are "back to basics".  Since then I have been running around like an idiot trying to get all the documentation for the insurance claim.  The Lloyds representative came the following Monday and the eventually everything was sent to Vienna along with all the other documents.  So far we have heard nothing more.

At first we thought the robbery had taken place in the La Paz customs and the Minister of the Interior was all ready to start an investigation there.  However, my own research revealed that when the stuff reached La Paz it was already 60Kgs. short. The first thing everyone asked was whether the shipment came through Lima which is apparently a notorious black spot.  It did, and what is more it reached Lima on December 6th and sat there till December 29th., so they had more than ample time to check through everything and then reseal the boxes.  That is the worst of these cardboard things: there is a lot to be said for the old tea chest!

Of course, we were upset and disappointed, particularly Robert, but, in a way, I can understand it.  Here are these people earning a pittance and all these items which they could either use or sell pass under their noses every day.  It's understandable.