I listen to Norteñas as we fly from Lagos to Calabar, close to the Cameroon border. I'm so tired that the line between dreams and thoughts has become blurry. The music takes me to Sinaloa and images of man wearing Texan boots and cowboy sombreros get mixed with storylines of hunters and gorillas in the forest. We just spent two weeks in Sierra Leone working with partners to develop the initial story for a drama on chimpanzee conservation; tomorrow we'll sit down with scriptwriters from Nigeria and Cameroon to agree on the story for gorilla conservation in the border between both countries. I sometimes wonder how I ended up working in all these parts of the world, a question that probably many people wouldn't - or can't afford to - ask themselves. I'm lucky. Life has provided me with enough content to write a book, which makes me feel a sense of guilt for not even trying. Dream and reality remains blurry until the stewardess hands me a plate with chicken and yam. Next to me a Nigerian 20-something man plays with his iPad impatiently; he is returning home for the May 1st holidays. The cheap pink toilet paper in the restroom reminds me that this airline not only tries to cut any possible costs, but that is not really reliable. I rather go back to the dreamy state I was before. As we prepare to land, the Norteño playlist is coming to an end and for a moment I wish I was landing in Mexico. Why I decided to leave in the first place?
At the DRC Border
We were stopped by the DRC border patrol officer today for taking a picture at the border. "It is strictly forbidden to take pictures here. What if I go to your country and do the same?" he scorned us while holding my camera trying to delete the pictures. A few minutes later, after being released, we were laughing. "Come on Brenda, you should know better by now," Will said in his usual sarcastic tone. I'm sure I'll tell an exaggerated version of this episode one day, even when the real version already sounds scary. We've been working all day, so we haven't seen much of Rusizi yet. We walked along the river that divides the two countries and let the night fall as we stood outside Hotel Du Lac getting French and Kinyarwanda lessons from the training participants. It might be that this is a border town, or that Rwanda is the most densely populated country in Africa, but there is always people in the streets. They all seem to be going somewhere and most of them carry loads of things, from eggs to wood. To my surprise, we don't get a lot of attention here, as compared to other countries in Africa. Only a few children yelled "Musungus!" at us with excitement, and that was kind of cute.
Rusizi
"If you look to your right you'll be able to see baby volcanoes," Will says as we are driving along a buffer zone of the Nyungwe National Park in Rwanda. We arrived last night to Kigali and today we drove seven hours to Rusizi in the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. We are here to train local NGOs and radio producers on how to produce a radio drama and a communication strategy that will promote the protection of chimpanzees in this part of the world. This was a beautiful ride as the landscape changed from rice to tea plantations, misty mountains and villages built in adobe; people walked all along the highway carrying all sorts of things on top of their heads. I'm now sitting on my bed covered by a net and trying to prepare for tomorrow's first training session. I've done this all over the world, but I still get a little nervous the night before it starts. A block away militaries guard the border between Rwanda and the DRC. "Do you think we can cross to the DRC without a visa?" Katie asked - to my surprise - sincerely excited. I rather not. "We are staying at a hotel run by nuns, so there won't be any beer," I exclaimed a little worried. "By day two we must have figured out where to get it," Will replied reassuringly.
La Paz
It's raining heavily in La Paz, the noise of thunder blends with Cerati's Te Para Tres on the radio. Sylvia is still asleep and Johnny has already set the breakfast on the table. It's 1:00 pm and Radio Deseo plays a concert by Fito Paez and Luis Alberto Spinetta. Argentina has been the main provider to Latin America with an alternative soundtrack and identity to that coming from Hollywood. In comparison to Mexico, South America feels so independent of the United States and mostly relaying on what the region produces. A few days ago I met Mamerto Betanzos who was the producer of "Teatro de los Andes" for 19 years. "I travelled around the world preparing the ground for our theatre troupe to perform," Mamerto said, "so I lived a few months in Padua, Prague or New York setting the stage, promoting the show and selling all the tickets in advance." Now, back in Sucre, he assured me that there is nothing like Latin America, "we believe in community and our lives aren't centered in our jobs, but in enjoying time with our families." After a few seconds he confessed, "I chose work over family, I've dedicated all my life to theatre, and the troupe was my family." As I write, Johnny appears from his bedroom. "How did you guys sleep?" he asks, reminding me that as Mamerto, for the past years my life has centered around my job, and my colleagues and friends around the world have become my family. You learn to feel at home almost everywhere and love the people you spend time with; you give yourself openly in a need to establish meaningful connections. "It's a good life, you learn and grow enormously, but you need to know when to stop and settle," Mamerto said before saying goodbye. I think I could settle in Latin America. I've been daydreaming for quite some time of moving to a place like Uruguay for a year and just let life happen, without looking for it. Sylvia is awake now and Johnny invites us to the table to have breakfast: coffee and bread with cheese. Radio Deseo starts playing Mariposa Technicolor, giving me the perfect lyrics to finish this post. Todo al fin se sucedió, sólo que el tiempo no los esperó, la melancolía de morir en este mundo y de vivir sin una estupida razón.
Which way to go?
Today is Christmas. We are driving through foggy-mountain highways crossing La Sierra Madre towards Xalapa. We drive quietly listening to some country music. Enrique, my Mom’s partner, stops to buy a bag of pig-shaped sugar cookies that people sell on the side of the road in this part of the country. “Do you remember the time we went to Veracruz for the holidays?” Pepe asks as I nod trying to remember a trip that happened more than 20 years ago. It’s hard to imagine how we pictured ourselves as grown-ups back then. “What is it next for you?” I ask as we take pictures of the cookies against the foggy backdrop. “I’m not sure.” He shrugs his shoulders. For the past two years he has been teaching at the School of Architecture in Mexico City, after living in Venice, Barcelona and New York. He has a love for knowledge that is only proportional to his lack of interest for a relationship. “I’m still interested in urban planning,” he says, and I know he hasn’t found his place int he world yet. Two days ago I was interrogated by some other members of our family, the usual questions intended to make you feel you’ve been driving in the wrong direction for the past 33 years. “It is terrible that cities are built around cars and not human interaction,”Pepe asks interrupting my thoughts and making me feel relieved that I have a cousin that even when he doesn’t know where he is going, he knows what he stands for. At 35 he doesn’t know nor is interested in learning how to drive.
I <3 Laos
I miss Laos. I missed it since I landed in Bangkok, and I've been missing it ever since. "It is hard to pinpoint what it is precisely," I tell my mother over the phone, "but there is something about Laos that makes it a beautiful and special place. I want to go back." It is possibly a combination of the gentle nature of its people and the accidental landscape. It is the frugality combined with a clear sense for beauty. It may be the communist - buddhist way of living. Or the sight of people riding motorbikes as they hold colorful umbrellas; or the intense green of the rice fields; or the incense burning at every temple as monks dressed in orange clothes take care of the shrines dutifully; or the spicy meals combined with tam-tam-"ing" with Beer Lao and Lao-Lao. It is probably that during this trip and work sessions I laughed more than I have laughed in months, and that our partners took great care of us during our stay. Since my return to the US I have asked everyone the same question: "Can you believe I let a stranger take my passport from Xieng Khouang to Vientiane to process my Thai visa?" I guess in Laos I learned that you can actually let go and trust that things will be alright; my passport was there a week later waiting at the Xien Khouang airport right before our flight. How can you bring some of what you have learned into your life? Do you think that the actual experience is enough to internalize and absorb the new perspectives? "Do not underestimate how much you actually learn or grow after each trip, even when you are not able to articulate it,"I repeat to myself. One insight after this trip - that I can't yet dare to mutter - revolves around the idea that probably living the simple/frugal life is the way to embrace complexity. As I struggle to write this coherently I remember how Khamdee, Sinthone and Mr. Maus taught us how to dance to Lao music. Actually, who cares about complexity when you can dance and bump your hips once in a while.
Khamdee
- Where are you from?- Khamdee asked me to inform the waiter.- I'm from Mexico- I replied. - Is that in America?- the waiter asked; - is it part of the United States of America? - No- I replied. - It is the country right below the US . - Oh! I understand -he said before continuing with his duties.