Bunas, Barbed Wire, and Blood Everywhere

The past two weeks got off to a bit of a rocky start. Sound familiar? Yeah, I know, I opened with the same line last time--not the best practice in writing. But how can I claim the last two weeks have gone smoothly with a title like that?! It all started with the return of my sore throat. Apparently, the first antibiotics didn’t do as good of a job as I thought. I ended up dealing with it for about week before I started to get a little concerned. I ended up going to see the doctor on my day off and was prescribed a shot of penicillin--another antibiotic.

Shots are given just slightly differently in Bolivia compared to the U.S. First of all, I was sent across the street to the pharmacy for the shot as opposed to receiving it in the doctor’s office. Of course, like most of the stores in Rurrenabaque, the pharmacy didn’t have a door or even a storefront to enter--I just walked right up to the counter. A second major difference in how shots are given here is the location. I began to roll up my sleeve as I talked to the pharmacist, only to realize that I was going to be rolling up A LOT more material before I exposed the area where she was planning to give the shot. I opted to roll down instead and, before I knew it, was flexing my biggest muscle in front of the whole street. This antibiotic better work…

Things only got rockier from there. One Sabbath I decided to take some of the boys on a walk. It turned into more of a bush-wacking hike (as far as I know “hike” and “walk” are the same word in Spanish) which was unfortunate for me as the boys had convinced me to wear my sandals. While running to catch up with some of the faster boys, I ran into a barbed wire fence. After carefully untangling myself and accounting for all the scrapes, I gathered the boys together to return back to the orphanage.

Not five minutes later, I felt a sharp pain in my foot. “Una buna!” one of the boys yelled--bullet ant! Thankfully, I noticed the oversized insect early and was able to flick it off before too much of the venom made it inside of me. “Bunas”, which I later learned are a different species than the “real” bullet ant, inflict pain in proportion to the amount of venom they inject. Kids at the orphanage have been forced to stay in bed for several days after being bitten, but with the small amount of venom I received, I was fortunate enough to walk it off in five minutes.

By this point, I was pretty ANTsy to get back and get checked out by the nurse--more due to my possible contraction of tetanus than my ant bite. Once again, I felt very fortunate as the scratches I received from the barbed wire weren’t very deep. My tetanus booster is still up to date, but it is recommended to get another if the wound is especially deep and your last booster was more than 5 years ago (true in my case). I opted to skip another shot and take my chances; so far so good, but the incubation period hasn’t passed yet as of the time of writing...I’ll keep you posted.

You would think I had had my share of injuries for the week, but the worst so far had yet to come. One sweltering, hot day I was assigned to chop wood for the kitchen with a couple other boys. While working on one particularly stubborn round, a chip the size of a credit card splintered off and launched itself at my forehead. All I know is one moment I was swinging the axe, and the next I had blood streaming into my eyes. Thankfully, I didn’t need stitches, but I will likely have a new scar to add to the collection.

In stark contrast to all the doom and gloom of my injuries, Luna, the orphanage’s pitbull had a litter of ten puppies this past week! (The orphanage’s blind German Shepard, Max, somehow managed to get her pregnant.) I thought it would be really fun to take one in as my own for the time I’m here despite the extra costs, time, and difficulty in leaving it would create. Sadly though, the director told me that I would need to take it home on the plane with me, and that was a cost I wasn’t willing to cover (according to him it’s around $300). Still, I will be able to play with them and help take care of them until they are old enough to be given away, which, in my opinion, will be a great use of the hour or two of free time I get each day.

Whatever time I’m not spending with the puppies will be dedicated to my new favorite self-improvement venture: cooking. I’ve spent a lot of time away from Momma’s cookin’ in the past few years, but I’ve always had an alternative--the cafeteria at Southern, provided meals at Camp Wawona, etc. This past summer, while working and staying in Tennessee without a cafeteria meal plan, I was rudely dumped into the world of cooking for myself. Work and preparations for the John Muir Trail and this student mission year gave me very little time to actually cook a legitimate meal. Although it may not have the best selection of groceries, Bolivia will be the place where I learn to make some real, authentic food.

I’ve already had a few smashing successes (and failures). The first thing I wanted to learn to make was homemade tortillas. They aren’t easy, but now having made them a few times, I feel I’m finally starting to get the hang of it. I’ve also added majarito (traditional Bolivian rice dish with stir-fried veggies), banana pudding, arroz con leche (rice and milk pudding), tostones (green plaintains fried, smushed, and fried again), and sweet fried plantains to my repertoire. I even found a recipe for dough bobs (bread cooked over a campfire on wooden dowels) and had some fun showing my boys how to make them, stuff them with banana pudding, and then cram them into one’s face as quickly as possible. Best of all, I made (while learning simultaneously) sopa de maní, my favorite dish here, for the entire orphanage when my house had kitchen duty last weekend.

Now that I’ve been here a little over a month, I have been thinking about and gaining a lot of perspective on love. These kids need to be loved. Several of them come from situations where love is probably pretty scarce. I want to be able to love these kids unconditionally, but I can’t. One of my boys has been showing me a lot of disrespect lately and has given me the nickname Teacher Malo (bad in Spanish). Anytime I try to enforce rules or discipline him, he just scowls at me and spitefully mumbles his new nickname for me over and over again. I know he’s just trying to get under my skin, but it’s extremely difficult for me to show love in such a circumstance.

In these situations, the contrast of the love I have for others and the love God has for us is clear. I am sinful and incapable of true, unconditional love. God however, is defined by the unconditional love He has for each and every one of us. Yep, even Teacher Malo (and the kid who came up with that name). If God were a buna, and His love was the venom, He would inject so much that we would be eternally sick in bed. In fact, that’s kind of what He did, minus the sick in bed part. His love for us is so great that He came up with a plan to save us from our sinfulness so that we may live in heaven eternally with Him. No sore throats, no bunas, and no barbed wire! When my imperfect love isn’t enough for these kids, I can rest assured that God’s perfect love is.

TL;DR

It was leg-day at the pharmacy in town. I bumped into some barbed wire and braved a buna bite; both were far less serious than they could have been. Furthermore, I took a flying wood chip to the forehead which made for some sick pictures! I’m bound and determined to learn how to cook despite the limited grocery selections here. My love may not be enough for these kids, but God’s is.

Hasta la proxima vez!

P.S. My day off is officially on Monday! Tune in the Monday after next for more!