Today, Thomas walked into an office for his very first job interview.

Today, Thomas filled out his very first job application (in Spanish, no less).

Today, Thomas got his first professional job: teacher of English grammar.

In short, Thomas rocks. I have brilliant siblings.

I almost regret that. I’m not advocating violence; I am advocating resolution. Sometimes resolution requires a set of confrontations which causes the various involved parties to kick into gear and get things done. Very little of that really happens in Bolivia, and too often when it does the other side cowers in fear and caves under manipulation. The problems are simply left to fester until a later date, which means that some dig deeper into cultural and political bitterness and others just become accepted whether they’re healthy or not.

Yesterday’s election was a curious affair. The day was quite and calm. The evening, though, was a race of numbers in the news. Jim Shultz, a political blogger (strong left bias) based here in Cochabamba, has a good run-down of the election numbers released by the media last night.

I’ve not found out how these numbers that were released were formed. I’m assuming exit polls; but while those are more or less reliable in the States, I see far less credibility for them here. The polling location near us is a government civil registration office a block down the street (one block west of Plaza Cala Cala). The entrance was guarded by approximately 25 armed (by Bolivian standards - the ammo doesn’t always match the weapon) police in a 50 foot radius. More trucks and cars with police were at the near intersections. Directly in front of the doors throughout the voter registration period during the week, but not during the actual vote-taking yesterday, campesinos held a sit-in/sleep-in. The environment was not dangerous, but I would not think it conducive to an honest exit-poll environment which would not share the anonymity of the official ballot.

Regardless of how the estimates were generated and how accurate they are, the world heard that Evo had an overwhelming majority (between 60-68% depending on the paper/blog) and that three governors, La Paz, Oruro, and Cochabamba, were deposed. Cochabamba’s governor is the only one of the three who is refusing to acknowledge the validity of the election.

As of 10:00am this morning according to Los Tiempos, a local newspaper, only 23% of the nation’s votes and 12% of Cochabamba’s votes have been officially calculated. With those calculations, Evo, the president has 52% sanction to remain in office, and Manfred, the governor of Cochabamba, has 55% sanction to remain in office. We’ll see how those numbers stand when all is said and done.

For Cochabamba this week, however, the real numbers may not matter too much.  Everyone heard last night that a) Manfred lost, and b) Manfred is ignoring it. The pro-Evo contingent sees this as an opportunity to champion democracy. The moderates will advocate political action. The more enthusiastic… well…

At the moment, large numbers of cocaleros are marching from the Chapare into Cochabamba and are scheduled to arrive today. We’ve no idea where the goal is. If a direct and possibly violent protest is intended, then the plan will probably be to head for the government offices at Plaza Principal as happened in January 2007. If a strictly peaceful protest is intended, then I’d bet on a repeat of the May 2008 march down Blanco Galindo (the equivalent to a freeway).

If Evo is wise, he’ll try to maintain the flashy international support that a Yes Stay In Office election result provides, and choose the peaceful protest. Evo is consistently not wise, however. Mind you, Manfred shares this particular lack of political wisdom.

So. Peace or Violence? Bolivia is batty, after all, so it’s anyone’s guess.

The difference swiftly becomes apparent when one feels little jolts of snippy-snappy electricity from one’s headphones.

In the ear canal.

The Voice-Changing Dalek Mask.

and the newly filled flower planters on the front porch:

Keep in mind one of my curious third-world quirks. This is Bolivia, yet somehow even though I’m surrounded by Latina Barbies with extremely glittery layers of makeup, I only usually bother with ironing and makeup for business meetings and special events. I’ve used starch perhaps twice in the past year… when I was an intern/PA/student in the States I could easily go through a can or two of spray starch each month. I did my nails (bitten as they were) even when I knew I was going to work just to soak my fingers in mud to wash and register artifacts at the archaeology lab. On this sunny Tuesday in Bolivia, though, I actually decided to dress up my face a tad since I usually go in and they are looking down at my untouched skin. I was even up an extra hour or two earlier than necessary. I was having a good morning.

I appeared at the office at 9:30am and found the reception area packed. Stuffed with people. No seating available. Hardly any standing room.

The receptionist let me in with, “The doctor isn’t in here yet.”

Ah. That’s not unusual, but the crowd in waiting was. “How long do you think it will take for her to arrive?”, I asked.

Pause. “Half hour?” The uncertainty was clear. In Cochabamba, the default wait time when something isn’t certain is 15 minutes. To be told that it might be another half hour is… well, that’s the day planner’s kiss of death.

“Is there a better day instead?”

“You’d like a new appointment?”

“Yes, please.” My mood was too pleasant to waste on a cramped reception area where I could wait for an hour or three.

We rescheduled for Thursday morning, 9:00am, the first appointment of the day.

Thursday morning was far less perky. I settled for the bare minimum of effort. Clean clothes, brushed hair, non-stinky showered self… a dentist who is late really doesn’t deserve makeup, I reasoned. Even so, she was late again! She arrived at 9:10 and our appointment began at 9:20. Dental work didn’t begin for minutes after that. First, she had to bicker.

“You weren’t here on Tuesday!”

“No, Doctor, I was here on Tuesday. You weren’t.”

“But you left!”

“Yes… I left because you were not here for our appointment!”

“I was here!”

“Not at 9:30!”

“When I arrived they said your car had just left!”

“Yes… your receptionist said you might be another half hour. So I made a new appointment.”

“You left! We had an appointment! Why did you leave?”

“Because you weren’t here for the appointment! I don’t have enough free time to wait that long!”

“You should not leave when we have an appointment.”

I was completely baffled by why this was a problem. She wasn’t there! There wasn’t even room to wait! Then, for the new appointment, she was late again! I couldn’t even begin to wrap my brain around this failure of logic, and my Spanish certainly wasn’t able to cope. I just stared up at her. She evidently understood that I wasn’t getting it, so she repeated:

“You left!”

“You WERE NOT HERE!”

Culture clash. Perhaps when our sessions are over in October or November I’ll gift her with an alarm clock. Only when I needn’t see her again, mind you. She settled her frustration with me on Thursday by yanking my teeth more forcefully than ever for a solid fifteen minutes.

(Image Copyright Ben Terrent)

His right index finger has been shredded. It’s impossible to tell how deep it really was until we hear back from the doctor. Thomas and I think it must have been pretty bad because when we talked to Nicholas he was shaking but was clear-headed and in no pain. He could move his fingers but didn’t feel anything. I don’t see how you can not be experiencing shock and be in a pretty bad state if you don’t feel this.

What amazes me most, though, is that whoever it was who brought Nic back home just left him at our front gate. The car was gone so they had no way of knowing whether we were even home. They had this teenager injured due to their negligence… and he was left at our house without even speaking to my mother. Luckily Dad wasn’t too far away so he was able to rush home and pick up Nic and Mom to go to the hospital. Dad arrived just in time, because Nic had been here for about fifteen minutes and the bleeding was starting to increase again. His shaking was getting worse. Ridiculous.

Anyway. He’s off getting shards of brick washed out of his finger and getting stitched up. Assuming he comes back with the whole finger.

Graphic photos follow.