Up to Date!

Alright, I suppose it’s time to bring you all up to date on the happenings down here in the tropics.

First and foremost, I should mention that Bogota certainly doesn’t feel as though it lies within the tropics. October and November are unofficial “rainy season” here (the closest thing we get to a season of any type). As I type this, my neighborhood is recovering from a rainstorm that took place earlier today, the intensity of which goes unparalleled to anything I’ve ever seen before.

Secondly, since my 2 week, mid-year holiday in Peru, things have changed a bit at the ol’ Luz y Vida. After the whole Colombianita fiasco, there was a huge vacancy both at the school and at the kindergarten also run by the ministry. We were down to 3 children, and twice as many staff. Not that I’m complaining. Those were some of the most peaceful days I’ve seen in that building.

However, it was obvious that something needed to be done. The ministry threw about possibilities of working with new neighborhoods, a process of trust-building with the residents that can take months. The prospect of spending several months without children in the school was not an attractive one, but fortunately, neither was it one we would have to face.

Within a matter of weeks, we had completely repopulated the school with new children. I say we did it, but what I really mean is that the school was populated. We actually had very little to do with any of it. They seemed to find us.

Many of the kiddos hail from a neighborhood ironically named Paraiso, or “Paradise”. This was a squatter settlement up in the mountains that, by way of the squatter’s laws here in Bogota, was legitimized some years back. They now have streets, water, and electricity, but for all accounts and purposes, they still live in essentially the same economic situation as before. Therefore, they have the very same “problems” as children would who were living in a non-legitimized squatter settlement such as Colombianita.

Some other kids come from my neighborhood, Santa Fe, (For those of you who are curious, that translates as “Holy Faith”) and some are from various other parts of the city. All told, there are about 16 kids… when they all show up, that is.

This new population is markedly different from the last one. Whereas the Colombianita kids were mostly younger girls, the students we have now are primarily older boys. With the change in demographic comes a change in the way they are dealt with. Gone are the days of affectionate smiles and hugs and kisses on the cheek. With these boys, you are doing well to convince them not to hate you. They certainly present a different set of challenges. Whereas before, the focus was on overcoming learning disabilities and lack of proper education, we now spend most of our time and energy dealing with behavioral issues. Many of the children are strikingly violent and the phrase “swift to become angry” would be a gross understatement.

That is not to say, however, that there are no benefits or blessings. Many of the students, and particularly the older ones are extremely bright, and teaching them new concepts is any teacher’s dream come true. The visible results of your efforts are instantaneous. Also, if the old trade-off of affection is no longer the norm, it has been replaced with the far more difficult, and yet rewarding trade-off of respect and admiration.

Everyone who works with children knows the gratification that comes with a hug. The child sees you as someone loving and safe, but few know the joy of having one of your oldest, most hardened students- a student who, at the age of 12 is already the primary breadwinner of his fatherless household, a child who has stabbed one of his classmates and threatens to do worse, a student who lives and thrives on the streets of one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of one of the most dangerous cities of one of the most dangerous countries in the world- when that student stays after school just to talk to you, to invite you to his house to watch movies, that child sees you not as just a loving person, but a father figure. The powerful emotions and responsibilities that come with this type of relationship scare me, to be perfectly honest, and dealing with these in the States is something I am not particularly looking forward to. But, that is precisely what I am here for.

Things have also changed a bit at home. Most notably, we have two new additions to the Torre Fuerte. For those of you who read Adrienne’s blog, you should already be somewhat familiar with Jorgito. For those of you who aren’t, Jorge is a 3-year-old little boy with perpetually rosy cheeks, unruly curly hair and a tragic/comic tendency towards self-injury. For the time being, Jorge’s mother has decided that she cannot take care of him, and so he has come to live with us. However, due to our impending departure, and the concern that little Jorge needs some consistency, neither Ryan nor I are the primary caretakers. Enter Rebecca, a volunteer from New Mexico who has accepted the challenge of looking after the little guy. This means a whole new set of responsibilities for me, but I thoroughly enjoy their company.

Possibly the greatest change in my life, however, has been the unusual spike in the good-friends-Tyler-has-in-Bogota chart. Allow me to explain.

Wesley McKain has once again graced this longing continent with his presence, for which I am eternally grateful, but this time he is not alone. A few months ago, I received an email from an old friend I had met while living in Costa Rica. He had been living in Bolivia, working with the Mennonite Central Committee, and had recently accepted a transfer to where else but Bogota, Colombia. Upon hearing this most serendipitous news, I inquired as to which of the million neighborhoods he would be working in once he arrived, wanting to begin making transportation arrangements as soon as possible. As it turns out, those arrangements would never be made. Of all of the thousands of churches in this city, Steve would be working at my church, right down the road from my house, and literally 1 block from my school.

As if all of this weren’t fortunate enough, both Wes and Steve needed a roommate to split the rent with. Having never actually met each other in person, I vouched for both parties, and before I knew it, I had partially inherited a ninth-story apartment as my second home. Living with those two, augmented by the occasional visit from Ryan and Luke, feels strikingly similar to my days in the Old Oak Apartments at Olivet… just in Spanish.

Finally, for those of you who are interested, my time here is on the wane. I decided long ago to wrap things up at the end of this school year (the school year is reversed here, and class ends in December). With that in mind, I purchased my ticket home for December the 15th. Needless to say, I will miss this place and the people I’ve met here very, very, very much, but the prospect of spending Christmas with my family is at times overwhelmingly pleasant.

Well, I should be able to get one more of these post-things in here before I leave, at the rate I’m going. So, until next time,

Tyler

Peruuuuuu!!!

Lately, I haven’t truly deserved the title “viajero” unless you count the simple fact of being outside of the United States. The rest of the world would not accept this criterion, and neither do I. In fact, I was getting a bit of “the itch” come summer time, and there were certainly days during which it felt as if my next adventure couldn’t come soon enough.

This adventure did in fact come, and it came in the form of pure, unmitigated tourism. Now, this is something I haven’t done in a while. I am always working, visiting someone, translating, or playing tour guide, but in this instance, it was sight-seeing plain and simple.

Last May, a very good friend of mine Ms. Laura Broyles, graduated from the University of North Texas, and as is customary in the Broyles household, she was offered a trip to Europe. After several attempts to plan said trip, she finally decided to redeem her free trip in another location. She had studied pre-Colombian art in college, and thought it would be nice to go see some of the Incan and pre-Incan sights in Peru. I could not have agreed more. So, around the end of June, I once again packed my bags and headed for Lima, to meet up with a friend I had not seen in some time.

As the Spanish-speaker, it was my job to organize the trip and make the bookings, etc. Not to spoil the ending or anything, but planning for a trip in a third-world country is sort of like planning to win the lottery…in every state…simultaneously.

Note- if you would like to follow along with pictures, they can be found here: http://flickr.com/photos/7139276@N03/
Just go to the last page, and work backwards.


We arrived in Lima, where we spent the night in a really bizarre hotel with tons of dark, religious iconography. Our first day, we visited the ruins of Pachacamac, waded into the Pacific ocean (a big deal for both of us), and explored the catacombs of one of Lima’s oldest churches. The next day, we boarded a rickety old bus on its way to Huaraz.

It was only a 9 hour bus ride, but by the time we had arrived, I had a fever, and my wallet was gone. Not the best start to the trip, but in the morning, I felt back to my old self, and things with the wallet were more or less worked out. We took a scenic trip past snow-capped mountains and 4,000-meter-high lakes to Chavin de Huantar, one of the oldest ruins on the continent. Here, the priests built an elaborate system of underground mazes for disorienting any visitors. These labyrinthine passageways, combined with the darkness, smoke, and hallucinogenic substances that the residents were forced to take before entering, would conjure a sense of otherworldly mystery surrounding the cult activities. Laura and I refrained from the drugs, but the temple was pretty impressive, nonetheless.

Then, it was on to Trujillo, a quaint little colonial town near the coast. There, we hit up the Huacas de La Luna y Sol, which belonged to the extremely violent Moche people. Archeologists worked all around us as we admired the elaborate murals (usually depicting horrific acts). We also visited Chan Chan, the largest adobe structure in the World. The only had about a 10th of it open to the public, but even that was enough to occupy us for several hours.

We proceeded even farther north, ever more off the beaten path, to the town of Chachapoyas, famous for very little other than the massive ruins of Kuelap nearby. We left at 5 the next morning in a tiny van headed to Kuelap with a handful of other tourists, winding up and around countless mountains, admiring Peru’s beautiful landscape. The ruins were built on the summit of a mountain, with a steep cliff face on one side, and a tall, hallway-like opening, only wide enough for one or two people to enter the city at a time. The sheer size alone was impressive, and the view only added to the breathtaking-ness of it all.

The next day, we were packed and ready to leave, when our hotel clerk informed us that the highway was closed from 6am until 6pm. This is precisely where our master-plan delineated, and consequently, never recovered. We decided to make the best of the free day, by trekking to the third tallest waterfall in the world, Gocta. As a note to all you fellow travelers out there, when travelling from sea-level to 12,000 feet, allow time to acclimate before making a 7-hour trek through the mountains. We survived, but not happily.

We took a 22-hour bus to Lima, and crashed in a hotel. Taking it easy seemed like a good idea, and it was the Fourth of July, so we celebrated by venturing into the super-touristy parts of town, eating something other than Peruvian food (Chinese) and catching a movie.

The next morning, we began our second half of the trip, into the southern parts of Peru. Our first stop was Huacachina; literally, a desert oasis. We rode a dune buggy into the surrounding dunes, and attempted to board down the massive slopes of shifting sand. It’s a lot like snowboarding, for those of you who are curious, but the sand does not melt in your mouth. In fact, it does somewhat the opposite. For anyone interested in traveling to Peru, this is a must. I cannot remember having that much fun. Ever.

We took a quick bus to Nazca, where we had scheduled a flight over the famous Nazca lines (Google it). Through some pretty shady dealings, we fell victim to a classic tourist trap, and ended up paying way more than we ought to have, but we counted it as a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, and went ahead with the flight anyway. Plus, we wanted to get back on the road and make up for some lost time, so waiting until the next day was out of the question.

Next stop, Arequipa. Thinking that this would only be a one-day stop, we visited the important museums, the famous city monastery, and the town square. We ate a traditional Peruvian meal of fried guinea pig and alpaca (llama) steaks, and planned for the next day’s travels. These plans, however, would not come to fruition.

Unbeknownst to me, the following two days were slated as ‘paro’ or ‘strike’ days in the calendars of everyone in the entire country. Now, I have seen Colombian demonstrations, and as powerful and sometimes frightening as they are, they are nothing compared to what was about to take place. The whole country shut down. Massive boulders and fire-walls blocked every road and highway. People took to the streets in droves, carrying signs, rocks and sticks. Any business that dared to open its doors was promptly ransacked.

We were stuck. There were no buses to anywhere, and flights out filled up within seconds. Fortunately for us however, some outdoor sporting companies were able to continue as normal, so we spent the next two days mountain biking and white-water rafting. All in all, it was quite fun, but we were way off schedule, and a sacrifice needed to be made. We had reservations to visit Machu Picchu that needed to be confirmed in person on the 10th, and there seemed to be no feasible way to get there by that time. We checked at the bus terminal one last time, just to be sure, and miraculously, there was a bus leaving for Cuzco that night. We immediately bought the tickets and ran back to grab our things.

We had to bypass Puno and Lake Titicaca, which is regrettable, but we had no choice.

Arriving in Cuzco, we took a taxi to nearby Ollantaytambo (say that one three times fast) and settled down. We had made it, and everything was going to be fine. Our celebratory mood, however, dampened a bit when Laura fell ill. We visited a small Inca site, and rested for the remainder of the evening.

We saved the very best for last. The following morning, we entered into the granddaddy of all pre-historic sites on the American Continents; Machu Picchu. This will sound obvious to many of you, but it was absolutely enormous. It took us 5 hours to explore, and I am certain we did not see everything there was to see. Words cannot describe the majesty of that place. I was in absolute awe.

We concluded our trip by gallivanting about Cuzco, buying a few last minute gifts, and flying on to Lima, and then Bogota (Quick fact: We spent a grand total of 89 hours on buses, and no, that was no a typo). Laura spent a week in Colombia with me, seeing the sights and familiarizing herself with my life here in South America.

All in all, I had a great time. I think my wanderlust has been satiated for another little while, so I’ve been able to focus more on my work here in Bogota, but we’ll discuss more of that next time.

Hasta la proxima,
Tyler

Colombianita

As promised, I will now proceed to give an account of the loss of the Colombianita kids, according to my point of view. I will not, however, claim any sort of objective authority for my statements. I am greatly uninformed much of the time, and heavily biased the rest.


From the moment we arrived in Colombia, it was made known to us that the Bogota municipal government was threatening to destroy the long, narrow city block of hovels known as “Colombianita”. At that time, this threat seemed far from immanent. As is somewhat customary in Latin American politics, the government issued a statement of intent with no visible signs of immediate, or even eventual, follow-through. Tentative dates for the destruction were consistently pushed back 4 month intervals, until no one really believed that anything would be done at all. This was, at least, my perspective until I was called upon to translate for a gentleman named Julian who had been with the ministry for some years.

After his lecture, I sat down with him over lunch, and began to share my skepticism concerning the issue when he interrupted me by saying, “Oh, it will be destroyed, be sure of that.” I enquired as to the sources of his confidence regarding the government’s ability to complete its promises. He proceeded to tell me the story of an infamous barrio ten times the size of Colombianita, called The Cartucha.

According to Julian, this is where the ministry really began its work. It was an enormous urban labyrinth of poverty and wretchedness that spanned several city blocks in the heart of downtown. Upon hearing its exact location, I confirmed that I knew the area, mentioning its proximity to an equally enormous, treeless park on First Avenue. “That park used to be the Cartucha.” He responded solemnly. My mind reeled with the thought. I had heard countless stories, seen photos…I even knew many of the children who were rescued from that area. Its new name is Parque Tercer Milenio, a well-groomed hectare of grassy hills and winding pathways, a harrowing monument to the government’s ability to eliminate anything it deems an eyesore.

It was not long after this blow to my optimism that we received the news. The government had issued another warning, but this one came attached to a work order. I am unclear as to all of the details, but it seems that, even though the residents of Colombianita were illegally squatting, the government offered to build them houses in the southern part of Bogota, an offer they accepted as recompense for the destruction of their current homes. While this seems to be an unusually altruistic gesture on behalf of the government, there were many factors involved, and a large chance that many of the families would, in fact, be worse off in the neighborhoods in the South.

When that time came, I would be mentally prepared for the move. I made plans to spend every free minute of the day in the neighborhoods where they were moving. I would rent a building to house an after school program, I would start my own school, I would stay as long as it takes, I would move down there, I would do anything. I was absolutely committed to making sure that these children had everything they needed. I thought long and hard about leaving the ministry, and staying with the kids for an indeterminate amount of time. I had found my purpose for living for at least the next several years. Meanwhile, I was enjoying my last few weeks with the kids as their teacher at Luz y Vida.

The move was scheduled for the end of May. May 30th came and went, and my kids were still here. My hopes were buoyed by the thought that this might be another empty threat, but there was to be no such luck. Early in June, the dump trucks arrived, ushering in the beginning of the end. Asking the children about their new homes, I was informed that the government was not going to be giving any homes, after all. They were receiving only a small government stipend. Frantically, I made phone calls and emergency visits to anyone who might have information concerning the future of these families. I found out that the government had grown tired of waiting for the houses to be completed, and that the atmosphere around Colombianita had grown violent in recent days. I went immediately to an internet café to find the telephone numbers of every newspaper in Bogota. If the government wanted to clean up the streets, I wanted everyone to know at what cost. I prepared a statement in Spanish describing what was happening, when, where etc., and read it to anyone who would answer the phone.

The next few days, Colombianita was slowly dismantled, and family by family, our kids moved away. Everything was falling apart. No newspapers covered the event, no answers were given as to the future location of any of the kids, and my great and virtuous plans for purpose were crumbling before me. I was heartbroken. Concerned parties with only the best intentions tried to offer me advice; they told me that there were thousands of children in Bogota who needed my help, that I had planted a seed in their lives, and that someday they will remember what I taught them and how it will help. They told me it was in God’s hands now, but none of that seemed to help. The truth is, my life is essentially relational, and abstract ideals like poverty and theology -while still appreciated- will always be overcome by the people that embody them.

A few months have passed, and I still have no idea where any of my children are. I doubt I ever will, but circumstances have forced me to move on. New kids are arriving (literally) every day, and, true to the given advice, they need Luz y Vida as much as every child who has passed through these doors. This fact, however, will never negate the love I had for my kids: Willie, Natalya, Angie, Didier, Andres, Karen, Jessica and Dayana.

Tyler

La vida no pare...

So, in an attempt to catch you guys up on the happenings here in Colombia, I offer up a post with no discernable rhyme or reason. These are a few of my memories from the fast few months.

The Mercy School
Every year, around springtime, when the birds begin to sing, and the flowers bloom, Formando Vidas mercilessly imprisons several international students within the confines of the Administration building. It does so under the pretense of hosting a special school that deals exclusively with Children at Risk. Hours of lectures, impossible homework assignments, and nightmarish practicums, and some people actually PAY for this. Weird, I know.
Actually, the Escuela de Misericordia (say it out loud, and you will understand why we sometimes call it the “misery school”) is really a good experience for the people that attend. Many of them stay on to help long after the classes end, and you get the chance to meet the most interesting people. I was (somehow) added to the list of official translators, so I was afforded the chance to learn from the speakers as well…in two languages.
For the month of Practicum that follows the class sessions, the illustrious Skip Bachman moved into one of our spare rooms, and became a temporary third roommate. Ol’ Skipper is a real cool dude who is starting his own street kids ministry in Cochabamba, Bolivia…a task not to be taken lightly. You can check his progress here:
http://skipbachman.wordpress.com/

Gerhart and Rosemary
So, every Sunday, I attend this quaint little Mennonite Church in my neighborhood. I quite like it. The Mennonites are known for being very active in the so called “social issues” of justice, poverty, and most of all, peace. This emphasis is made all the more intense by the very fact of being a Colombian church. (Remember, folks, there is still a civil war going on here.) But besides doctrinal issues, I also appreciate the simple, non-extravagant services, and the relatively small congregation. There are only so many people there, and one would find it quite easy to get to know them all, creating a wonderful “church-family” atmosphere.
One could…but that doesn’t mean I always do. Actually, I generally find post-service small talk somewhat awkward. For this reason, on most Sundays I simply greet those I do know, and make my way to the door. I know, it’s not the best attitude, and I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way it is.
Well, that’s the way it was until Wes showed up. He is much more intentional about meeting people in the church than I, so, after every service he would make me wait and stand with him while he schmoozed it up with the locals. Normally, I would slowly edge him to the door, but one Sunday, he and I got to talking to and elderly couple that were visiting from the States.
Their names were Gerhart and Rosemary, retired professors from the Mennonite University in Goshen, Indiana. We began talking, and they mentioned that they were here in Colombia to organize the Seminary’s library. I had no idea the Mennonites had a seminary in Bogota, and I was even more surprised to find that it was housed in the very same building in which we stood. Gerhart led us downstairs through a few sets of doors to the “Secret Mennonite Library”.
Browsing through the books, Wes and I both began to realize that much of the already impressive collection was in English! We ogled over books for about half an hour, and then Rosemary and Gerhart invited us to lunch. Wes and I bombarded them with questions about Goshen and the Mennonites and politics and anything else we could think of, and when we walked them home, we made plans to stop back by the library before they left. When we finally did stop by, Gerhart and Rosemary helped us buy glasses for one of our kids, and proceeded to show us even more incredible books at our disposal. Just one more reasons why the Mennonites have got it right.

Mundo Adventura
For those of you who translate my little Spanish phrases in some free online translator, the title of this paragraph will come out “Adventure World”. Hardly…but it IS a theme park, however meager compared to States standards. This past spring, we were allowed to take all of our kids out for a fun day in Mundo Adventura at a highly discounted price. I will say, even though some of the rides were laughable, it was the best theme park experience I’ve ever had. The kids were beside themselves, literally sprinting from ride to ride, and I was more than happy to be running alongside.
There was one moment in particular that stays with me to this day. Liz (one of the volunteers from the United Kingdom) and I were responsible for 4 children in particular, and we were forced to split up. Three of the kids wanted to ride on a toboggan ride that would result in soaked clothes for all involved. Leidy Katerin, one of our students who has recently been adopted into one of the ministry’s foster homes, was not too keen on the idea of being wet on a cold, overcast day, so she and I rode a pendulum-space shuttle ride instead. There wasn’t much of a line, so we rode it several times in a row. After about 2 or 3 rotations, what was once a thrill ride, became quite relaxing. Looking down at the child next to me (still screaming like a maniac in fear) and catching brief, rhythmic glimpses of the Bogota horizon against the blue-grey sky ushered in a spiritual sense of peace. It was difficult to think of the imminent departure of my children, but the thought was made sweeter by the simple pleasure of enjoying a piece of life they would not be able to experience otherwise. As they reveled at the marvels of their previously inaccessible playland, I tried desperately to soak up every minute of their bliss.

Colombia’s cold war
I’m not sure how much you, the reader, keep up with foreign affairs (frankly, I’m not even sure who reads this) but a little while ago, Colombia found herself in somewhat of a sticky situation, politically speaking. Apparently, we went 1 kilometer across the border into Ecuador to pursue some of the FARC guerillas. Ecuador saw this as an infringement of national sovereignty, and they mobilized troops toward the boarder. Now, that might have been a slight over-reaction, but it was nothing compared to what came next. Hugo Chavez, of Venezuela, in all of his infinite wisdom decided to do the same. While all of this was happening, Colombian troops had discovered a laptop belonging to one of the FARC’s head honchos, and it proved that Chavez himself was, in fact, funding this pseudo-Marxist guerilla army.
For those of you who are either lost or simply don’t care, I will summarize things. Everyone is mad at everyone, and we are on the brink of being invaded from two sides. It was a tense few days. Those from England were almost sent back home, and I was left trying to imagine what it would be like to work in a country involved in both a civil, and international war, simultaneously.
Well, a conference was held, the president of Argentina cracked a few jokes, and by the first recess, all the presidents were hugging…literally. Such is Latin American politics.

23 on the 23rd.
This goes down as the second birthday I’ve had out of the country, and they just keep getting better. The morning of April the 23rd I woke up, and made my way to Luz y Vida, just like any other day. I ran upstairs to the computer to check some birthday emails. Apparently, the bus that picks all of the kids up from their homes broke down a few blocks from the school, and Adrienne was forced to walk alone with all of them. When they finally arrived, I walked out to greet them, and they surprised me with a song and flowers they had picked for me on the way. School proceeded as usual until about 11. It was then that all of the teachers and kids left the school and we began a strange little march down the street. We headed for my favorite ice cream joint, and right in the middle of the lunch rush, with business people in designer suits all around, we sat and ordered each child an ice cream cone. The children were loud, obnoxious and disruptive, and I’ve never been more proud.
Besides the double scoop, each child received a packet of wax ropes for molding into figures. They all made models of themselves (with some assistance) and one by one placed them on my placemat, which I still keep in my “teacher” drawer at Luz y Vida. Then, when I returned home, I found a cookie-cake with matches for candles in my living room and dozens of foam stars hanging from my bedroom ceiling. This was all the work of Adrienne, whereas the ice cream was Ryan’s doing. We ate most of the cookie, and began to make preparations for the birthday dinner. After two failed attempts at finding a Thai restaurant in Bogota, we settled on some old-fashioned American burgers. Our gringo crew, Ryan, Luke, John, Abby, Liz, Adrienne, one of our homeless friends Camilo and I ate till we were sick, and finished the meal off with a small mustard fight. Birthdays simply don’t get much better than that.

Home
As many of you know, I came home for about 2 weeks, and split my time between my friends and family in Texas and my friends and family (that happened to be) in Illinois. I ate more food than most people should in twice that time, and I literally gained almost ten pounds...not that I don’t need it, but still. I sincerely loved being home with my family and my beloved daschunds, and the barbeque that my college friends threw me in Illinois has been one of the highlights of the last few years. It was both overwhelming and beautiful to be surrounded by so many people I love, and that love me. I hate to end my post on such a sentimental/nostalgic note, but I truly do appreciate seeing and hearing from you guys, and while I adore my life here in Bogota, I am quite excited to see/talk/play music with you guys when I get back.

Till next time,
Tyler

A Bit of Catch-Up

Hello Again,
Although I am working very hard at Luz y Vida, life marches on, and as they say, "life is not just an old, renovated schoolhouse in Bogota." (ok… so no one actually says that). Much has happened since The Hawaii team left and Wes arrived.

Wes.
This country simply isn't the same without Mr. Wesley McKain. That's right, Colombia, with all of its flooding, earthquakes, violence, economic woes, and international troubles, is currently without one of its greatest commodities; a tall bearded white guy from Kansas City. Fear not, however, for it seems that Mr. McKain will be soon making his grand return to the great city of Bogota.
During his first tour of duty, Wes kept himself pretty busy. He spent most of his time at Luz y Vida teaching a 14-year-old-student named Karen. He would spend hours on homemade worksheets in an attempt to teach her the alphabet, and ultimately, how to read. When he wasn't teaching Spanish to a Colombian (pause a moment to let that one sink in), he was fixing the computers, cleaning, or helping Luke teach PE. To this day, the kids still include Profe Wes in their sometimes painfully long lunchtime prayers.
On top of this, Wes made it a point to befriend many of our colorful neighbors using the Spanish he had acquired over the course of his stay here. He became an integral part of our little group of volunteer/friends, and a familiar face to all those residents of the street that buzz our doorbell late at night. He has become a very dear friend of mine, and I cannot wait for him to come back.

The Texas Team.
In the United States, we celebrate Good Friday and Easter. If you are either Catholic, or just very liturgically observant, you might celebrate Maundy Thursday as well. Either way, it never usually adds up to more than an extended weekend. Here in Latin America, they have done away with the confusing individual titles, and named every day of the week leading up to Easter as Holy. That is, Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, Holy Wednesday, and so on. Save for a few establishments run by modernistic heathens, the whole country shuts down. Honestly, I am surprised that the whole economic infrastructure of Colombia doesn't completely collapse every year around Holy Week. Camilo, who is much more experienced in these things than we, advised us to buy all of the groceries we were going to need, especially for Holy Weekend. He was right, the only places open were churches, and buying groceries from them can be difficult.
Anyway, during this unusual time of national holiness, a team of families from the illustrious First United Methodist Church in Carrolton came for their annual visit. Normally, teams like this would do some repairs, some cleaning, and play with the kids, but since there was no school for this week, it was a lot of the former two, and none of the latter. The first day, a small portion of the team (the others were held up in Charlotte due to inclimate weather) and a few of us “locals” painted the auditorium of the Other Way in preparation for the installation of a rock wall that took place later that week. The next few days, we spent up at the farm, fixing railings, securing the towers and preparing the zipline for another ministry that would be using our facilities. I took about a day and a half to get some well deserved rest and relaxation, and met back up with the team for a trip up Monserrate.

Story Time:
The team took the railway to the top of the mountain, but Wes, Fabian and I decided we would try running up. That proved to be a horrible decision. It was Holy Saturday, and half of Bogota was intent on seeing the miraculous religious artifacts found on the summit of the mountain. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, I lost sight of Fabian (we were well behind Wes, who started about half an hour before us). I did my best to muscle through the crowds, but the road was completely packed. That is, until about 500 yards from the top when, mysteriously, a lane opened to the left. Having spent the past 6 years driving on American Interstate Highways, I naturally passed the human traffic on this newly found fast lane. I soon came face to face with a Bogota police officer. This alone did not frighten me. What did cause concern, however, was the angry mass of people that he was holding back with his nightstick. It was soon apparent that these people had been waiting to descend the mountain for some time, and as soon as the policeman allowed them, they were quite ready to trample me in the process. I quickly leapt into the correct, right lane. The group of college students that I found myself surrounded by did not take too kindly to “cutting” in line, especially when committed by an American wearing a shirt that says “I am Colombia”. Tensions rose, and I was looking for an exit. I backed up to a small cliff with angry mobs on two sides of me and a shameful descent on the third. In a rare moment of quick-thinking-ness, I scrambled up the cliff and wandered around in the forest for a bit, winding up on the backside of the mountain. I snuck past some policemen and safely met up with the rest of the team.

Soon thereafter, the Texas team departed without any more undue excitement, and according to credible sources, a good time was had by all. A very warm thank you to all those faithful Texas Methodists who support Formando Vidas and its staff.

Liz.
Immediately after the Texas team’s departure, another Texas resident (and FUMCC church member) landed in Bogota. Liz Dezeeuw, my very best friend of about 5 or 6 years came for an action-packed 5 day visit to my fair city. We started off with a visit to the Salt Cathedrals, saw an awe-inspiring pyrotechnic show in the Parque Simon Bolivar, and capped off the weekend with the biggest Futbol game of the year. In the interim times, I was showing her the best of Colombian restaurants and the magic of Fernando Botero’s paintings. Her visit was a very welcome taste of home, and I am forever indebted to her for making the long trip down here. She will be in Zambia soon, and for those of you that know her (or want to) she, too, has a blog, and I imagine she will be much better at updating than yours truly.

http://lizambia.blogspot.com/

Well, that will do it for now. Coming up in the next exciting edition: cloud forests, secret libraries and theme parks!

Love to all,

Tyler

It has indeed been some time...

Sorry guys, I haven't updated in a while, but to be fair, I haven't had a computer in a while. I will try to make up for the lack of communication by posting a few times in the coming week.

Well, well, well. Where did we leave off?

Ah yes. It was winter (for most of you). I had just returned from the Amazons, and I was introducing you all to my new friends.

Well, since then, things have been a bit more routine. Not to the extent of boredom, but I am not shooting monkeys with blowguns, either. I will start off by describing what it is exactly that I "do".

I believe I have described the school already, but my position has changed somewhat since the topic was last discussed. Last year, I taught one class half of the time. Now, I teach 3 classes 3 different subjects all of the time. Due to some financial issues, most of the Colombian national teachers were forced to find other, paying, positions. That left 4 teachers; Yury, a 19-year-old Bogotana voice student, Luke, the brit who I mentioned in the last post, Mary, the Australian superwoman also mentioned previously, and yours truly, the 23-year old gringo with absolutely no previous educational experience.
We wrote up a pretty full schedule for the kids, including 9 different subjects and recess, so when it came time to divy up the classes, we each had to take on quite a bit. I, myself, am responible for Mathematics, Natural Sciences, most of the Music classes, and making sure the kids don't kill each other during recess. On top of that, I am now the official keeper-of-the-keys, which essentially means first one there, last one to leave.
This all sounds like a lot, and it is, but I have welcomed the change. Last year, I was a bit frustrated; I had travelled thousands of miles, and I barely did anything. Now, I feel very involved in the work that is being done here, and the kids no longer see me as another awkward “mono” visitor, but as one of their teachers. The change is actually manifest in the terminology used. When speaking about one of the full time teachers, the children use "Mi Profe...", which is literally translated "My teacher...". That is, My Teacher Tyler. A small change, but it means quite a lot.
Two major changes have come as a result of this new level of responsibility. One, I am busy now. There are days when I am at that school for as long as the sun is out (there aren't many light bulbs in that building that work anymore). As I said, I welcome the new work load, but there have been some things that have been sacrificed. I should confess that, while I did indeed come down here to work with the kids, I had also hoped to get some serious reading and music writing done. Unfortunately, that immense amount of leisure time I was planning on no longer exists.
The second change that has come about concerns the children I work with themselves. When I arrived, I possessed and displayed an appropriate amount of pity for the children. This is the kind of pity that will "pull on your heart-strings" when you watch a movie about Africa, or see a Sally Struthers save-the-children commercial. It's the kind of pity that, given the right timing and ample resources, might cause a wealthy suburbanite to move to Colombia for a bit. That pity, however, will not sustain anyone wanting to work with poverty or suffering. Allow me to explain.
The government has been threatening to completely destroy the neighborhood in which most of our children live. What that means for us is, these children will leave us, and we will begin looking for replacements. I was indignant. I don't want replacements! I want these kids! That's when it struck me. I no longer viewed these children as poor little street kids that need my help. I had taken some level of ownership in their futures, and as a result, I had invested deeply in their lives. Now, these were not simply abused and neglected children, these were MY neglected and abused children, and I could hardly contain my anger towards those that were mistreating them.
Eventually, the fact that they were dirty, beaten and malnourished didn't matter. They could have been perfectly normal rich kids, and I would have felt the same love and concern regardless. They were all moving to a barrio down south, and I was ready and willing to stay as long as it took to make sure they didn't become victims of poverty and indifference.
Well, some very unfortunate things happened, and I will tell you that they are no longer with us...or me. The details of this story merit another post, which I hope to have up for you all very soon, but you should know that I was crushed. I wept openly at the sheer injustice of their situation, but more, I wept because I lost children that I would have taken as my own in an instant. I lost several human beings whom I loved and cared for deeply, and recovering from that has been a difficult process.
There are new kids at Luz y Vida, and I have to remind myself every day that these children deserve as much love as I was willing to expend on the 'Colombianita' kids. The thought of emotionally investing that much again, only to say goodbye, is not an attractive thought, but that's how it goes, I guess…

Well, as I said, I hope to have some more stories up for you relatively soon, so be checking back!

Tyler

People to know...

I'm going to try something a little bit different this time. In honor of all the Kierkegaard and Buber that I have been reading these days, I will assume for the minute that my life is more relational than sequential, and I will relay the events of my life in categories of the people that I have lived it with for the past month. Who remembers life in chronological order anyway? Now, this list is not conclusive by any means, there are far more people in my life than I will write about, but these are a few of the newcomers I would like to introduce you all to.

First and foremost, there is Mr. Wesley McKain.

Wes was a very good friend of mine in college, but we've never actually lived together. He spent so many nights in our apartments studying you could say that he might has well have, but the fact remains, this is the first time I've ever actually lived with the guy, and I must say, it's been great. He and I seem to think in very similar ways, and we have had one too many late night conversations as a result (I fell asleep while writing this). He works at Luz y Vida as a teacher's assistant, or as a personal tutor, but he probably won't be an assistant for long. Wes has an almost unnatural desire to learn Spanish. He will stay up late with flashcards and lists of verbs, write down every word he doesn't know from a meeting held in Spanish, talk to every stranger he meets, and as I write, he is in a four-hour-long intensive Spanish course he attends every week. He's a dear friend, and I am extremely blessed to have him here with me.

Wes and I have been spending a lot of time with two other young men, one from England and the other from Australia. Their names are Luke and John, respectively.

The four of us will go out to explore different parts of the the city from time to time, and I'm sure we are quite the sight to see. Still, four is much better than one, and the added safety is nice when walking the streets of Bogotá at night.

We four are actually part of an even larger group of "monos" that work here at Formando Vidas. There are 8 of us in all. The aforementioned four, plus Ryan, Adrienne, Liz, and Abbey. We have started meeting every Sunday night to share meals and get to know each other. This newly formed community is another very welcome addition to my life.

We 8 celebrated Wes's 23rd birthday together, taking him out to a Chinese restaurant in the rich part of town, where we all reveled in food that was not rice and/or beans. A few days later we got together again to attend a peace rally held in downtown. Those of you that keep up with international news may have heard about it. Tens of thousands of people were there, packed into the central plaza, and among them were eight rather conspicuous gringos. We all wore shirts that said "I am Colombia" and took part in chants that started off with "Who are we? Colombians!" No one seemed to mind the obvious lie, least of all, us. It was enlivening to see all of those people uniting together to make a political statement of peace.

As if this weren't enough, we have all made it a point to become more culturally sensitive by learning how to Salsa and Merengue. One of the ladies that works at Luz y Vida gives us lessons every week or so, and we practice in Liz, Ad, and Abbey's new house out in the western parts of Bogotá. We added even further to our growing Colombian credibility by attending our first soccer game in the national stadium. It was a Bogotá team, Santa Fe, against a team from Argentina, and I'm proud to say that we won 3-0. For those of you who have been to a serious soccer game, you know the intense amounts of energy that exudes from die hard futbol fans. There was a whole section of the stadium that literally did not stop jumping the entire game (over 2 hours) and screamed all sorts of Spanish vulgarities at the other team...in unison. Well...now that I think about it, they did settle down a bit when the riot police broke into their midst and began to beat them senselessly with nightsticks. But it didn't take them long to redirect their vulgarities to the police and renew their unending hopping.

Then there was the team of YWAMers that came to Colombia all the way from Kona, Hawaii. This was the same team I translated for in the jungle, but the fun didn't end there. They spent a month here in Bogotá, helping us out a lot, and visiting other ministries in their spare time.

I traveled with them to a million places around the city, many of which I had never been to before, but my favorite by far was a community called La Perseverancia. This mountainside community is known for being extremely dangerous, and when we were walking there, several complete strangers told us to turn around. Not the most encouraging omen. When we got there, however, we found a quaint little community with a spectacular view and about a hundred little kids to enjoy the natural beauty with. We rock climbed, played games, and hiked to a waterfall/pool of crystal clear mountain water. I don't have to tell you that it was one of the best days I've had since being here.

Perhaps the second biggest highlight for me, personally, was the circus. Yes, that's right, the circus. But not just any circus, the Mexican circus. It's a lot like the normal circus, except everyone dances more than usual and everything is in a ridiculous, flamboyant Spanish. Oh, and Mickey Mouse was there for some reason.

That whole team was so welcoming and loving, and the goodbye was a tearful one (after the traditional party games and salsa dancing, of course). They meant a lot to me, and I grew unusually close to many of them, so I feel like I ought to thank them by name.

Amanda, Heather, Renee, Marcia, Martin, Nate, Kat, Rebecca, Zach, Mary Beth, Emily, and Felicia, I love you all and you will be missed greatly.

Last but not least on my list of amazing people is Mary. Mary is my new hero in life. Mary is 63 years old, and she has 11 grandchildren. She also lives in the most dangerous place in Bogotá. Let me explain.

Mary works with me at Luz y Vida as the resident art teacher. Several years ago, she felt God calling her to work with streetkids in Colombia. She spent a few years in Spain learning the language, and then came here to work with Formando Vidas. This, however, is not her only job.

I may have already mentioned this area, and if so, allow me to expand on it. Cazuca is an area in the far Southwest part of the city, and it is one of the poorest. At last count, 76% of the population was under the poverty level, and the majority of the people that live here have been displaced by the violence that has torn apart this country for the last 40 years. This area, up until recently, has been completely run by paramilitary groups and gangs. Only in the last few months have the police made any sort of headway up into the hilltop community. Mary has, every Saturday and without fail for the past year and a half, visited Cazuca to work with the children that live there. As soon as she felt it was safe enough, I began to tag along. On one of these Saturdays, Mary, her friend Gonzalo and I were walking to the top of the hill, when she told me we were going to buy a house.

I thought she was kidding.

She now lives in a blue house at the top of Los Altos de Cazuca, alone, but happy. She is planning to start a drop-in center for the kids there, and I hope to help as much as I can. I still visit her every Saturday, and greet her at the door at school every morning. Like I said, she is my hero, er...heroine, and I am constantly inspired by her courage.

Things are picking up speed as far as school goes. I am teaching Math and Science to all of the classes, and I am responsible for the administration duties of the youngest class. It's a big load, and thus far I have been drowning in it, but hopefully things will calm back down into some semblance of a routine. That's all for now. Thanks for listening (reading)!

Tyler

Las Amazonas!!!

So, it happened like this. My esteemed traveling partner, Adrienne, got it into her head that we would be traveling to the Amazons for Christmas. It sounded great...and insane...much like all of her other traveling ideas (let's go to Cuba illegally, and then to the most dangerous country in the Western Hemisphere!). I had my doubts, seeing as how we had no legitimate contacts in that area, and it was already December when we were deciding all of this. However, things, as they seem to do for us, worked out. We met the leaders of the YWAM base in that area, and they mentioned that a group was coming from Hawaii, and they needed some translators.

We volunteered before they finished their sentence.

So, on New Year's Eve, we packed our backpacks and boarded a plane for Leticia, Colombia, a town of 200,000 located on the very southern tip of the country. We celebrated the ushering in of 2008 with our new Hawaiian and Colombian friends, and the following day, Adrienne, Fabian (who also works with Formando Vidas, and who was also there to translate) and I walked to Brazil, took a boat across the Amazon, and had an Inca Kola in Peru...just because we could. That puts the "Countries That Tyler Has Visited Even For Just One Day" list into the double digits.

Not like I'm counting or anything.

We spent a few days in Leticia, preparing for our upcoming trip deep into the jungle by buying clothing that would protect us from the flying death-bugs these people called mosquitos, while still keeping us from dying of heat stroke. When the day finally came, we took a motorboat 3 hours upriver to a community called La Maloka, where we set up shop at in the school building. The people here were very warm and welcoming, which is strange when you imagine what would happen if a bunch of indigenous people just waltzed into your suburban cul-de-sac and started playing with your kids.

The people here wore western clothes, so their village would never make it into National Geographic, but have no doubt, it was indeed the Amazon. These people would shoot arrows (which I shot) into the muddy waters of the Amazon River (which I swam in) and kill several large, black suckerfish (which I ate...whole). Something about the closeness to nature in which these people lived brought out the primal nature in me. I took off my boots, and trekked barefoot through the mud, which was a horrible idea, because after the first day, my feet were covered in mysterious red spots that itched like mad. I climbed trees to get coconuts, which was also unfortunate, because I hate coconuts, and I was then obliged to eat the spoils of my efforts. I had no fear of the wildlife, and would play with tarantulas and snakes as if they were children's toys. That one was also probably stupid, but I didn't get hurt, so it all worked out.

We spent the majority of our time playing with the kids, planning our nightly services, and waiting for the daily torrential downpour to arrive so that the temperature would drop below 1,890,265 Celsius. A good time seemed to be had by all, and we were quite sad to leave, but there was something about the cold, blank stare of the hideous fish that lay in my daily soup that made it a little easier to return to civilization.

Back in Leticia, we recovered from our little excursion, while we took full advantage of modern amenities like ice cream, oscillating fans, and showers that are more than just standing outside during a rainstorm. We didn't simply engage in leisure activities, though. We visited some neighborhoods, made some friends, and played some soccer (pronounced fooootball), which, by the way, I am getting pretty good at. At the end of the week, we prepared for departure once again, loading everything onto the USS Gringo, and went ever farther into the Heart of Darkness.

The two communities we visited finally topped rural Guatemala as the most beautiful place that my eyes have ever seen, and despite the evil parrot that would attempt to decapitate you every time you used the bathroom, it was paradise. We only spent a few days in this Eden, and then a day or two getting things ordered in Leticia, and it was home-sweet-Bogota once again.

When I got home, things had changed a bit. I left our house with Ryan and David, and I came back with the same Ryan (if not a bit frazzled) but no David, a family of 3 and a golden Labrador. David ran away again, and two ex-members of the ministry and their son (and his dog) took his place. Their names are David, Yanira, little Lucas, and Toby the dog. On top of all of that, my very good friend Wes McKain flew in the day after I got back, and it has been wonderful having him around.

Life is rather hectic these days. I am showing Wes the ropes, still translating for the Hawaii team (who will be here in Bogota for another few weeks), and preparing for my classes. The little tykes start school the 5th of February, and I will either be Science teacher for all classes, or I will have my own little troupe of kiddos that I will be wholly responsible for. Either one means more responsibility, but I am looking forward to getting more involved in their lives.

Well, that's it for now. Until next time,

Tyler