Traveler's Rest

I flirted with a gap-year before college, but ultimately never took one. I knew I would not come back. Instead, I promised myself that I would be a commuter - traveling between the Global South and Global North whenever possible. Ultimately, Furman allowed me to visit more countries as a full-time student than I could have ever imagined. I was not only politicized around issues of social justice, politics, and the Global South, but became addicted and consequently chased what has been named the "third world glow."

This blog was never supposed to mature into just that, a full-functioning/developed blog. What started as the now standard college blog to largely communicate with parents and friends, was quickly catalyzed into something entirely different with my introduction to Latin American politics. I became fascinated with narrating what I was witnessing, not what landmarks I had hit in country X. Yet, in an attempt not to regurgitate my daily travel schedule via posts chronicling my every move, I have failed to fill in some gaps - mainly in communicating when I returned Stateside.


I was so eager to disassociate myself with the formulaic suburban lifestyle, I was convinced the urgency and intensity found abroad simply could not exist in the United States. In reality, this blog title applies more to my time spent Stateside. The culture shock hits here, where the beautiful Latin American people who have so generously invited me into their struggle are now the faces I see as landscaping crews or janitorial staff. I literally went from one extreme to another - leaving the Americas Social Forum in Paraguay for a home state now threatening a version of Arizona's SB 1070. It is nothing less than shocking to leave a culture saturated with discussions of human rights, social movements, and progressive government policies to enter into a sanitized political environment devoid of Latino support networks.

Now back in the Unites States for an entire academic year, finishing up the credits needed to graduate, I am slowly learning to negotiate the tension of life in South Carolina, and effectively advocate here. It is a constant battle to convince myself to stay. At the time of the attempted coup in Ecuador, I was stunned to realize I had to bring up the breaking news if the class was to discuss it. I have no interest in playing with ideas, parading around a manicured campus in the shadow of the ivory tower, while Latin America was on on fire - escalating threats against human rights activists in Guatemala, massive mining protests in Bolivia, and the election in Brazil expected to replace the popular Lula with female presidential candidate Dilma Rousseff.



So, where do I call home? A tiny town outside of Furman named .... Traveler's Rest. I am hoping that my mother can now take a break from sending me polite emails reminding me to come home.

After previewing life abroad, I could not live on campus where my entire world would be behind the university gates. Furman is fortunate enough to have a progressive campus ministry known as the Mere Christianity Forum. All my experience and travel can now be expressed as a lifestyle I believe in - living as part of a community offering a different version of faith. I live at the Vista House, an intentional Christian community dedicated to hospitality, community and the arts. Six residents live at the house with the hope that our home can be a sanctuary for students. The bottom floor of our home is always open to the Furman community as provide meals twice a week. Each Sunday we gear up for $4 dinners, where we serve between 20-50 students vegetarian meals. Wednesday nights are reserved for our ongoing dinner serious known as "Evening With...". The Vista House invites Furman faculty or community members to our dinner table to engage in "sharp dialogue and intentional conversation". Our presence on campus is expressed through the Mere Christianity Forum - a Christian ministry that compliments others at Furman by creating a space for dialogue. Taking the lead of our namesake, CS Lewis, we try to advance a framework of faith, reason and tomfoolery by hosting weekly theological forums.


So, if you are ever in the neighborhood, I finally have a guest room to offer!

We Would Have Met

Subject: We Would Have Met
From: Ali Boyd
Date: July 28, 2010 12:13:20 AM EDT
To: Dean Chahim

Dear Dean,
We would have met Sunday in a tiny pueblo with only one phone. I would have been standing next to the plaza, in between the tourist office and the replica of a dinosaur. We would have not even mentioned the dinosaur, because, it was of course normal. (This is Toro Toro, famous for its prolific dinosaur footprints). I would have seen you first because I was facing the exit from the main road as I waited. I met Claudia when she asked me, without an introduction, if I had been into the cave yet. I would have told you, as I told her, that yes we went the day before. After formal introductions, we would talk logistics - where we work, where we live, where we stayed in Toro Toro, what time we were leaving. I would have told the same antecodoate about waking up in a sketchy hostal, 5 of us sharing 3 beds, and finding another man in the bed reserved for our driver, Ricardo.

We could have laughed about the absurdity of a $5 room and the stranger we did not pay for, and then left to go talk Bolivian politics. I could ask you if you saw the abandoned houses flanking the Santa Cruz road. Our conversation could have played out effortlessly. "Did you read the El Diario article about the police forcefully evicting the squatters? The pictures were so intense! It looked like a war zone, with all the tear gas and riot gear! What do you think about squatters rights? The Landless Workers' Movement?"

But, we did not meet Sunday. In your place, I met your Engineers Without Borders posse and a friendly girl named Claudia. Maybe one day we can line up time zones and I won't have to explain that we have yet to meet, frente a frente, that we have only worked for Beyond Good Intentions. This "six degrees theory" is starting to seem like a joke -

Until then, we will continue sharing the Latin America we love so much,
Ali

ATM vs. Anarchy

One of my favorite emails sent to my mother while trying to live in Bolivia:

Subject: ATM

Tried it again. I even went to my favorite ATM in the city - the machine conveniently next to la Universidad San Simón and placed above the anarchy graffiti, instructing us to "destroy and rebuild" ...
I thought since I was trying to fight The Man but still use The Man, it would show a little grace.
Alas, nada... hypocrisy is transparent.

¡Bienvenidos a Cochabamba!

Note: I sent this as an email because I am behind on my blogging. I am still trying to publish posts from traveling in southern Africa on study abroad with Furman. But, I need to get this up, so here it is:

I promised myself I would never do an update email. I have a blog, after all. Except when your blogging as if you are still in Africa when you are very much in Bolivia. Besides, I am using a keyboard where 9 1/2 of the keys have labels taped to them. It is just too tempting...

I am in Cochabamba. Thanks to skype. Before you read any further, please go make a skype account. It is a life necessity. My flight left almost 2 hours late from Miami so in addition to listening to a two hiker´s litany of every outdoor vacation they have taken, their new gear, and the family that just ¨let them go¨I missed my flight to Cochabamba. I had to buy a visa upon arrival, 135 USD. My first taste of the progressive government of Evo Morales. He mirrored US immigration policy and consequently made American entry into the country just as expensive and complicated as we make our frontera. I was told I could fly standby at 7 pm that night, 12 hours from then. I called my school in Cochabamba and informed them I was not on the flight that should be arriving in a few minutes. The phone cut out just in time for me to hear them say go to another airline. Oh, ok. Not as an experienced traveler as I thought I was.

So, after buying 2 bottles of water to combat the altitude, (La Paz is the highest capital in the world) I went and stored my luggage. I learned that in SFO - I could lap that tiny airport free of my bag. Realizing I couldn't work the pay phone, I went to the internet cafe and called the school followed by a call to my mom. I booked a flight for 9.30 that morning and then went to get my bags back out of storage. Try conjugating verbs while clearly affected by the altitude. I could barely think in English. I called my mom back and asked her to please call Cochabamba, I couldn't miss my next flight and the cell phone number I was given wasn't working.

Round two. I go to the gate, confidant because I just bought a plane ticket in Bolivia. I was promptly told to turn around, I had to pay the national tax -paid it, went through. Not hard, I will just wait until they line up and fall in the back. So, I am sitting in my gate, just sitting there. My head hurts too much to read and then they announce my full name. I go the man and try to give him my plane ticket. No, we are not boarding, he needs me to follow him. I am led outside, onto The tarmac and into a back room. Surely, it cant be this sketchy hours into the country. My dad is going to be worried. So, what now? A bribe? Questioning? They searched my bag and saw the amount of political books I was importing? They ask if I have any gas in my bag? No, no gas. I am not a terrorist. I am coming to your country to learn extreme activism, remember? Aren't you the people who stage a coup every 8 months? I finally show them my shaving cream nicely tucked under and beside books, they are after all, books about Bolivia and public interest lawyers, not exactly threatening.

I am on the plane not worrying that I have no ride and no way of contacting the school once I arrive. I am traveling much looser than I would have liked. The 30 minute flight takes us over the Andes. I mark myself as the tourist when I get my camera out. I couldn't resist the cliche tourist photo.  Then, I realize this flight is going to both Cochabamba and Sucre. 2nd touristy act. I get out my guide book and open the map to see which city is first. I get off in the right one. In Cochabamba I grab my bag from the 13 that are circling and sit down. Do I have enough nerve to roll with all my luggage, between the crowd of men blocking the telephones? No. I will just wait; they are all watching the world cup, these are serious fans. I spot gringos, stare them down, they keep going. Finally, the director arrives to take me to the school. My mom called from SC and left a message on their voice mail. She's legit; instead of panicking she uses Skype to set up a carpool for me.

I check in and leave to go meet my home stay family. They are a retired couple who live in a nice apartment building. They don't seem to reflect the same frequency in which I want to discuss politics,  but love to talk about family, the medical alert dog my brother has for his diabetes and how much I like to read. They send me out the next night with their 23 year-old nephew and instructions to only speak in Spanish. He doesn't seem to have an affinity for politics either.

Just in case I get scared of a life with no politics, I know that Jesus is always watching. He stands outside my bedroom window. Personally, I think he wishes the Cochabambinos were a little more creative, though he is taller here, they still copied him from Brazil. 

So, I am here. Cochabamba: home of the Water Wars and the first successful fight against a multinational corporation attempting to privatize a life necessity. I can attend language school anywhere, so I came for this city - for a politicized environment.  I am here to learn Spanish and sophisticated social movements (after a strict warning from the school´s director not to become involved in politics. I can look, but not touch. No really, I can get deported -we learned that in South Africa.) 

Moral of my narration - go abroad. Each and every time you have a chance, go south. Save the West for when you are old, with a Volvo and a mortgage. I promise, you will never be bored -

I suggest using this map from Information is Beautiful as a guide

Not Saving Africa to Find Myself

"He remembered the Latin words he had once seen on a sixteenth- century map to mark the limit of Western exploration of Africa,
Scientia hic finit.

Knowledge stops here.
How arrogant we were, he thought. How arrogant we remain."
Donna Leon

Please continue following my blog, as I head to South Africa, Namibia, and Botswana in January.
I am not going to find myself.
I am not going to save Africa.
And, I will never buy a safari vest.
I am looking for the t/Truth.

Fe y Paz, إن شاء الله

In solidarity,
Ali