9 down, 18 to go.

The 24th of each month has become one of reflection, excitement, and
relief for me, as it's the anniversary of both my touch-down in
Bolivia and my arrival in site. This month I will complete six months
in Chimeo and nine months in country. This means my service is
officially one-quarter of the way over. Although my projects for my
community are just now getting maybe a little bit off the ground, I
like to look back at some of the things Ive learned in the past six
months: crochet, beekeeping, organic gardening, some Guarani, yoga,
cooking on fire wood, bread-making, huminta-making, the list goes on.

Ive also finally become fluent in the language of Chimeo's trails;
when I first arrived I was mystified by the labyrinth of trails that
Chimenos led me down to seemingly get just about anywhere faster. I
now find myself deftly navigating these footpaths daily, and Ive
realized that, like most things, the locals are right; not only to
they get me where Im going more quickly, but theyre shady and cool,
making mid-day errands possible. Not only this, but the biodiversity
along these paths, on the rim of the national park Aguarague, is
spectacular. Lizards colored blue and gold dart past at each step,
and I see strange and colorful birds that I remember as the most
outlandish in a bird watching book my family and I used to study when
I was a young girl. Every time I walk down these trails I can only
think one thing: gosh Im lucky to be here.

The 14th of this month marks another important anniversary: my new
Bolivian god son will complete one month of life. A few months ago my
best friend in Chimeo asked me if I would be interested in becoming
the god mother of her unborn son, and I agreed. I spent the day in
the hospital with her and her family and helped cover some of the cost
of delivery, although they were relatively low*.

Since that day in the hospital, Ive been asking Ana and her family
what they were planning to name their little boy, who was stil going
by the name Conejito, or bunny rabbit. It finally took the family's
eldest daughter to confess that her parents were waiting for me to
name the kid. I suppose I should have figured it out earlier, as the
rest of their kids are named after foreigners who have touched their
lives: Iban, after Father Iban, who brough the first bees and a citrus
project to Chimeo; Serena, after her Italian god-mother; Jaime, after
a previous PC volunteer. My name alone wouldn't do for a number of
reasons. One, Im a girl. Two, I don't think people are even really
sure what my name is- Yaque ? Ch'aki (hangover)? Yakelin? Are those
all the same person? One neighbor even called me Karen this week-
where she got that one from I have no clue. Three, and most
importantly, my name is awfully close to the name of their 7-year-old
son, Jaco, who was accidentally killed by a friend playing with a gun
last September. My name, or any variation of it, is out.

So, I had to choose a name. For a split second I considered something
awesome and outlandish like Abraham or Einstein or Never Trust a
Woman, but I felt that would be cruel and difficult for the
townspeople to pronounce, so I decided against it. In the end I came
up with two options: David, which was my late-grandfather's name, kind
of**, or Jhonny, the Bolivian version of my Dad's name.

The next day while taking out daily yerba mate, I brought it up.

"Have you found a name for el papito conejito chiquitito?" I asked.

"Not yet. What do you think?" They replied.

"Well, have you ever considered, maybe, David, or Jhonny. Jhonny's a
nice name isn't it?"

"David Jhonny it is!" exclaimed Cecilio.

And so it was done. Who knows if the boy will use the name Jhonny for
anything other than his carnet de identidad- the whole family is still
referring to him as Conejito. It would be keeping with Bolivian
tradition to go by a nickname rather than a given name. Chimeo is
home to countless Chinos (China-man), Gordos (fatty), and Flacos
(skinny). We even have a Chunho (freeze-dried potato). Either way,
welcome to the world, Jhonny.

As for work, its seems to be the same old story- trying to organize
the beekeepers and start some family gardens. The bee keepers began
their trade with an organization called Eiturenda (place of the honey
in Guarani) under the previously mentioned Jaime and Father Iban.
While this project provided bee boxes, a few bee suits, and harvesting
equipment, the keeps are lacking in general technical training. I
plan to begin classes for new and established beekeepers and, if we
can secure financing, bee suits, boxes, and smokers for all. A good
beekeeping program could provide the folks of Chimeo with a great
source of nutrition (honey, especially when mixed with a 10:1 ratio of
pollen, is a good source of vitamins and protein) as well as a
supplement to their modest incomes. I have a lot of faith in bees as
a project in Chimeo, and I really cant wait to begin classes.

Well, that's all for now. Hopefully my next update will include
stories from bee classes taught and gardens grown.

*This is one of the best things, in by opinion, put in place by the
Morales administration: free health care for mothers and babies. My
friend, Ana, was able to go to the doctor to have an ultrasound of her
belly for the first time. While her six previous pregnancies went off
without a hitch, this one turned out to be breach. Without this
health coverage, she may very well have tried to deliver the baby at
home, without medical attention, and the results might have been
tragic. Way to go, Evo.

**My grandfather, an adventurous soul, spent the last quarter-century
of his life traveling the world. He did not sign up for tours with
English-speaking guides, but rather he usually hopped a military
aircraft (he was a WWII Navy vet) to wherever he was going and just,
went. His favorite desination for some time was Pondicherry, India, a
place that seems to have been his spiritual home. There he had a
spritual advisor who, some time ago, told him that in a past life his
name was David and he would live until his 101st birthday. Much to
the surprise of my mother and her siblings, upon arriving at his
gravesite, his pre-ordered head stone read David, with the year of
death being 2017. In the end, Grampy got his way.