No matter how open the arms of the people, or how good my Spanish, I never forget that I am a foreigner in a foreign land. There are the jokes that I still never catch, a cordiality that to me seems superfluous, and spoonfulls of sugar without which any drink is considered kaima, tasteless. One of the least avoidable Bolivianisms that I still struggle to understand is the road blockade, or bloqueo.
It goes something like this:
An interest group wants to draw attention to their cause, demand, or dissatisfaction with the government, they block the road way with spiny branches, themselves, burning tires, machetes, automobiles, and so on. While in a country with interstates, turnpikes, and country roads, this would not pose a problem, it can bring transport to a standstill in a country as mountainous and poorly connected as Bolivia. Blockades may last a morning or a fortnight, and the government usually has no choice but to meet the demands of the strikers. Until this agreement is made, trucks full of bananas and lettuce rot while their frustrated chofers do their best to pass the hours.
A passerby can tell just how long a bloqueo has been carrying on by the levels of comfort and entrepeneurship the drivers have developed. Two weeks ago I crossed two bloqueos, in their ninth day, on my way to Santa Cruz. In the first crossing, we were duped into paying three Bolivianos a piece to be carried 200 m between two blockades of mora branches in a station wagon. At the second crossing, vendors had begun to sell empanadas and lemonade, while truck drivers had strung up wash lines to dry the clothing that had been scrubbed clean in nearby rivers. Young boys with wheelbarrows offered to carry the bags of men and women alike for a few pesitos. After 100 bs, a succession of taxis, a number of new friends, we made it across the second bloqueo at 530 pm.
At 7 pm, the blockades were lifted.
This is not to say that the entire country returned to hunky-dory harmony at 7 pm that day. At the same time, blockades were bubbling up in Oruro and the post office had been on strike for two weeks. During my stay in Cochabamba traffic was moving freely, but my blockade borne shigella kept me in bed, unable to do some much needed price checking for Chimeo's bee project. This same shigella kept me in Cochabamba under "observation" for two extra days, which fortunately gave me time to do my bee work. Unfortunately, it delayed my return to Santa Cruz, giving time for new blockades on the road to Villa Montes time to relight. Two weeks ago folks were supporting Camiri in its demand for the "presedency of the petroleum industry. Today (and likely tomorrow and the day after tomorrow) there is a great deal of unrest concerning a new land redistribution law.
Meanwhile, this new burst of blockades has me stuck in Santa Cruz. Thoroughly tired of the city, Im anxious to return to Chimeo after two weeks away and even more anxious to get the heck out of Santa Cruz. If Im lucky, you wont be hearing much from me and the international press wont hear much of Bolivia until then.
Keep your fingers crossed.
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1 comment:
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