B45 gets smaller.

So we heard it since we got here, statistically every group loses about 5 people. Since day one I thought B45 was different- I thought we would all make it. We just hit number 5. Every person that leaves is greatly missed, and leaves a void in our group that cannot be filled.
In training we lost Meera, not too long after we started… then after Christmas Hannah, then Gilbert and Barbara, and now this past week Brandon….. B45 misses you all! Below I have posted the Swear- In Speech written and delivered by our friend Brandon. It was something I meant to post when we swore in… but here it is now. It really shows how much our fellow group members and other volunteers mean to us. It is interesting to read now, and think of how much we have changed and learned during the past year.

I am a donut.

I am a jelly donut.

This is what John F. Kennedy, the founder of Peace Corps, said to the German people when he visited them in June of 1963. Ich bin ein Berliner. Later linguists and historians de-bunked the rumor as simply myth. But the fact remains that what he said could be misinterpreted as something silly, outlandish, and downright ridiculous.

Yo quiero TWO sin chorizo.

I actually said that to a waitress in a restaurant in Quillacollo. Her reaction was of course one of surprise and disgust. She gave me one of those looks that said, “ummm…what?” or in Spanish, “ayyyy…Que?” She followed that up with a quick about face and a flip of the hair that reassured me that I had committed some sort of massive, egregious error. When I turned to my friends who were accompanying me during this particular meal of food I saw that they were all laughing. Good, strong, gut laughing. They informed me of my mistake and I joined in the laugh fest as well. Of course, what I meant to say was:

Yo Quiero DOS sin chorizo.

I had transposed the words for the number two and changed completely the meaning of what I was trying to say. I wanted two orders of papas fritas without sausage, but what I actually said was, “I want YOU without sausage.”

I want YOU without sausage. That had to have been the weirdest pick-up line that poor waitress had ever heard.

How crystal clear these examples are of communication breakdowns. Big, bold communication errors harmlessly and accidentally made that completely change the meaning of a particular phrase or message.

I rest assured, however, that I am not the first nor will I be the last volunteer in Bolivia or Peace Corps Worldwide for that matter to make such an error. It’s hard enough to maintain open channels of communication and understand each other in English let alone try to communicate with someone of a completely different cultural upbringing and background.

We’re going to encounter all kinds of communication errors and faux pas during our travels, our work, and in our lives in general over the next two years. Even you advanced language peeps sometimes forget how to correctly conjugate the past participle pluperfect future preterite of haber or the Spanish word for “sheep.”

It’s obeja, by the way. And there’s no conjugation for the past participle pluperfect future preterite of haber. That was a trick question.

But we’re trying. And this is our charge. This is our task. Communicate. Listen. Learn. Change people’s fundamental ideas and ways of doing things that they may have potentially been doing for centuries upon centuries before.

US!!

Who are we? What gives us the right or the authority? Nobody except the people of Bolivia can grant us the authority to enter their sovereign land and live her for two years. And they’ve done so more or less.

But there’s a cost for us- an obvious one that we’re all aware of. A sacrifice we have knowingly accepted. But, as with all things there’s an upside to this too. Being here definitely makes me appreciate the things that we have in the United States that I usually take for granted. I think of the U.S. as my little brother when I’m here. No one but me can talk smack about him. But being here also makes me yearn for the simpler way of doing things. The things and places and people I’ve seen already in just my first three months have amazed me beyond words. I’m constantly questioning our presence here. These people seem more at peace than 90% of the people in the United States. Things sometimes don’t really seem that depressed or tragic. There’s not an overabundance of cellphones and Escalades. Not an oversaturation of beer ads with five girls and one guy all of whom spend nearly ever waking hour in a gym, not actually drinking the product their advertising. There’s not a lot of advertising here in general. Television isn’t omnipresent with a message of buy, buy, buy. The people in the campo, I think, have more to teach us about living than we have to teach them.

But there are things we can teach them. There are simple things that we can show them that will improve their quality of life and the quality of life for their children and their children’s children. I’m not asking them to dress like me or listen to the music I listen to. I don’t want to Americanize them. I don’t want to corrupt them. I just want to tweak them. I just want to help. I think we all just want to help.

The stark differences between the people in the campo and the people in the cities is a harsh reality, but one that fascinates me. I love being a spectator here in this country. And that’s exactly what we’ve been for the first three months of our service. Spectators. We’ve been molly coddled and led by the hand; introduced to the necessary contacts and shown which buses and trufis to take.

But now we’re about to take on a completely different role. A role of action. A role of change. A metamorphosis. We’re about to emerge from our cocoon like shells. We’re no longer slothy, gluttonous caterpillars. We’re now attack butterflies. Lean, mean butterflies with fangs dripping with developmental venom. Butterflies with unlimited knowledge ammunition. And most importantly we’re butterflies that are strapped to the hilt with patience and understanding.

I couldn’t think of 27 more capable people to take this challenge head-on. Sometimes, in fact, I feel completely overwhelmed and intimidated by the experience and talent gathered here in this room. We’ve got doctors and engineers. Teachers and laborers and E.M.T.’s. We’ve got people that have never flunked a test until they met Javier. We’ve got people born in other countries, people who have seen the benefits that brave immigrant parents have received and want to give back to the world. We’ve got people that have lived abroad for large portions of their life. We’ve got brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers and everything between. We’ve got Amber. We’ve been trained and have had the privilege to work shoulder to shoulder with people that have dedicated their entire lives to development work. We’ve got people that have memorized entire sections of movies, a guy that can sing melodies acapella that make angels swoon and puts Michael Bubble to shame. I know, it’s Buble. We’ve got a man that when he had only 7 years to his name wondered what it would have been like to live in Communist Russia. We’ve got two Sarahs, two Annas and Hannah. An Erin, an Aaron and a dude that’s technically only 6 years old. Tristan looks great in a speedo. We’ve got west coast peeps that are all, “And he was all, and she was all.” We’ve got meteorological experts, yoga specialists, hug specialists, Queen Amidallah impersonators, graduates of The Ohio State University and a Nubian princess whose smile can shift my inner mountains and alter my current outlook from rainy, damp and dreary, to bright, revamped and seriously cheery. What an inspiration! What a revelation! What?

And then there’s little old me. Lodged in between all of these giant personalities- pillars of strength and fortitude, overwhelmed and humbled. I couldn’t be happier. I couldn’t be more content. I couldn’t be more elated to count myself as your friend and work partner.

Sometimes, a metaphorical anvil of realization drops on my head and I’m awash with warm fuzzies and soft suds of sentiment that feels like my whole body is a giant mouth chewing spearmint.

It’s fresh and crisp and I know this is my place deep in my capillaries. I see it every time I look at you. I see it reflected in your faces. I see it when you laugh. I feel it. I hear it. You are the most intelligent, inspirational, insanely weird in a good way people I have encountered in my life…ever. I know you intimately after only 90 days, but I want to know more. I want to be around all of you all the time. Your combined charisma and extrovertedness make Barak Obama look like Howard Hughes in his later years.

What a privilege we have here, guys. We get to hear ancient languages and dialects and interact with direct descendants of the Incan empire. We get to change people’s lives. That’s your job, no mas. And in the process we’re going to learn so much about ourselves and the world. All you have to do is understand that right now we’re like empty hard drives waiting to be filled with data and information. Be open. Listen. Watch. Observe. Be a “Quiet American.” Don’t be like Graham Greene’s quiet American though.

Maintain your composure. Find ways to always have a smile on your face. Go to your happy place. In the past my method was to completely close off everything to everyone literally and figuratively. I close my eyes. I would close my mouth and breathe through my nose. I put my iPod buds in my ears and go away for a moment. But then I come back refreshed and rejuvenated.

Now I don’t even need that. I’ve got a variety of options at my disposal to flip the switch on the sitch that I can’t pull my mind out of. I can simply have a conversation with one of you guys or recite a line from a Chris Farley movie and I’m right back in touch. Any one of you can flip my mood 180 degrees. I’ve never been in an environment like this before. It’s like I’m riding a constant crowd surfing wave, fully confident that I’m not going to be dropped. It’s like floating on a cloud made of hands. I’ve lost weight because I’m laughing so hard all the time. My abs are constantly sore. It’s a good sore though.

And I am going to miss that so much. So much. I’ll miss all of your bright shiny faces and individual, unique laughters. I’ll miss your thoughts and opinions. I’ll miss your minds and intellects. But I’ve got each and everyone of you stored away in my mind so that I can access you at anytime and relive moments that we’ve shared. For now, we have to depart. We have to shed the Stars and Stripes and don the Rojo, Amarillo, y Verde. We have to say goodbye to each other, to our new family, and say hello to a community that needs us.

We have to fan out across this vast nation like individual robotic lions. We can’t be Voltron right now. But if Voltron is ever needed you know that you can make the call and the team will assemble without hesitation, without question, without thought. We’ll unite with fangs of truth bared, swords of justice ready, and souls centered and steady. I’m here for you. I know you all are there for me and for each other. And that’s a beautiful thing.

Let’s put a smile on the statue of liberty’s face. She’s been frowning for far too long.

Stay classy B-45.

Let’s do this.