Excerpts from the Peanut Gallery

I went on Monday and yesterday to do interviews in one of the communities out of the city. The micro ride is about 1 hr to 1.5 depending on several issues such as time of day, the whim of the driver and the relative responsiveness of the on-board market for yoghurt-selling pre-teens who bombard the micro during its stop in the El Torno market, and therein detain it until every passanger has either bought one or declined at least the obligatory 4 times. After the micro ride is a breezy 20 minutes or so on the highway leading to the lush foothills on the back of a motorcycle with my co-worker, an agronomist from our organization. So that makes about 2 hrs of my travel time just to get there and get settled.

I went out Monday - yes, I went out monday after booking the week before to do interviews with a person within the local government, only to arrive and find out that no one was there. Let's not mind that. So I call again to see, as we agreed, if we could indeed do it later in the week (like Thursday or Friday, as I was told). Of course we can do it Friday. Sure, sounds good. So arrive at the appointed hour on Friday, ready to get this done so I can move on to the next zone for my interviews. This is, this is the last one I need from the south zone and then we are on to other issues. Right? Riiiiiiight.

Of course, I am informed that the person we are supposedly going to interview is not going to be at the office until 5pm. FIVE PM?! I can guarantee you that 5pm on a Friday is NOT the time I plan to arrive at my office if I am a public official. No sir, there is a bureaucratic union that has LONG sorted out the issue of working hours in government offices. 5pm ha! But we go, to see whom we can find and perhaps they're at home and not the office, so we check there.

Now, after finding all houses void of any adults, we decide to sit in the park that forms the town square and wait. I use the term 'park' loosely. But there are benches, so it will do. The thought momentarily crosses my mind that this official is not coming at 5pm either. But we decide to sit anyways. I take the opportunity to interview my coworker instead.

Now, cultural cue number one: there is a strange obsession with trying to find a husband for me amongs the people I work with. So I also take the opportunity to start casually spreading rumours in my workplace that I have a nice boyfriend waiting for me back home and that is why I am not trying really hard to marry a Bolivian so I don't have to extend my visa and get citizenship instead (the major selling pitch that they usually give me). The question arises frequently from the gentlemen of my organization (both married and single - I think they are plotting to help out one particular fellow who doesn't seem to have much luck): "Well Kiki, have you thought about just marrying a Bolivian? That would solve a lot of problems." And I now reply that while I agree, naturally, that would be the simplest way to do - ahem - solve things...(!?!?) it would make my flame upset, so if it doesn't happen, perhaps it is all for the best. I know, I know. In some cultures (my own for instance) my part in the following conversation would be considered a "lie" but really he just assumed I had a boyfriend, so whom am I to contradict?

T: So what does he look like - is he dark like us or blond like you guys?

K: (without hestiation) "He's blonde. Very blonde. Yes, pasty like me, shame really - our children will probably have melanoma by the time they hit puberty." Maybe next time he'll be asian, who knows? Whatever takes my fancy. But I will have to keep my stories straight with the different crews at the office.

If anyone calls me on it, I will stand by my defence: I simply didn't understand the question in spanish. He said 'boyfriend??' OHHHHH - Still working on those language skills!

Anyways, after an enlightening 2 hrs discussing Bolivian agriculture, politics, visa requirements, migration and of course, my love life, the appointed hour of our meeting came. "Give it a few more minutes and we'll call to see if she's ready" I am told. A few more minutes pass (it's now about 5:30 - 'few' is a cultural term as well). We call. The Very Important Person is currently running a marathon. Or they are caught in the midst of a bicycle chase with the fuzz in hot pursuit. Or they are pumping vigorously to make the swing go higher. I can't quite tell but there is wind and a lot of huffing and puffing. And no, incidentally, they will not be in town any time soon. Could we meet tomorrow? No, that doesn't work for us (are you kidding me?! It's SATURDAY! we both seem to say with the mutual roll of our eyes). So we book Monday afternoon between the three of us.

But I know that I really don't want to come back Monday, two strikes are enough. So I climb on the back of the motorcycle and consider my options and settle within about .4 seconds that I will just call back Sunday to cancel. That will look legit: "something came up, sorry but it just won't work tomorrow. I will call you when I get this week's schedule sorted out, ok?" I am already planning the spanish version in my head. It's all settled. So when I climb off the moto at turn to say goodbye to my coworker, he says "You know, it's best if we all meet in El Torno so you don't have to come so far, so I will call one day ahead of time next week to figure that out."

And the thought dawns on me - culture cue #2 - not a single one of us has, had or ever will have any intention of meeting at the appointed time on Monday. I am SO off the hook. There is a certain satisfaction in that.