In Bolivia: as UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador

Helping young Bolivians – part 1

by Dayle Haddon

It was difficult to breathe when we landed in La Paz, the highest airport in the world at 12,000 feet. It was 6AM. We hadn’t slept all night. Dizzy, off balance, there was a tightness in our heads coupled with a continual low-grade headache that hit us as soon as we landed. We staggered getting our luggage, laughing about the high altitude fog we were in and handed our endless customs papers to some very severe agents. It was as if we’d drunk too much and were standing on a boat moving at sea…with waves! It was hard to concentrate. As a team we would struggle with altitude sickness throughout the trip.

The city of La Paz was spectacularly beautiful with snowcapped mountains extending as far as the eye could see. The views flying in over the Royal Range, a section of the Andes that runs down the west coast of South America were magnificent. The sun was rising just as we crested over hundreds of snow packed peaks, one after the other, some of them cupping calm shimmering green lakes in their craggy nooks. It was truly awesome. The first rays of morning light lit up the snow. Soft, puffy clouds hung over the highest peaks. They call these particular mountains the “Illimani” or three peaks because one mountain here has three tips. We had landed in Bolivia, the heart of the Andes, and the poorest country in South America.

I had come to Bolivia with a UNICEF team of four, and joined up with others on the ground to travel into the country. Our mission was to see programs UNICEF supports, find out what were the most immediate and pressing needs and determine how we could bring attention to those needs.

After a few days traveling through Bolivia, I realized this was a different kind of poverty from the in-your-face kind I’d experienced in Africa on other UNICEF trips. There were no makeshift tents housing highly contagious cholera patients as I’d seen in war torn Angola. Flies did not cover the sad faces of children as I’d witnessed in camps in Darfur. It was not the plight of displaced children begging for food at an IDP camp outside Goma, in the Congo, where you couldn’t offer what you had for fear of causing a riot. The needs in Bolivia were desperate but struck closer to home. It seemed more like what you might encounter in the poorest places in the US. However, as the days went on and we began to scratch beneath the surface, I understood that this was one of the more emotionally challenging trips I had ever experienced.

I was moved by little Melody, a six year old we met in the ‘Little City’, one of three hundred centers for abandoned children in the city of Cochabamba, in south central Bolivia. With her thick black eyelashes, cropped dark hair and ready sweet smile, we connected right away. She didn’t know where her mommy was and told us simply, “I lost my little brother.” We didn’t understand and asked about her back-story. Her mother had abandoned Melody in the streets when she was five, along with her two brothers, age six and two and half. She and her older brother left the little one for a few minutes to find some food. When they returned, he was gone. The little boy has never been found.

In the same center I noticed tiny Marina, a deaf-mute, who was abandoned at seven in the southern region of Bolivia and after years of wandering lost in the mountains, barely existing, she made her way to the ‘Little City”. One day a social worker happened to style her hair and that was a turning point. She has become obsessed with hairdressing and now does everyone’s hair at the center. Given her limitations, Marina is only able to socialize with the small children, yet remarkably, she doesn’t suffer from low self-esteem. She is determined. She is beginning to vocalize single syllables and dreams of becoming a professional hairdresser, and one day to be able to read and write.

Dayle Haddon continues with part 2 and part 3 in June

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