Five years ago Bolivian Express was born between a japanese restaurant and a lift on Avenida 20 de Octubre in La Paz. During the clunky journey from the ground floor to the 17th storey, two young gentlemen and a Swiss-Indian chica lamented the absence of an English-language publication in the country; two notable predecessors—the Bolivian Times and Llama Express—were sadly no longer in circulation. And so the name of the magazine was born as a portmanteau of sorts, an homage to the magazine’s forebearers.
We were determined to find a viable way of printing a quality free publication, given the erratic nature of local advertising revenues and shortage of local English-language journalists. A further (Irish) founder was enlisted and six university friends were boarded on a plane, kidnapped to serve as editorial guinea pigs. It became clear to the founding team that an ideal way of sustaining the project as a whole would be to combine it with a journalism training programme.
What started off as a magazine for tourists quickly turned into something else. After the first 10 issues, we had already covered all the well-trodden festivities and attractions the country is probably best known for. The continuous challenge has been to find new stories from which everyone, including the local audience, can learn something new. Indeed, over half of our readers are native Spanish speakers, so we are as committed to writing for them as we are for the uninitiated in Bolivia. This work has brought us close to people we would perhaps never have had an excuse to get to know: from former presidents, ministers and local sporting heroes, to Michael Jackson impersonators, prisoners serving life sentences and private investigators.
Since our unconventional beginnings, the project has involved over 120 people from 20+ countries worldwide who have come to volunteer as part of the effort.Today, the Bolivian Express team of volunteers live and sleep in a shared house as they explore the country, its stories and cultures with the help of a local team. By looking beyond the salt-flats and ancient ruins, their mission is to bring new eyes to this infinite land. If they leave as cultural ambassadors, rather than just tourists, the project has achieved one of its aims. And, of course, by flicking through these pages you, the reader, are closing the circle and helping to complete this project’s mission.
Over the years we have also worked with a large number of people across the world: editors scattered across San Francisco, New York and Caracas, a web developer in Berlin, an editor and marketing director somewhere in the Swiss alps, and even a virtual assistant in Bulgaria (hey, Pavlin). As past team members have taken on new challenges, others have appeared and have reshaped the project anew. With this, our 50th issue, we are incredibly proud to say that Bolivian Express has a life of its own; it exists as something greater and wiser than the people who have made it possible so far.
Thank you for being a part of this journey.
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PHOTO: NICK SOMERS
The topic of adoption in Bolivia holds a special place in the lives of two former BX interns: Catey and Christof. Both of them were adopted as infants from Bolivian orphanages and raised by non-Bolivian parents in foreign countries. Catey spent her childhood in the United States, and Christof, in Belgium. While both came to Bolivia to write for BX, they also came in search of answers about their birth parents and the country they lived in for the first few months of their lives. I read each intern’s powerful personal article that was published in BX and was intrigued by the issue. What is the adoption process like in Bolivia today?
In La Paz, there are several orphanages, including Hogar Carlos de Villegas, where Christof was adopted. Most of the one hundred children who live there arrived for similar reasons. They were either left by parents who had lost legal custody over them due to an unstable home life, or, more commonly, they were abandoned by desperate mothers who were unable to properly feed and raise them.
When adoptees like Catey and Christof return to Bolivia in search for answers about their birth parents, they are often unable to gather clues about them. Children generally enter orphanages without any personal documentation, making it almost impossible to track down their birth families.
That said, Catey and Christof are unique nowadays in that both of them were adopted by foreign couples. As of 2008, international adoptions have been effectively banned by the Bolivian government. This controversial decision is intended to ensure that Bolivian children will grow up within their own country, and to change Bolivia’s image as a poor country that needs to be saved by the international community. While the sentiments behind this decision are understandable, one can only assume the obvious: with a smaller pool of parent applicants, more children will spend their childhood in underfunded, overcrowded orphanages.
Christof has mixed feelings about the foreign adoption ban. While he acknowledges that it likely limits the number of adoptions overall, he also knows what it’s like to feel and look out of place among his Belgian-born friends. In Belgium, he connected with a group of young adults who were also adopted from Bolivia, and says that while some of them feel completely comfortable in the country, many find themselves caught between their Belgian and Bolivian identities.
The number of abandoned children in Bolivia is unlikely to decrease until the country’s poverty rates decrease and methods of contraception become generally accepted. This would certainly limit the number of mothers choosing between abandoning their children or getting an illegal abortion (which are generally very unsafe for the women). While the government has made it easier for middle class Bolivian families to adopt, many simply don’t have the means to do this.
PHOTO: DAVID CLOW
For nearly my whole life, I’ve lived in Boston, a city that captures the US’s image as a melting pot of religions, languages and cultures. Growing up, I didn't have to leave my hometown to encounter people from all over the world. I had neighbors, teachers and classmates from Brazil to Ethiopia to Uzbekistan to New Zealand. But since coming to Bolivia, it struck me that in 19 years I’ve never met a Bolivian in the US. Given the large population of Latin Americans in the country, I found this odd. Where are all the Bolivians?
It turns out the Bolivian immigrant population in the US is small, but existent.The actual number of Bolivians in the country is disputed. According to a recent census, around 20,000 Bolivians live in the Greater Washington area, making it one of the largest Bolivian expat communities in the US. However, local community leaders suggest that the population is actually much larger.
“Arlington is like a little Bolivia,” Patricia Zamora tells me, from her desk at the Instituto Exclusivo language school in La Paz. “You can find salteñas, typical Bolivian restaurants, stores, and businesses. The McDonald employees even prefer to speak Spanish,” she says.
As a native Bolivian who raised her family just outside of Arlington, Patricia explains that Bolivian immigrants have made a strong effort to keep their culture alive in Virginia. They have established folklore groups, football leagues and a weekend school for Bolivian-American children. “They celebrate all Bolivian holidays,” Patricia tells me, “like Carnaval and Fiesta de Urkupiña.”
This “Little Bolivia” began in 1980s as a result of a suffering Bolivian economy. People uprooted their lives and moved to Arlington in search of a “better life.” Most of the early immigrants came from Cochabamba and established construction, carpeting, roofing, and restaurant businesses. “Cochabambinos are hard workers,” Patricia tells me, “After a few went to Virginia, their family members followed, and the population grew.”
Like many other immigrant communities, Bolivians in the US tend to keep to themselves in order to preserve their culture and values. Though admirable, this impulse can also isolate an immigrant community. According to Patricia, many adult Bolivians in Arlington never manage to learn English, even after as many as 14 years of residence.
Perhaps this is why I’ve never met a Bolivian in Boston. But, as fate would have it, next year I’ll be attending university right outside of Arlington, Virginia. And now I know where to find my salteñas.
While Bolivia's military remains a highly male-dominated institution, there is no question that Gina Reque Teran, the country's first woman to assume the rank of General of the Armed Forces, is breaking stereotypes. At her inauguration in March 2015, Reque Teran, who comes from a military family and has risen through the ranks as a respected officer since the 1980s, urged all women to ""continue working and to dedicate ourselves to our professions one hundred percent"". Bolivia's recently elected Legislative Assembly is 48% female, but women only make up a meager 0.4% of the military and are still barred from holding power in the Bolivian Navy, according to a 2008 study by RESDAL, an Argentina-based think tank that focuses on military research. In a country and region often characterized by machismo and gender roles that define women as child-rearers and discourage their participation in the workforce, Gina Reque Teran's accomplishments and empowering words not only make her a role model for Bolivian women but a symbol of the country's slowly changing attitudes towards gender.
