Breaking language boundaries

Like I may have mentioned previously, I am staying at a house in Sopocachi, La Paz with a Bolivian family who host foreigners. The house is very nice and quite large. We all have our own rooms and there is a terace that has a great view (Also great for drying clothes). Amy is a speech therapist from Philadelphia who came to Bolivia to study Spanish and volunteer. Sharon is a recently retired Spanish teacher who came to Bolivia to improve her Spanish and have the travel experience. I am the only one who is volunteering through Reach Bolivia although, after describing my volunteer work, Amy has joined in with helping at the hospital. She is going to try to improve some of the children´s speech because so many of them struggle to communicate verbally. Sharon is interested in visiting the hospital and hopefully the 3 of us can paint the 3rd floor which is in serious need of color.

Every day is different at the hospital. When I arrive, I walk up to the 2nd floor and wait to be let in (there is a locked gate and there is one individual with a key, usually a child that was put in charge for the day). I am greeted by several children. There is one girl who follows me trying to tickle me, a boy who grabs my arm and escorts me and lots of hugs and sometimes kisses on the cheek. There is a set list of patients I am suppose to be working with daily, however, it is not so easy tracking them down. They could be wandering the 2nd floor, outside (although this seems rare) or not at the hospital at all (visiting with family etc.). Because of my limited Spanish, if I ask where a child is and receive an answer that includes something other than a finger pointing to a room, I nod and start looking for the next child. I wonder what the nurses think of me sometimes... the blond girl with the bag of art supplies and the same 3 Spanish phrases...

Yesterday, I was happy to enter Monica´s room. She is a 35 year old woman with cerebral paralysis who has been living at the hospital for the last 25 years. Every time I knock and open her door, she is there- in her wheel chair, infront of the tv watching a soap opera. I greet her and take out some paper, finger paint and crayons. She turns down the volumn of the tv and rolls over to the card table where I am. Initially she would wait for me to start coloring and then she would follow mimicking my symbols. Now she dips her finger in the paint and begins pressing the color onto the paper. She looks over at me after each mark she makes. I start to make a flower and ask for her help. She adds some petals and smiles. Next I take a new piece of paper and lay out crayons. Monica begins to draw a face and I see real intent behind her eyes as she makes each mark delibrately. I point and ask who. She pulls out an album of photos, one with two men. Monica is not very verbal, instead she uses gestures to communicate. She points to one of the men in the photo and makes a sound. Then she takes out a letter and hands it to me. It is a letter made to her from her brother, they have the same last name. I gather that the two men in the photo are her brothers. I ask who the woman in the photo is and she points to her ring finger and then to my ring, his wife I assume. I smile and thank her for showing me and she continues with drawing herself next. I hand her the pink crayon and pint to my lips and then her. She smiles and adds a pink mouth. She writes her name and her brother´s. Then continues drawing her 2nd brother and adding his name. When she is finished I pick up the paper and move it to the wall asking ¨aqui? (here)¨ She shakes her head, makes a noise and points to a different place. I move the drawing, ¨aqui?¨ I say and look for her approval. She smiles and nods. I tape it to the wall. I know this picture is important to her. The others she has created she wanted me to keep.

I know my time here is meaninful. Witnessing the circumstances at the hospital can lead me to feeling hopeless at times but I know that I am a small part of something much larger.