Echar p'alante...

In my life, choosing between responsibility and what I feel like doing has manifested itself in decisions like the following: I want to go to the movies, but I can’t because I have to study. I want to buy that new shirt, but I can’t because I need money for gas. I want to go on the spring break trip, but I can’t because I need to help out at home.

For rural Venezuelan farmers, choosing between responsibility and what they feel like doing results in decisions like the following: I want to finish high school, but I can’t because my family needs me to work the fields. I want to be a stay-at-home mom, but I can’t because earning $75 a week helps my family significantly. I want to study to be a Math teacher, but I can’t because the army pays a lot better.

I have come to learn how imprisoning poverty is - how it really clips the wings of flight of the human spirit. At least in my childhood, I was always taught that I could do anything I put my mind to, that I could be anything I wanted to be, that I had to make my own luck out of this world. In Venezuela and the majority of the rest of the world, you can put your mind to something that’s just not possible, you can be anything you want to be as long as your circumstances allow it which they usually don’t, and that most of the time your “luck” made out of your hard work leaves you right where you started. What a different world view…

Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my good friend Reinaldo. He had told me the day before yesterday that he was going into town to have some medical tests done to see if he could be accepted in the armed forces. That same day he finished all the tests, was accepted in the military, and told to be back in town the next day at 7 am to head off to… they’re not quite sure yet.

When I found out he’d been accepted, I made my way up to Rey’s house, which I think is the only funny part of this story. It was almost 8 o’clock at night and completely dark outside, and I walked my way up the mountain, a good 20 minute walk to Rey’s house, all by myself. I was not afraid of any person or animal harming me, but I did start to have my doubts about whether or not ghosts exist. Now that we’re in Lent, all anyone talks about is how you need to be in your house early because this is peak ghost season. Most people have stories that are so real to them, that I have started to have my doubts. Anyway, I think I made the 20 minute hike uphill in only 10 minutes because I jogged most of the way out of fear, thinking to myself, “I don’t believe in ghosts, I do NOT believe in ghosts…”

I found Rey saying goodbye to one of his cousins, best friends, and partners in mischievousness that he has lived next door to all 22 years of his life. From there, I went with him to many houses to say goodbye to more aunts, uncles, and cousins. The Venezuelan long goodbye is really a beautiful thing, “We’ll sure miss you, Rey. May God bless you, keep you, and protect you for me. May God keep you safe on your journey.” Rey’s continuous response was, “Thank you, Amen. Amen, Amen.”

After all the goodbyes, we went back to Rey’s mud and stick house where the only person still awake was one of Rey’s older dwarf brothers, Enrique, but whom everyone calls “Morrocoy,” which apparently is a type of turtle. Rey made us some good, strong, sweet coffee which we sipped on slow to keep the cold out and to keep the conversation going. Rey told us how when he arrived at the military doctor’s office, there was a mini-competition going on between the different factions of the military, trying to convince him with which group to enlist. There were a handful of military men constantly checking on him to see if his test results were in yet. He said everyone had such a compelling offer, but since he didn’t really understand it all, he couldn’t be sure who to trust.

As Rey walked me back down the dark mountain, I tried to say goodbye with some encouraging words. “I’m really happy for you, Rey… hay que echar p’alante (a very common Venezuelan expression that means - you’ve got to keep moving forward in life). You’ll get to study - this is just a really great opportunity for you.” Rey agreed, and lamented how he had not been able to study earlier in life. “I finished 6th grade and just couldn’t study anymore - my family needed me. It just wasn’t an option.”

Education options for rural Venezuelan farmers are very limited. There is an elementary school here in Carorita that goes up to 6th grade. If you want to continue studying, you then have to commute everyday to La Puerta, about 20 minutes away in public transportation. Very few (though more and more) boys continue studying after the 6th grade. It’s very time consuming and you see no financial rewards until after you graduate from college, in the midst of a very difficult job market. However, if you finish the 6th grade, you can also enroll in a private school, with a daily commute to Valera of 3 hours or more, round trip. Many private schools are designed to help you graduate faster, yet they can be expensive. Your last option is to study in one of the night government schools. Carorita has one through the government’s Ribas Mission, also designed to help you graduate faster. While this is financially feasible, it can be exhausting when you finish work in the fields from 6 am to 5 pm, to take a shower, eat dinner, and go to class from 6 pm to 9 pm. Also, while I can’t speak for the success of the program throughout the country, I can say that the reality of the program here in Carorita is disappointing - Materials often do not arrive. When they do arrive late, they are often damaged. The teacher has a hard lifestyle has well - a working mother from 6 am to 5 pm who has to leave her child with her mother from 6 pm to 9 pm at night or take him to class with her. Many other mother students have to bring their children to class which results in a hectic classroom atmosphere with the kids constantly distracting.

Faced with this reality, a military education is Rey’s best option to “echar p’alante” in life. Not only can he study, but he can do so at no cost to him and with a monthly stipend he can use to help his family. I must say, I admire all people in Carorita, regardless of whether they choose to study or not, or of which way they choose to study, because they all make the best decisions possible, always selflessly, in the midst of difficult conditions. This selflessness, this willingness to make sacrifices, coupled with their joyful attitudes about life in general, is something I’m trying to learn from.

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