Hans isn't homeless
I went to the fountain on El Prado where I had planned to meet Hanz, the drunk belligerent kid from a couple nights ago. He showed up just a few minutes after I got there. he was with a friend named Carlos. Carlos had lighter skin and a more northern, slimmer face and long hair. He asked for “a big favor”: that we could go up to the corner where his mom was because his mom wanted to know what type of people he was hanging out with. We walked up El Prado.
They finished a bottle of refresco and I’m pretty sure I saw Carlos throw it close range at a passing boy. It was thrown back at us, and it hit my butt.
We went to the corner where Carlos said his mom was but he went inside the building, a bank or something, and never came out.
Hans and I walked a bit and then left to go to his house. I wasn’t planning on doing this but somehow we ended up in a bus going up the mountain supposedly towards his house. He had told me the night before that he lived in a cardboard box. Now he said he lived with his grandma in a house.
We were rising out of La Paz. I knew that El Alto was above La Paz and that it was known to be dangerous and crawling with pick pockets. We got out and walked down a wide, clean, quiet, cobblestone street. He had been telling me that from his house there is a wonderful view. When we got to his house, I saw that he wasn’t lying about this. He and his grandma lived in the upper floor of a humble, brick house. We went out onto the patio, which was probably the size of the inside rooms put together.
He said to the lady I believe to be his grandma, “Good afternoon. Can you make something very Bolivian for us?” He had been talking about peyote (a drug) and Mescal (an alcohol) at his house. I told him that I don’t want to try any drugs ever, that for some reason I am trying to stay clean. I had a fear that if I ate anything at his house, it might be drugged. It would be an easy, profitable crime for him, except for the fact that I know where he lives now. I guess he wouldn't have to let me live. I lost all the worries when I saw the beautifully prepared, delicious meal that he brought for us from his grandma. He also brought an unopened bottle of soda that he had gone to the corner to buy.
We ate in his room as we listened to his music. His room looked like the messy arrangement of someone’s un-harnessed mind, crumpled kleenex, dirty clothes, unmade bed, all scattered about the cement floor. There were lots of music posters and music pictures ripped out from magazines. He had colored and drawn on a lot of them. He said he liked to draw.
When we were in the little van coming up he had told me he doesn’t believe in God. Now he was telling me that he believes in a loving God. He seemed to be contradicting but now I told him it sounds like we believe in the same God.
He asked for my phone number and I said I don’t have one- well, that it was for lots of people in my house. He said, “you don’t trust me yet.” I said, “I need to get to know you better.”
I found out we were born 10 days apart on the same year. His birthday is on the 2nd of November. Mine is the 12th.
I found out he goes to college for Anthropology. He had a big chart of how to pronounce the English letters that he had made at his university (I think) on his wall.
I told him I had to be down to El Prado at 4:00 to meet a friend and that I would like to leave at about 3:00. In typical Bolivian style (as much as I tried to push the punctual American way) I was not able to say goodbye and catch the bus until 3:40.
When I got in I asked if it goes to El Prado, and they looked at me like it was an unusual question, though it seemed to me like El Prado was the biggest street in La Paz. They also said it would take about an hour to get down.
The thing is I told Rolando that we would meet at 4:00. I realized that the chances were very slim that I would get there on time and one of the last things I want to do is be inconsistent with my new friends. I want them to trust me. I prayed that I would not let Rolando down.
We still seemed to be near the top of the hill when I heard a man’s watch beep like it had just turned 4:00. When we got near the bottom of the hill, what seemed like 45 minutes later I asked the man beside me if we were close to El Prado. He said we were a block away. When we got close enough we got out and I asked him the time. He told me the time was now 4:00 exactly. Amazing. I didn’t know if this could be possible. To make sure I asked a poor old, scared lady who said she didn’t have the time and avoided my gaze. Finally after walking towards where we planned to meet I saw a kid walk by with his arm over a girl and his watch revealed, and I almost asked him the time, but I realized I had seen it right there in front of me as his arm had passed right by me. It said it was now 5 after.
I got to the place where I was to meet Rolando. I looked around for a minute or so and asked a guy who was in a little kiosk selling things what the time was. He said 10 after.
I looked across the street and realized Rolando was sleeping on a bench.
Our meeting was quick. Rolando told me he needed school supplies.
They finished a bottle of refresco and I’m pretty sure I saw Carlos throw it close range at a passing boy. It was thrown back at us, and it hit my butt.
We went to the corner where Carlos said his mom was but he went inside the building, a bank or something, and never came out.
Hans and I walked a bit and then left to go to his house. I wasn’t planning on doing this but somehow we ended up in a bus going up the mountain supposedly towards his house. He had told me the night before that he lived in a cardboard box. Now he said he lived with his grandma in a house.
We were rising out of La Paz. I knew that El Alto was above La Paz and that it was known to be dangerous and crawling with pick pockets. We got out and walked down a wide, clean, quiet, cobblestone street. He had been telling me that from his house there is a wonderful view. When we got to his house, I saw that he wasn’t lying about this. He and his grandma lived in the upper floor of a humble, brick house. We went out onto the patio, which was probably the size of the inside rooms put together.
He said to the lady I believe to be his grandma, “Good afternoon. Can you make something very Bolivian for us?” He had been talking about peyote (a drug) and Mescal (an alcohol) at his house. I told him that I don’t want to try any drugs ever, that for some reason I am trying to stay clean. I had a fear that if I ate anything at his house, it might be drugged. It would be an easy, profitable crime for him, except for the fact that I know where he lives now. I guess he wouldn't have to let me live. I lost all the worries when I saw the beautifully prepared, delicious meal that he brought for us from his grandma. He also brought an unopened bottle of soda that he had gone to the corner to buy.
We ate in his room as we listened to his music. His room looked like the messy arrangement of someone’s un-harnessed mind, crumpled kleenex, dirty clothes, unmade bed, all scattered about the cement floor. There were lots of music posters and music pictures ripped out from magazines. He had colored and drawn on a lot of them. He said he liked to draw.
When we were in the little van coming up he had told me he doesn’t believe in God. Now he was telling me that he believes in a loving God. He seemed to be contradicting but now I told him it sounds like we believe in the same God.
He asked for my phone number and I said I don’t have one- well, that it was for lots of people in my house. He said, “you don’t trust me yet.” I said, “I need to get to know you better.”
I found out we were born 10 days apart on the same year. His birthday is on the 2nd of November. Mine is the 12th.
I found out he goes to college for Anthropology. He had a big chart of how to pronounce the English letters that he had made at his university (I think) on his wall.
I told him I had to be down to El Prado at 4:00 to meet a friend and that I would like to leave at about 3:00. In typical Bolivian style (as much as I tried to push the punctual American way) I was not able to say goodbye and catch the bus until 3:40.
When I got in I asked if it goes to El Prado, and they looked at me like it was an unusual question, though it seemed to me like El Prado was the biggest street in La Paz. They also said it would take about an hour to get down.
The thing is I told Rolando that we would meet at 4:00. I realized that the chances were very slim that I would get there on time and one of the last things I want to do is be inconsistent with my new friends. I want them to trust me. I prayed that I would not let Rolando down.
We still seemed to be near the top of the hill when I heard a man’s watch beep like it had just turned 4:00. When we got near the bottom of the hill, what seemed like 45 minutes later I asked the man beside me if we were close to El Prado. He said we were a block away. When we got close enough we got out and I asked him the time. He told me the time was now 4:00 exactly. Amazing. I didn’t know if this could be possible. To make sure I asked a poor old, scared lady who said she didn’t have the time and avoided my gaze. Finally after walking towards where we planned to meet I saw a kid walk by with his arm over a girl and his watch revealed, and I almost asked him the time, but I realized I had seen it right there in front of me as his arm had passed right by me. It said it was now 5 after.
I got to the place where I was to meet Rolando. I looked around for a minute or so and asked a guy who was in a little kiosk selling things what the time was. He said 10 after.
I looked across the street and realized Rolando was sleeping on a bench.
Our meeting was quick. Rolando told me he needed school supplies.
posted by Ross at 12:45 PM
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