My little brother for the week

by Francisco Montano (Germany)

Making a local connection Bolivia

Have you ever seen a little kid, no shoes, tattered clothes and a big smile flirting with some models? Neither had I. But that was just how Jorge was. I met Jorge on my first day volunteering at his village. Me and some friends volunteered like this twice a year. We picked an isolated village in Bolivia, and headed out there with a helpful spirit. Jorge lived in Casarabe, a small and poor town about an hour from a big city in the state of Beni. Jorge had never left Casarabe, just like most of its inhabitants, so everyone was pretty surprised when a busload of private school kids arrived and offered to fix up the town square and school. We laboured under the scalding sun as we painted the school, filled the town square with young trees, and polished the beams of the church. The local kids found us, dare I say, amusing. They rushed to play football with us after their school ended and we would often stay up late around a campfire, as we got to know them. Glorious unmonitored childhood is what these kids had, and I must say it made me kind of jealous. They told us local ghost stories, they took us to a hen fight once, and we kind of became family for a while. Jorge and I got really close during this volunteer week. I would buy him snacks and we would always team up as the lead offensive players during soccer. His questions were never ending. How was it where I was from? What was it like to drive? What was air conditioning? Unlimited curiosity. He also seemed very fond of my friends. Some girl models came along on the trip as well, although they barely worked and just insta storied the trip for likes, Jorge was particularly fond of them. He gave my friend, Fabiana, flowers, sang for her, and even took her on a 'date' to the local 'cinema.' A projector and 10 plastic chairs were enought to call it a cinema in this town. This boy had such a sweet bravado to him. This slow and relaxed life appealed to me. Everyone knew everyone and there was this air of calmness around. Not that people didn't struggle for of course they did. Putting food on the table remained the never ending challenge of the day. However, people seemed to struggle happily. This sense of community and mutual support was enough help for people to bear their cross despite their hard lives. Deep and meaningful connections are essential in life, and I felt that here. It was hard not to get attached. I knew I was leaving, I was just a volunteer, but how couldn't I? "Do you really have to leave?" said Jorge as we finished up painting a mural. My heart ached. I knew this question was coming, but how do you respond to it? There was no fooling him, he looked at me and waited for an answer, watchful of any lies. "You know my family awaits Jorge, how can I leave them?" He nodded and passed me some paint for the mural. The answer seemed to satisfy him, family is something we deeply value in Bolivia. Yet his disappointment was evident, and this placed a weight on my conscience. This boy had shown me more interest than my own brother back in Santa Cruz. It was clear he had always wanted an older brother, and thinking about the "what if" was inevitable for me. We all come to crossroads in life. Choices can take us in such different directions, yet how wild was this? Staying in this sweet and tranquil town, where community, support and love reigned or head back to my busy city life, where crushing responsibilites awaited? I fell in love with Casarabe, and with this second family. Can you guess what I chose in the end?