Gaining a New Perspective on Freedom in Bolivia

Sep 25, 2016

By Steph Dyson

Gaining a New Perspective on Freedom in Bolivia

Despite the lung-emptying absence of air at 2,700m above sea level, a steep 20 minute climb and I was crowning the peak of the hill. From there, the views were panoramic: cloud-tipped mountains signalling the road to Sucre in the east and before me, the ring of mountains; protruding chaotically from the loose patchwork of agricultural land which lined the bottom of the basin.

This was the Maragua Crater, an almost other-worldly rock formation. Believed by the locals to be the work of a meteorite, it was more likely born from the same tectonic activity that created the nearby Andes. A wild, barely-habited environment, since a week previously, it had become my home.

The settlement of Maragua was cradled in the very centre. Hardly meriting the term ‘village’, it was built along the length of one dirt road; here, dusty tracks stretched out like brown capillaries to a jumble of adobe, thatched-roofed cottages, and cows grazed in poorly-fenced fields, accompanied only by bored, lounging dogs. The stone brick schoolhouse in which I was working as a volunteer looked luxurious when compared with the basic mud housing of the rest of the community.

My adventures that had led me there had started a long time before: seven months to be exact.

I had packed my rucksack, bade a tearless goodbye to friends and family, and boarded the plane that would land me in Bolivia. It had been a strange moment; one tinged with excitement and fear, but most powerfully, relief. It symbolised an escape from the monotony of a life that was 14 hour days slogging away as a teacher, and where hobbies and friends were only reserved for precious, stolen moments at weekends.

Back then it had taken me too long to realise that I was being slowly suffocated and led down a path that seemed bleak and inescapable. It was as if my future had become an out-of-control train; speeding towards a fixed destination, but one which I’d never really chosen in the first place.

Taking that plane to Bolivia was the equivalent of leaping through the open train window and hoping for a soft landing on the other side.

To begin with, it was anything but soft. From the very first day, it became evident that I was ill-prepared for my new life here. Arriving into the office in Sucre where I would be volunteering for the next seven months, I realised how measly my linguistic preparation of self-taught Spanish had been.

Feeling useful and acquiring that all important sense of belonging was going to take time, and, more importantly, a lot of patience. It wasn’t yet the triumphant, glorious moment of freedom I had been anticipating when I left home.

But the kindness of the many local people I met spurred me on. With the help of new friends, I learned Spanish doggedly, celebrating each milestone: from successfully buying vegetables in the local market, translating English to Spanish at a community meeting with my charity, to even being interviewed live on Bolivian television.

As the months passed and I learned more about the situations of new friends and colleagues, I grew to understand the relative simplicity of my own. As someone with the funds to live, volunteer, and travel at will, I now had few cares. Those from before had been abandoned; wilfully ignored and laid aside when carefully packing my rucksack.

Others, I had never had to encounter before. These were the ones that made me question what freedom I was even pursuing. Each day was a confrontation with entrenched poverty; the families on the streets of Sucre for whom life was a reoccurring struggle to eat. Often it would be their children paying heavily for the hand fate had dealt them: rather than attending school, they would be found pacing rings around the main square, selling bags of bird seed for meagre sums.

Leaving my job and life back home I had equated freedom with a holiday away from overbearing, life-dominating responsibilities. Instead, I realised that freedom is something that only the most privileged have. Those of us where life isn’t a daily fight to survive; those who can leave a well-paid job on a whim; those who can only learn this fact when they step away and gain a new perspective.

Seeing this, my freedom instead became a chance to invest back into society, and to stop thinking about my own complaints for a change. Rather than choosing to reject all responsibility, freedom taught me that I needed to embrace it even more.

So there I was in Maragua. The struggle to climb that hill had been worth it. Almost 10,000 km around the other side of the world, I had finally found my freedom.

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About the Author

Steph Dyson

Steph Dyson is a travel writer and educational volunteer who writes about adventurous travel and meaningful volunteering; two ways of exploring the world that she believes everyone should try at least once. A former secondary school English teacher, avid cheese eater, and famous Bolivian TV personality (well, almost), she loves sharing her tips, tricks, and personal experiences of travelling and volunteering in South America.

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