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Responding to Urban Poverty in El Alto
Urban poverty bears telltale scars on both people and place. In El Alto, a peri-urban center on the outlying high plains adjoining La Paz, the scars of poverty are everywhere. Open sewers graze broken sidewalks, ruined and half-built buildings are marred with graffiti, and beggars beseech any eyes cast their way. Springing up in some 15 years, the city of El Alto exploded onto the lunar-like landscape.
CARE has established a strong presence in this area, addressing a variety of needs including infrastructure repair, reproductive health care, water and sanitation and girls' education.
Girl's Education -- A Classroom that Cares
The inhabitants of El Alto have, in large part, migrated from rural areas of Bolivia's vast altiplano. The lure of the  city is strong. People hope to find work, or at least gain access to basic health or water services.
But the reality is dire. There is not enough work to go around. Unemployment is rampant. Just as in urban slums and ghettos in the developed world, violence, alcoholism, drug and sexual abuse are commonplace; products of desperation and extreme poverty.
In many ways, adolescent girls bear the brunt of the dysfunction born of poverty here. Jayne Lyons, CARE Bolivia's reproductive health sector manager explained. "Girls are second in line only to their mothers when it comes to household responsibility. The same is not required of boys. In many families, mothers must work to provide for the family by selling small items at the market, or as maids, cooks or by working other jobs. From a very young age, girls have to take care of the other children, clean the house and cook, while their mothers' work. This is part of the culture, redrawn only slightly to fit changing times.
"What happens is that these girls lose a part of themselves in the process. They lose their childhood for sure. This is a hard place to live, and to grow up. That's where CARE's Leadership and Literacy for Girls and Young Women project comes in."
Families volunteer daughters between the ages of 9 and 12 for a twice weekly after school program. Developed with the assistance of a psychologist, the program uses role play and modeling to give girls the opportunity to practice coping behaviors in a safe, open and caring environment.
The project relies on an unnamed girl character, face painted brightly and hair in playful braids. She serves as a role model for lessons, and her image is prominent on program literature and other tools. Like the girls in the program, she too lives amid poverty, the demands of being a girl child, and the violence, alcoholism, drugs and sexual abuse that pervades daily life here and begins shockingly early.
"Girls relate to the character. She is young, but forced to grow up quickly. Like them, her mother needs her to work in the house, even when her brother is allowed to go outside and play," said Raquel Zurita, project manager.
She continued, "These girls go home and say to their mothers, 'I know that I have rights. I know that I am entitled to have a good life and to be happy.' These little girls become, through this program, agents for change in their lives, and in the lives of their families. And the mothers and fathers feel good about the program. They like its lessons. They are realizing that the current ways aren't working. And that this might."
Raquel and Jane took us to a school where the program was in session. The walls surrounding the schoolyard were whitewashed and proudly painted some time ago. More recently, they had been marked with graffiti.
We sat in on a lesson on sexuality education, listening quietly as the girls told their stories. They worked together at desks in a crude, unheated classroom. It must have been 50 degrees, and many of the girls lacked jackets. They talked about good touch/bad touch and self-respect.
Vanessa, a 12-year-old with red cheeks chapped from windburn, raised her hand. "I like this class because it is fun. I learn things and I am able to be outside of my house. In regular school we don't learn much. Here we use what we learn for living. I have learned how to be careful, to respect and take care of myself."
It was getting late, and the girls had more lessons still. Fred and Suzy lined the girls up for polaroid photographs for them to keep, as a thank you. We had offered these photos to every person we met along the way that allowed us to take their photograph. Time and time again voices echoed, "I have never had a picture of myself -- never in my whole life." These girls were no different. They chirped with excitement as they watched the photos turn from cloudy white to vivid images of themselves. The last photo clicked, and the cameras were put away.
We gave our thanks to the instructors, thinking that we'd quietly exit as the class recommenced. "Where do they go?" a girl asked the instructor. They wanted to bid us goodbye, singing a special song for us. They shoved their polaroids into their pockets or put them on desks. They then formed a circle quickly, clasping hands with us and their teachers. One of the girls  stepped forward into the circle. She looked at us, smiling.
"Just by coming here, you changed our lives. I hope you will tell everyone in the United States about our class. We won't forget that you came here. Thank you."
She stepped back into the circle, grabbing the hands of her friends beside her. A chorus of nervous giggles bounced from the high cielings and cement floor. Another girl stepped forward.
"You are important to us, and we are glad that you came here. I will always remember you. Now I have this picture to prove you came here. I hope you will come back."
I couldn't hold back tears as we drove back to La Paz. Fred smiled, quietly saying to me, "Now how will you get all that in writing, Andrea?" I couldn't imagine.
continued...
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