Bolivia - Beautiful Graduation Amidst a Hellstorm

In 1990, when my senior high school graduation ceremony was cut short by rain, it was if nothing else, a memorable occasion. Last night was Vanessa’s graduation (Vee’s youngest sibling/sister), and the storm that engulfed that ceremony made the recollection of my own graduation rain storm seem like a light summer drizzle.

Things were going wonderfully, with the parents ceremoniously walking their proud newly graduated sons and daughters down the center aisle to accept their diplomas, have their tassel flipped from one side of their cap to the other, frozen momentarily for the obligatory snapshots, and then directed to have a seat next to their other cap-and-gowned pals. We the friends and family members were comfortably seated in rows of white plastic chairs happily chatting away, people-watching, popping up and down and moving around to navigate the best angle for our digital cameras and video cams. It was a very pleasant atmosphere outside beneath the sturdy yellow steel-pillar and silvery corrugated aluminum roofed canopy where during the school day, the students probably played futbol(soccer) or baloncesto(basketball).

Then, the dark night sky began to flash. The soothing breeze soon intensified into gusts of wind that blew the decorations hanging from above back and forth while the curtains behind the stage whipped at the legs of the administration folks seated there. And, like a bugle call to a cavalry charge in battle, a piercing crack of thunder announced the onslaught of a storm sweeping in from the peaks of the Andes above. Only moments later, just as the caps were being tossed into the air, all hell from above broke loose.

The wind grew stronger still, and the rain that initially, somewhat harmlessly, pelted away at the metal roof quickly turned into sheets of frozen buckshot that blasted away at what now seemed like a flimsy layer of aluminum foil over our heads. The ferocity of the storm continued to build and with the graduation ceremony now officially over, the graduates, the audience and the white plastic chairs formed one clotted mass of confusion and bewilderment with nowhere to go, trapped by a canopy of ice and rain. The water began to break through the roof and drove the mass of people and plastic into slightly more defined smaller herds huddling to stay dry. By then, an inch or two of water was washing over the concrete floor and many of the “mujeres” began to stand on top of the chairs while the wheels of solution-engineering turned in the minds of the “señores” who were trying to formulate escape routes for their families.

Gradually, packs began to break away from the crowd, making desperate runs for the relative comfort of the vehicles parked outside campus on a steep slope pointing skyward. We finally decided to make a run for it and were immediately drenched as we navigated icy concrete and mud-slicked rocky sidewalks covered with sleet. Rivers of rainwater gushed down the hillside through crevices and spilled into the street where people were cramming inside the rapidly opening-and-slamming doors of foggy SUVs, pick-ups, Bugs, and Brasilias. With the rivers of muddy water came rocks, walls of them, blocking roads and re-routing water and debris to make every way out impassible. The narrow road where 9 of us were stuffed into Papi’s brand new white Montero was jammed for over an hour before cars finally begin picking their way down the hill. The first road we took was blocked by rushing water and newly dislocated layers of rock that tumbled down from the mountains in angry torrents of mud and sludge. The 2nd and 3rd roads were blocked too. Papi was communicating intermittently with Chris and Juber via cell phone to see what kind of progress they were making in their truck.

Finally, after numerous attempts at various routes, we made it out and eventually home. Lines of industrial looking trucks were queued where previously passable roads had existed, and people stood around outside, displaced, trying to make sense of what was happening. Upon arrival at the Delgadillo home, there was no electricity, so we burned candles and huddled together sharing delicious food that Mami had cooked, and drinks of whiskey, dulce de leche liqueur, and white wine that Juber and Papi were jovially serving up. At 1 in the morning, Papi safely delivered Vee and I to our condo where the elevators were non-functional but all else seemed intact. The rain had stopped, but the foreboding approach of morning lay ahead, and we knew that when the sun came up, the true destruction of the storm would be revealed. Exhausted, we slept.

In the morning, we learned through the online version of Los Tiempos that so far, 4 people have been killed, and numbers more are missing. It is being said that last night’s storm was the worst here in twenty years, and the third worst in the last 50. And of course, it was all perfectly timed to coincide with the South American Community of Nations Summit that Evo Morales is hosting next door at Hotel Portales where the most important leaders and ambassadors from all of South America and abroad are congregating. The city is awash in water, mud and rock, while hundreds if not thousands of workers hired to clean it up are busily trying to get things back into shape for the important visitors who will be here the next few days. Vee tried to go to the gym, but it was flooded. The nice restaurants on the boulevard where foreign dignitaries will be wanting to dine this weekend are attempting to dig out from the mud. It was only a few days ago where the same scene unfolded, and that was a far less violent storm. Let’s hope the worst is over. Tonight, for Vanessa’s graduation “prom” party, we are keeping our fingers crossed for clearer skies…conejitos!

You can see pictures from graduation here. And a few shots of the area around our condo the morning after here.