Rebellion in the J-School

“Sure,” I replied.

“In private.”

“In private?”  I wondered what it could be.  Was it possible that she wanted to confess her sins since she knew that I was formerly a Catholic priest? Soon I discovered it had nothing to do with confession.  She was representing the other J-school students in our work group and they were unhappy and wanted to talk to each of the professors.

For the first two days of the school they had been working on the forthcoming referendum in Venezuela.  But they were in Bolivia!  Shouldn’t they be taking advantage of their time here to learn and write more about Bolivia?

The idea made a lot of sense to me.  I already had the same sentiments even before she spoke to me.  The forthcoming August 15 Venezuelan referendum was certainly an important topic but there was a dearth of local people to consult about it.  The problem:  how to approach Al Giordano?

Keep in mind that Al puts a lot of thought into planning the school, he does not make his decisions lightly, and it is not easy to change one minute of the schedule.  A fine image of Al would be Michelangelo’s portrayal of God in the Sistine Chapel, pointing his finger at creation.

My question was how the god of the J-School would react when his creation pointed its finger back at him--and it wasn’t using the index finger?

I was already worried about another announcement that Al had made just a little before Natalia talked to me.  We were to leave for the Chapare region of Bolivia the next morning.  He told us that we were to be at the entrance of the hotel at 8:30 a.m. or we would be left behind.  He also said that we should go to the bathroom before boarding the buses.

I had no problem with the 8:30 deadline.   But was he really serious about us going to the bathroom before boarding the bus?  It is midwinter in Cochabamba and the nights are rather cold.  Tucked beneath the blankets one doesn’t notice it, but when I got up the other night to take a leak, my body froze between the bed and the bathroom door and it was impossible to do anything.

I was thinking about what would happen when two busloads of us would reach the warmer Chapare region.  What if all of our bodies defrosted at the same moment and Al wouldn’t let us stop the bus to go the bathroom?

The next day both problems were resolved.

The students and a professor approached Al.  His response was quick and said basically:  I brought you here to sing; I am not here to tell you what song.  Al can be poetic at times, and also gentle.

The bus ride?  We stopped regularly along the way.