Every February, holiday festivities begin in Bolivia, and my home becomes a different country. Carnival de Oruro, for Bolivians, is the most important holiday, requiring months of preparations and culminating in days of wild celebrations, if you know what I mean. For six days, Carnival displays an array of folk arts and costumes, as more than 28,000 dancers take part in a parade to honor the Vírgen de Socavón and offer gratitude to the Pachamama, or Mother Earth, asking for another prosperous year. Declared a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2008, this holiday is one of the most important festivities in the country, and I’m missing out for the first time in my life.
Every day I spend in Boston instead of La Paz, I feel as though I am losing a part of my identity. When I look out the window and see office buildings as opposed to the mountainous landscape I grew up with, it’s like I’ve exchanged one reality for another. To a certain degree, this was what I wanted when I moved here. However, I can’t stop thinking about everything I miss from home, including those holidays I used to dismiss in favor of locking myself in my room and binging bad Netflix shows. Now that I’m far away from these traditions, I regret taking them for granted.
Before coming to Emerson, being Bolivian wasn’t that interesting to me. It was merely the place I was born. But now, completely immersed in a culture that is vastly different from my own, I constantly notice the differences. I feel like I’m always talking about my country, and though it can be annoying to constantly bring up, I can’t help but constantly remind everyone that I am Bolivian because I’m more conscious of my identity than ever before. It’s one of the first things I mention when I first introduce myself because I need them to know where I come from to fully understand who I am.
My high school hosts a performance where every grade dances to one of the many traditional dances in Bolivia. During my senior year, my entire grade danced Caporales, wearing the traditional “polleras de caporal” costumes I had always seen during Carnival but never worn. Although it’s one of the most typical folkloric dances in Bolivia, none of us really knew it. This led me to realize that despite having lived in Bolivia for all my life, I didn’t take any time to appreciate its culture. So I poured my heart and soul into dancing Caporales that day, and now I pour my heart out in writing about this magnificent place I get to call home.
At first, when people wondered about my country, I was eager for them to understand the constant political turmoil and destitution it experiences. But I quickly realized that more than anything, I wanted people to understand its beauty. Bolivia is much more than Elon Musk’s new lithium colony or the hub of cocaine production. It’s more than Evo Morales’s 14-year presidency, which ruined our political landscape, or “that one landlocked South American country.”
Bolivia is a hidden treasure. From the rocky landscapes of La Paz, to the rainforests in Santa Cruz, to the Salt Flats in Uyuni, we have it all—yet no one seems to notice. Blinded by the fact that we’re a Third World country, many people seem to forget that we’re also an incredibly diverse and alluring region of the world filled with life and joy, not just poverty and instability. In truth, Bolivia is a country replete with sorrows and struggles, but that still manages to remain utterly and breathtakingly beautiful. Un pueblo sin piernas pero que camina—a place with no legs, but that still walks.
So, as my family celebrates Carnival back in my home, I get to celebrate Bolivia here, with everyone who stays long enough to hear me rave about the place I’ve grown to love from thousands of miles away.
