The Goddess Without

Riding high on a specially constructed staircase, crown shimmering, teeth gleaming out from the fixed smile, waving like the Queen, she came rolling slowly down the shoreline road that leads into Rio Caribe. Miss Venezuela. Homecoming queen. Four hours late but the enthusiasm of the crowd wasn’t dampened.  Sustained by the crates of beer, bottles of rum and fast food that had been consumed in the Plaza Sucre from early afternoon, the steel drum band touring the Plaza on the back of a truck, the various vehicles blaring out competing music and the anticipation of what was to come.  Rio Caribe, a seaside town in a tropical climate was throwing quite a party.  They’d come from near and far to see their beauty queen.  Don’t underestimate the value Venezuelans place on this version of beauty and the pride Rio Caribe feels at having provided more than its fair share of Miss Venezuela’s over the years.

The boob job and nose job (Venezuelans have plastic surgery as easily and more often than other nationalities have manicures) and the marijuana use,  should remain a poorly kept secret. She is of course quite gorgeous, if slim, tanned, Mediterranean-looking, magazine ready, is your idea of beauty.  The crowd went wild. The cavalcade, which had been heavily advertised on radio and from giant loud speakers on the back of a truck, took almost half an hour to move up the coast road that takes you into Rio Caribe. I job it in 5 minutes.  She then toured the pueblo. No-one was going to be able to say they hadn’t seen Miss Venezuela.  That was the last we saw of her for another 3 hours.

She was whisked into the government-owned Venetur hotel for media interviews and a change of clothes, and maybe even a quiet spliff.  Guarded by the local police, the state troopers, the national guard and the army, no unauthorised person was getting beyond those gates.  Outside we drank more beer and ate more roast chicken and hot dogs. I seemed to be the only one feeling a bit fed up at the long wait. I had a hot dog, and another beer. Still no sign of her. The giant stage that had been erected overnight was all lit up in anticipation. Music blared. I had time to wander off up town to my friends hot dog stall and back and still no Miss Venezuela.  I hung around outside the hotel.  There was a long collective breath and a rush forward. She was at the gates. From half a meter away, I looked at her face and I saw fear!  She fixed her smile and flanked by minders and the various civil and military security forces, the gates slowly opened and she was ushered the 15 steps to the car that took her the 10 meters to the other side of the plaza and the awaiting stage.  She had changed into a white evening gown. .

Another half hour and finally the show began. A troupe of modern dancers took to the stage and danced around like demented animals.  Then she gave herself to the crowd. “Irene, Irene, Irene” they shouted. It sounds much nicer in Spanish! The next two hours was a mad ‘This Is Your Life’ affair.  Irene was given numerous  plaques and flowers as past school teachers, music teachers, friends and relatives paid tribute to her on a white sofa to match her white gown.  The local priest and his curates prostrated themselves before her like she was a wondrous crowned Madonna.  The Chavista Alcalde (Mayor) did likewise. The government claimed her.  Christ himself come down from the cross or cancer recuperating El President Chavez walking up the street would not have deflected the adoration bestowed on Irene Esser last Saturday night.  And on it went. Only her parents did not get a look in. Strange but perhaps the divorced couple and very troubled father couldn’t be trusted not to ruin the perfection of it all.  And so, at close to midnight, the Goddess was whipped away leaving the crowd still electrified and searching for more alcohol to keep the party going without her.  Not a single brawl was seem throughout the pueblo which was just as well as every policeman in town was looking after Irene.

“My life has changed completely since becoming Miss Venezuela” she told the crowd. Yes, but look at what’s happened to your soul, my dear.  The current Miss World is last year’s Miss Venezuela. Perhaps that reduces Irene’s chances of taking the title next year.  I'm not sure what fate is worse though, that of a future Miss World or that of a 'failed' beauty queen. Go Irene?

Rio Caribe, 28th November 2011

Lest I Forget

 

I was just over a month in Pedraza in the midst of a complex and at times seemingly incomprehensible situation.  All that happened in that craziness reflects  how the rest of the country works.  Revolutions are no walks in the park!  It was, it is, fascinating, to have been in the eye of the storm of Chavez' revolution – in microcosm.  I enjoyed every moment of it. But as a kind of interloper I could afford to.  Nothing has been resolved there as of yet.  Workers have ousted the 'appointed' Student President, Fundacea has little or not control, salary payments have stopped again and the government make weekly promises to announce the process for resuming educational activities. And the London International Office distances itself to the point of oblivion.

The business of appropriate stand out but there were ordinary every day things too that made life enjoyable and I don't want to forget them.  The beauty of the place – running into a wall of mountain that looked like so many limpet shells all joined together and stretching from left to right as far as the eye could see on my jog along the pisto back towards the college campus.  The snow capped tips of the highest peaks of that Andes range.  The long stretches of open flat country, the plains of Los Llanos with rivers crossing along the way.  And the skies at night, unpolluted by city lights, the constellations twinkled in all their splendor. You just had to remember to look skywards!  The absence of the sounds of human habitation that bombard you amidst Caracas' densely populated suburbs and apartment blocks. The presence of so many birds from the tiniest little bright yellow tits to the soaring black hawks.

Going drinking with six 20-something guys from 4 different countries and dancing the night away in a tiny tavern where we were the only customers.  Them running out the door to shout at every other group of chicas who passed by! The best hamburgers in the world from the dodgiest looking of places.

Collecting avocados as the guys knocked them from high off the branches with sticks – we needed those avocados to supplement the lousy diet and limited food supply.  I didn't mind the endless teasing about my “love” for pasta after I simply couldn't face another plate of the stuff when it was served for the seventh consecutive meal.  It wasn't that I complained, I just refused my serving. But everyone noticed!  Staff bringing me food from their homes and inviting me to into their homes and families where we struggled to communicate in Spanish but managed somehow.  Enough so that when they inquired about my experiences in Africa, mother's scolded their kids for not eating what food was put in front of them!  Being given a salsa lesson in the back yard of a small house in Pedraza on a hot, sunny, Sunday afternoon as a tamarind tree was mutilated.  My afternoon coffee and chat with the receptionist – me understanding about 10% of what she said but we still managed to make jokes, usually about the fat man!

Demonstrations too brought their own sense of solidarity.  I can't forget joining the protesters late at night at the College gates where the solitary bulb attracted too many insects and we played endless rounds of dominos. The convention of slamming your domino down hard as if you wanted to reach the centre of the earth unnerved me. I got used to it but could never copy it. 

On the morning I was leaving there was a mad 6am bus ride to Barinas in search of a cap with the image of Chavez on the front. It was unsuccessful as I knew it would be but someone wanted me to do it and I went along for the ride. 

I have been touched by the sadness people expressed when they knew I was leaving and feel a little guilty that they continue to tell me how much they miss me. Though I'd like the 2am text messages a bit earlier in the evening!  I will forever be touched by the many kindnesses people showed me and the joy they brought to my life.  I've been so privileged and so humbled.  

What there is not

“There be so many things goin' on ya caan keep up” said my Caribbean friend. And he was right of course. Amidst the Student Association President's ever secretive activities and the to-ing and fro-ing to meetings with persons unknown his one grand gesture was to publish an open letter to President Chavez. Using confrontational language and the most strident of tones, it was not at all helpful. Worse than this – he claimed to speak in the name of all students, staff, alumni, and a whole host of others. The first problem with this was that not a single one of the people in whose name he spoke had been consulted about the 'carta' and second was that no-one believed he had actually written it or that it was his idea to post it on facebook, to many individual email addresses and to media outlets in Spain, the US and Venezuela. The culprit, it was thought, was Fundacea. Within hours of the world seeing it he was forced to take it down but he did a less thorough job of retracting it than he did of circulating it in the first place. I can only think the aim was simply to rile the authorities irrespective of what effects, if any, it might have on the situation. And so began Monday of last week.

Tuesday saw the return of Senor Marcano of Fundacea to a somewhat hostile reception in Pedraza. Around 20 students had responded to the call of the Student Association President (for which read Fundacea) to return to the College for a meeting. They held a shambles of a meeting the night before with no agenda, no order and at which nothing was decided. Apparently, “it is always like that..”. The volunteers had been invited to attend the student meeting on Tuesday but we were promptly thrown out by Senor Marcano. funny, I thought this was a meeting initiated by students who should be free to invite whoever they wished. They in turn did not challenge Marcano's taking control of things.  Staff wanted to join the meeting too but they were refused entrance and it looked as though there might be a bit of an altercation as they marched en mass from their protest at the gates to the room where the meeting was being held. Why Marcano behaved in this way and provoked confrontation is not clear to me. Perhaps it was a final exercise of what little power he had left.   Part of the ongoing games that have been played for months now.  In his own words, “There is no Fundacea, there is no United World College” and that was that! Basically he had wiped his hands of everyone and everything. His only response to questions was that Fundacea has no money and he's no idea how workers will be paid what they're owed. As far as he knew the government would turn the place into a public university.  He was quite adamant about this in Pedraza but not when he spoke to London, insisting that it is just 'leaked information'. More games.  Many students and staff walked out and the meeting died a death as he lost all authority. The 2 weeks back pay staff had been promised for the previous Friday finally came through on Wednesday. But academic staff are owed more than 6 weeks pay and non-academic staff more than 4 weeks pay.

And so we are one step closer to becoming a public polytechnic-university. No-one will put it in writing, no-one will discuss the process or dates.  But it is inevitable. Having been shown the door the week before I packed my bags and my heavy heart and said goodbye to the circus on Wednesday just ahead of the arrival of the Alcaldi (Mayor) of Pedraza. He assured the striking workers that the College will become a public educational establishment but like everyone else could provide no details about the process.

By Monday, that is today, government has agreed to pay a further 15 days salary and workers have returned to work. There is talk of classes beginning on 15^th November. The Ministry of Education will have a meeting with students at the College this coming Friday. Presumably more information about the process of take over will be made available then. It seems there is a willingness to grant current students the UWC imprimatur on their graduating certificates. Whether or not UWC will agree this is still an unknown. Quite what students will be graduating in, and when remains a mystery. Not a good way to have to live.

So it seems it is goodbye UWC Simon Bolivar. The dying patient is drawing the final breaths and as I watch from Caracas, I believe the real travesty will be to treat this as a death by natural causes. This has been no act of nature and someone(s) must be held responsible. It shouldn't be assumed that someone is the Chavez government.

Caracas 7th November 2011