Bear Homework - A volunteer's Story

By: Patrick, Volunteer (from the U.S.A.), Andean Bear Research Project (FUNDEBO)

Today is my 153rd day with the Andean Bear Project. Thinking me at least partially qualified to write about the volunteer experience - it certainly wasn’t my wit or literary ability - Dave Jackson, our fearless leader, asked me to write a short piece about what I’ve been part of here. I won’t obfuscate: I’m writing this because I think there’s a good chance you’d have a great time here, and I’d like you to come. This isn’t propaganda, though. I won’t describe a mythical bear project in which we see wild bears cavorting in the pristine wilderness every day, I won’t tell you we live in the lap of luxury, sampling gourmet meals and eating the fruit of leisure, and I won’t tell you that every other volunteer besides yourself will be an intelligent, attractive and available member of the opposite sex. (My esteemed reader no doubt realized by now that after five months I’ve put some thought into this mythical Bear Project.)

A few short months ago I wanted to come to a rural, grassroots, physically active project where I could use my rudimentary Spanish, and through the lens of the Internet the Project appeared – correctly, it transpired – to be all these things. Now, to be sure, other projects, which shall remain nameless, looked the same. The ‘other projects’ seemed to want me to pay them a lot of money and keep out of the way. The Andean Bear Project wanted a reasonable sum, which in any case is far less daily than a hostel and three square meals would be, and they sounded like they authentically looked forward to having my help out here in Pucara.

First impressions, especially when made via cyberspace, are rarely correct, but these were. Pucara’s as rural as it gets, the project’s a lean organization that gets the work done without unnecessary overhead, I get my endorphin jones satisfied frequently, and Spanish is indeed spoken. Most of all, I know that every day my work is having a positive impact on the life of the Andean bear. Many projects view the volunteer as a source of income and little else. Here we’re everything – funding, manpower, publicity, and support staff. This project is in a way what a volunteer project should be.

What have I seen in five months? Enough to fill ten pieces this size. Whatever you think of this piece, know that I’ve left out many stories just as worthy. I’ve seen a bear in the wild once; it was a large male eating figs, high up in a tree. He had the air of Joe Sixpack in front of a football game with his nose in a bag of Cheetos. The bears are timid and I wasn’t expecting to see one, so I think Alberto – our local guide, who speaks only Spanish – now knows how to express candid surprise in English; English unsuitable for my family audience.

I’ve seen a view whose beauty struck me to the core, every day. That isn’t an exaggeration; this isn’t the most beautiful place I’ve ever been – to say so would be to disparage, among many other things, America’s national parks – but it is the most uniformly beautiful place I’ve ever been. There’s scarcely a ridge here without a beautiful view as a backdrop.

I’ve seen things that made me laugh – like the look on a man from Liverpool’s face as he returned from a camping trip, a camping trip that saw him plunge into a neck-deep pool of cow… you get the idea. I’ve seen things that made me cry. I’ve been full of helpless rage and wonderment and all those emotions which my tenuous command of literary English does not allow me to do justice. I’ve seen things that filled me with respect, like our landlord, an impossibly well-preserved farmer in his sixties, drawing himself up to his full five foot five and putting a massive bull to flight with a single explosive curse. Life here is just that, life, with all the shackles we in the first world affix to it removed.

I’ve seen the sweat that drips off my face as I force my legs, full of battery acid, to give me that last effort that’ll put me atop that hill. That’s not something you need to see if you come here – not at all. Everyone sets their own level of physical involvement, which can range from a moderate walk to ascents to satisfy my fellow endorphin addicts. However, I’ve seen a look of joy in the eyes of my colleagues. ‘I didn’t think I could climb that, but I did and because I conquered my doubt I can do anything.’ Come to Pucara, and if you like you can see that in yourself. Then again, if you want to take a pleasant walk, see the sights and track a few bears along the way, by all means come do that too.

I’ve seen a lot here that’s taught me important things about life. I’m 18, so of course there are few important things about life that I don’t need to be taught. Even so, how profoundly I’ve been affected surprises me. By definition this sort of lesson can’t be committed to paper by any less than a great writer, so I won’t attempt it. I will say, though, that you’ll learn a great deal about yourself if you drop your comfortable little plan and go out and do something different. Mine was to walk from my high school graduation to my first day at college. I don’t regret the demise of that plan at all.

I feel more like an Ecuadorian than a tourist, and that’s a very important distinction. The tourist sees the Ecuador (or wherever) that is intended for the tourist. Even if you do your best to get off the beaten path you will as a tourist be living in a bubble, perhaps only mental, of the country you come from. The only way to leave this personal patch of the first world is leave your home – mentally as well as physically – and be able to say with complete honesty that, if only for a while, the volunteer house was your home. Even if you only volunteer here for a few weeks, you’ll begin to feel it. I keep a journal, and I recently looked back at my first few entries. I can’t believe how much I’ve changed, and I think I like that that. Whether you return to the same dorm room or the same desk, you’ll be someplace different after you leave the Project.