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Jesus Buses


Good things come, and I’m not just referring to riding the buses. ~ Lionel Blue

It’s been a few months since my last post.  I feel like so much has to be said because so much has happened, but I’m just too tired to repeat the story over and over.  In truth, I’ve been quite sad and depressed about what has happened in Venezuela since the fraudulent elections took place on April 14th.  It’s exhausting to live here on a daily basis even without seeing the most blatant display of corruption. So with the encouragement of my father, friends and a fellow blogger named Shelli (an expat writing great tales about living in Canada) I decided to put my thoughts down once again.

Post election has been a time of great  uncertainty.  Not only has an increase of  Venezuelan military presence been seen and felt, but the Cuban military has their presence known as well. There are a lot of people (including practically every South American country) vying for power, for money, the status, and the “perks” from a country that is one of the largest producers of oil in the world, and a valiant few trying desperately to walk the right path, to repair a country in the wake of being subjected to 14 years of a seriously fucked up “Social Revolution”.

In times of crisis (and there is a serious crisis here) people cling to things like hope, family, and God. Venezuela, as a Catholic country, is no different. People here don’t just believe in Jesus and God, they also believe in prophets and mystics when it suits them. I understand their need. People are desperately struggling to find answers and solutions to every day problems such as  food shortages.  Even the Church is complaining that it doesn’t have the wheat to produce the wafers for mass, nor do they have enough Holy wine. Isn’t it just a tad ironic that one of the richest countries in the world is quickly running out of food and toilet paper?  Why?  Well the answers are as numerous as grains of sand.  I think I’ll leave my theories for another post.  But what I will do is tell you about how Catholicism is celebrated here.

First let me tell you what I think of Jesus.  He’s like any other prophet that walked the Earth. I never grew up learning his stories, just like I never grew up learning Allah’s, Buddha’s , the Indian gods or countless others. Religion wasn’t in our home.  And although my parents never practiced religion, they allowed us to explore it and come to our own conclusions about what we believed. I always respected that about them. The same cannot be said here.  Catholicism is “the religion”.

Mary and Jesus,a larger than life road statue.

Mary and Jesus, a larger than life road statue.

Jesus (and sometimes Mary) is every where!  I can’t help but think of him as “Big Brother”.  It’s kind of unnerving to me on so many levels. I see him on bumper stickers,in government offices, in grocery stores, and even as graffiti.  Canadians don’t generally broadcast to the world, let alone to ourselves, that we believe in “God” in any form. People quietly go to church. So if I had to describe the enthusiasm of Catholicism in terms of color, I’d say Canadians would be on the beige side of things and Venezuelans would be on the neon color spectrum.

Maybe the overwhelming public display wouldn’t bother me so much if I really believed that people took it (God/spirituality) seriously, sincerely.  I think there is a real, tangible level of hypocrisy.  I would think in a country that has this many Christians in it, the people would be more, uumm Christian.  They’d adhere to the 10 commandments a little more, maybe starting with the You Shall Not Kill.  With one of the highest murder rates in the world, not many people are observing this. Or how about Do not lie?! The last election showed the world how far and deep lies go. Do not steal. HA HA HA, I can’t help but scoff out loud at this one. Besides the most obvious theft of money (I’m talking individuals that have stolen billions, yes billions of dollars), the theft of the last 2 elections, plus the current government is stealing people’s rights and freedom of speech. I think one of the other 10 Commandments is to Put God First.  That does not exist here. It’s come down to looking out for yourself.  God isn’t first. In fact, I think he’s quite close to last.

There are many true, pious believers, but the general feeling I have about what they believe is how I view my horoscope.  If it’s good and it suits my mood, I accept it.  If not, I think it’s silly and don’t really pay any attention. Or maybe another way to view Him is that he’s a good luck charm. I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it’s all a facade, but in a country where they actually name their children Jesus and Mary, plus a plethora of other saints, you’d think they’d keep in mind who they’re naming these children after.

I’m confused by the display of Jesus everywhere because people are lacking the Christian values He spoke of.  It’s hallow.  I don’t ever feel neighborly love.  Sure people will speak to you on the bus, but even that has a falseness about it because you’ve become cynical and suspicious of their wants. Maybe the closest I can compare to in Canada is someone who goes to church every Sunday because that’s what they were raised to do. They go through the motions, but don’t ever really feel anything.  They attend all the important masses like Easter and Christmas and that’s the extent of it. There is no real connection. A disconnect. So maybe the difference of display in Canada is people dress in their Sunday best and here people decorate buses. I call these Jesus Buses.

Bus fees, plus a saint or two tacked up for good measure.

Bus fares, plus a saint or two tacked up for good measure.

Buses, in general, are something to look at for various reasons, such as the age (some go back to the 50’s), the color, the guy, who I call the Town Crier, at the bus stop yelling where the bus goes to, the interior decor (curtains included) and the size of speakers.  We’re in Latin America and music is a large part of life here. Reggaeton is generally the music of choice, although the slow sappy stuff is sometimes played.  We’re at the mercy of the driver’s preference.

Professional speakers and a back door. Not a common sight.

Professional speakers and a back door. Not a common sight.

One of the shabbier buses we've been on.  Speakers are nicely set up.

One of the shabbier buses we’ve been on. Speakers are nicely hooked up.

Most of these older buses are, let’s say, well-used.  They’ve been around for decades, the floors are worn, the window tint is peeled back and some (more than you’d think) with curtains are covered in a layer of very visible, allergy inducing dust.

The grungy curtains I was telling your about.

The grungy curtains I was telling you about.

I’m ALWAYS curious when we go on a Jesus bus.  There usually something interesting to look at.  The seats are so narrow that there are times when I think I can barely fit my skinny butt onto one.  People cram in and those who don’t get a seat usually have to commute with their heads bent.  Being short is an advantage here.  I’ve never had to commute in a bowing/praying position.  Another thing that fascinates me is the fact that the bus door never closes.  People stand in the stairwell holding onto the bar while the driver takes his route.  I don’t know how they don’t fall off!  I can hardly sit on the seat across from the door for fear of falling out, but people here have no fear of that.

Well, now you have to opportunity to see what I’m talking about.  Put on some loud music, sit back and have a look at the gallery.  Soak it all in.

Most seats have covers such as these.  My guess is they don’t get washed often. The headrest is frequently on the glossy side from hundreds of heads rubbing against them.

Bus seats: The King of kings.

Bus seats: The King of kings.

It appears like the same art is used and a different message is passed along.

Back of a seat: Scared Heart of Jesus.

Back of a seat: Sacred Heart of Jesus.

The art work is either hand-painted or it’s a decal.  One thing is for certain, even in Venezuela, Jesus is white.  I never understood that.  I mean, how could he have been white?

Sacred Heart of Jesus in Your honor.

Sacred Heart of Jesus in Your honor.

What can I say?

What can I say?

Jesus, I trust in You.

Jesus, I trust in You.

I particularly like Jesus and the palm trees.  That’s a nice touch!

Let's not forget about the Virgin.

Let’s not forget about the Virgin.

I should point out that there is more than one virgin and numerous female saints.  This one happens to the the Virgin of the Valley.  Personally, I have no idea who She is.

I also find it’s interesting, or again maybe ironic, that the art work is on the back window of the bus.  Perhaps if they were decorated on the inside people would reflect.  Or maybe it’s on the outside to remind drivers not to be selfish or be assholes when they’re out on the roads, you know consider the 10 Commandments. It could also serve as a reminder to ask for protection.  I’ve seen countless people make the sign of the cross before mounting a motorcycle.  Funny, because they’re the ones who take the most unnecessary risks. Me, I pray to my god to protect me from numerous things while in the car.

Well, whether this population really believes in Jesus or not, I can say with absolute certainty that Venezuela is in need of one very large miracle.   If the people took back what they valued instead of going against everything they were taught, some real changes could be made here.

The Heroic March

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage                         ~ Anais Nin

This quote is dear to me. There have been times when I’ve said it over and over in my head to push myself in making decisions. It’s kind of like a mantra, if you will.  And it really makes sense if you think about it.  If you have little or no courage your life will shrivel like fruit left to dry in the sun, but if you have some courage your life will expand in all directions. Living life to the fullest is kind of the point, isn’t it?

Last week was one of those weeks where I reflected heavily on courage. You see there is a presidential election coming this Sunday and last week the leader of the opposition was in Caracas to speak to the people.  Now some of you are thinking, so what?  That happens all of the time, all over the world. First let me preface by saying that I’m not a fan of politics, but unfortunately living here means I cannot escape it.  It permeates everything.  It’s like air; you simply cannot avoid breathing it in.

The man with the vision, Capriles.

The man with the vision, Capriles.

This particular election is important because for the first time in almost 15 years there is the possibility of a man becoming president, a man who has the foresight to see the huge potential of Venezuela, a man who wants to end the farce that is known as Chavez’s Social Revolution, a man who really, in all honesty, wants to end poverty and suffering of his people. Capriles is intelligent. He doesn’t want a communist country. He doesn’t want to give gifts in the form of hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil daily to countries such as Cuba. He wants Venezuela to produce its own food, he wants a safer country and he wants to do it all democratically, not by force, not by cheating, not by dividing Venezuelans down the middle, not by inducing fear, not by paying people to support him, not by murder or by kidnapping and, most importantly, not by denying millions of people their basic human rights.

On our way to hear Capriles speak.

On our way to hear Capriles speak.

Anyway, I digress. Let me get back  on track. There was a march called The Heroic March in support of Capriles and Juan really wanted me to go with him, but the problem is/was I have a fear of large crowds.  I get panicky about not finding an escape route, or being trampled on. Another legitimate  concern I had was the possibility of violence.  There are A LOT of guns in this city, so many that there are signs in almost every public space prohibiting them. There are also millions of people (Chavistas = Chavez supporters. It’s kind of a misnomer now that Chavez is dead, but the name has stuck) who don’t approve of the opposition and some who have absolutely no fear about committing violent acts, not just at election time, but pretty much all of the time.  Ah Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this particular post, you’ll have to understand why I kind of failed to mention this part. Just know that we really do live in a safe part of the city and we’ll be moving soon. Caracas is one of the most violent cities in the world, making it the most violent in South America. In 2011 there was on average 53 murders per day, although I think this figure is low considering that many murders aren’t reported.  So yea, I was scared.

An all too common sign here in Caracas.

An all too common sign here in Caracas.

The thing is this march, this election, and Capriles are history in the making! I’m living in a historic time.  A time where both sides (some Chavistas and non-Chavistas alike)  want change, want to live in a safe country, want food (food/product shortages of the basics such as flour, chicken, oil and toilet paper), want electricity (lots of power failures), want solid infrastructure, want and end to corruption.  This march essentially would bring all of these people and ideas together for the common good of everyone. Did I really want to miss out on that?  Did I want to miss out on the incredible energy and the immense amount of hope?  No! So what did we do?  We compromised.  I’d go to the march and walk among the crowd and if I felt worried, claustrophobic or down right scared, we’d stop.

In a poorer part of the march we saw the juxtaposition of support.

In a poorer part of the march we saw the juxtaposition of support.

Of the 12 km we walked, I felt scared only twice.  Once when we were walking down a narrow street and there were some Chavistas protesting on top of a building.  My vivid imagination got the better of me (I was thinking of snipers) and we moved from the center of the crowd  towards the wall. And the second was when the line of people entered into a tunnel. We rerouted ourselves up a hill and across a street.

The tunnel we chose not to go through.

The tunnel we chose not to go through.

This march was energizing.  People were singing, laughing, and dancing. There wasn’t any violence and the times when the crowds encountered Chavistas, there were innocent displays of beckoning for them to join our side.

Chavistas showing their support for Maduro.

Chavistas showing their support for Maduro.

So what really came from the march? Approximately, 800 000 people joined together to make one of the largest political statements in Venezuelan history, violence free.  What did I learn?  I learned that a lot of people’s lives expanded that day because they had courage to fight for their cause.  This isn’t even my country, let alone countrymen, and I can’t tell you or even describe the amount of pride I have, especially in a country where the election process is so rigged, where fraud is rampant, and fear is sky high.  They have courage to believe in a man they know can make a positive difference to all Venezuelans despite the odds stacked up against him.  If I hadn’t gone, I would never had the chance to participate in something so large!  Have a look at the aerial view of the march.

It was 34 degrees that day.  We went through a few bottles of water.

It was 34 degrees that day. We went through a few bottles of water.

As I write this I’m getting news snippets from Juan: another murder, a kidnapping, the government has closed the Colombian boarders so thousands of Venezuelans can’t return to their country to vote…..and on and on it goes.  Nobody really knows what will happen this Sunday. I just hope that all Venezuelans will have to courage to face and deal with the result, for good or bad.

If you’d like further reading on the situation here in Venezuela, check out these blogs. Daniel Duquenal tells it like it is and Caracas Chronicles is really well versed on the subject of all things Caracas.