It’s 7 p.m. I turn on the light, open the tap to pour some water and check the messages on my cell phone. It’s an automatism. Or better: it was until a few days ago, when I visited the indigenous community Las Vegas, near the border with Panama.

Until then, I had never stopped to think that in this century and this country, there are still places where I would not be able to do any of those three things.

We had made an early start for our trip, taking the Inter American road – we, that is Roy Arias, from Seprojoven, who often visits the village to play football with the kids, and who was my guide on the trip, and me, on behalf of our Foundation, Tejedores de Sueños (Dreamweavers).

From the border post of Paso Canoas there are 37 km more to go. The first 25 are a piece of cake, however 8 km before the Liceo de Santa Rosa (the secondary school of Santa Rosa), the road is no longer paved. Arrived at the Liceo, we doubt a moment…the following 3,5 km up to Las Vegas are only passable by car in certain times of the year, and are often a real challenge. Under those circumstances, you have to leave the car at the Liceo and walk for an hour towards the village, Roy explains. The same road the teenagers take every day. Today, we are lucky. It hasn’t rained in days, and we decide to continue by car. Partly with stones, partly dusty, long and steep slopes, profound cracks and even passing through a river…definitively, for a city woman, this is adventure. On the other hand…whenever we stop I am amazed by the impressive landscapes, the songs of the birds and the sound of the howler monkeys, as well as the total absence of car noises.

Our arrival at the village is a surprise. Rebeca explains they had not received the SMS messages sent by Roy because she hasn’t “gone up” to the mountain – where they do have signal for the cell phone – in three days. We see the village as it is on an average weekday: a boy playing ball on the soccer field, some smaller kids running around, Mrs. Amalia sewing on an old machine, with pedals, in front of her house. A horse standing about, and some pigs soaking up sunlight. The ‘streets’ in the village are made by walking over them. There is no drinking water. There is no electricity. We continued to the house of the chief, don Rufino, and explained the aim of the visit: meet with them to know the problems of the young people of the village as for studying. Although we are not expected, in no time a group gathers in the event hall, built 5 years ago by an NGO.

They are about 160, the villagers of Las Vegas. They tell us that they have basically 3 groups of students: those of primary school, who go to the one-teacher-school near the village – about 30. Then, there are 17 who take the road to the Liceo every day. And there are those Rebeca calls “the stragglers”, a nourished group of 13 young people who finished secondary school but for various reasons never did the baccalaureate exams (necessary to continue studying, and for access to many jobs). Reasons? Money, mostly. Whereas in the Central Valley one signs up, takes the bus and goes to the exam, for the teenagers of Las Vegas it is not that easy. Getting to Ciudad Neily – the closest place where they can take the exams, at 55 km from the village – means: walking 1 hour to the Liceo, pay about 20.000 colones for private transportation (no bus is going there), switching to public transportation in Paso Canoas and paying another 4.000 colones. In the best case… 24.000 colones ($42 USD) and nearly three hours. And next, of course, taking the exam and the same road back. David, the only one who goes to University (he studies Law School at the University Castro Carazo in Paso Canoas) has a programme that allows him to attend classes only on Saturdays. Tasks that require the use of a computer, he needs to do there because in the village he can’t.

They tell us the stories of their children. Without drama, without pleading. Dignified. If something can be done for them, great. If not, they will keep on struggling. They don’t really expect anything, but are happy if something is possible. While I gather my things – I admit I don’t want to take the risk of having to stay the night where I will have to find water in the river and light in the sky – I look at them, telling jokes, making fun of me about my doubts for the road (“The car can do it”, don Rufino laughs, “the driver, I don’t know”).

Nothing is impossible if you really want it, the saying goes. Or: where there is a will, there is a road. May be, but it is also true that the roads for some take more willing than those of others. Much more.

 

Linda De Donder