Predator or Prey: Three La Paz Vignettes

I sit down at the first Internet café I come to. White powder is sprinkled on the table and my keyboard.

The San Pedro Prison in La Paz Bolivia is notorious. Behind its walls lie rapists, murders, drug traffickers, and thieves of varying degrees. From the outside, the prison looks like nothing special: tall concrete walls with guard towers perched at its four corners, a few spot lights scattered around, and 10 to 15 armed guards standing at the entrance. But San Pedro’s notoriety doesn’t come from its appearance, its starts with the two South Africans that approach as you walk around the park directly across from the prison.

´´You want to go in? Do you have a camera? 250 Bolivians each. Follow me.´´ We walked straight up to the prison entrance, skirted by the soldiers, and entered a private room right next to the metal detector, which didn´t seem to be detecting. The older white haired South African stepped into the room and closed the door. ´´Okay put your camera in your waist and don´t take it out until your guide says so. 15 Bolivianos a photo ($2usd). You´ll have two bodyguards. Now´s the time you pay me.´´ I handed over the 500B ($71usd) for the both of us. ´´Follow me.´´

Interesting moment: When the South African had told me to put the camera in my waist I had decided to take no chances and instead put it in my boxer briefs, that´s right. However, it didn´t occur to me that boxer briefs stretch overtime and may not be the best hiding place for skinny digital cameras. So as we exited the private room and headed for the metal detector the camera started to slide down my leg. Let´s pause for a second. I´m in the process of ´´sneaking´´ into a corrupt prison with few rules, one of which is no cameras, and I’m about to violate it before I’m corruptly behind bars. So what did I do? I grabbed the camera and massively started to itch my groan, as if I had problems (which I do, but not with my groan), and was able to wedge it back up into my waist as the guards stared in disbelief. Skip a heartbeat and lightly soil the worn out boxers.

We enter into a courtyard where everybody is wearing clothes as if they were regulars walking on the street, no uniforms in San Pedro. Immediately, a tall lanky Bolivian with bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils walks up to us, says he´ll be our guide, and points to two other prisoners, ´´seguridad.´´ We follow him into the first ward. ´´Here at San Pedro, we all have keys to our own rooms. No guards and you have to pay for your room. Some are better than others.´´ I take a second to recollect in disbelief and a prisoner walks by me. No uniforms in San Pedro, no handcuffs either. I spot a bunch of brown bags covered in white dust. ´´Stucco, we build parts of the prison. We also make cocaine.´´

We enter another courtyard followed by our “seguridad.” Here the prisoners are playing a soccer game. A woman walks by us and gives the finger, Eminem style, to a toothless Bolivian reclined on one of the sideline benches. ´´Ha-ha. The prison is only for men. Ha-ha. Look at her again.´´ I detected nothing unusual. ´´She-man, ha-ha. 20 Bolivianos ($3usd). Is that expensive for you? ¨ Our guide then pointed to another man who was covered with tattoos and happened to throw a shoe at one of the goalies as I was looking . ´´Crazy man. Killed many people.´´ We walk on and are crossed by A Cholita (a traditionally dressed Bolivian woman) holding a little girl´s hand. ´´That´s the worst part. Families aren´t supposed to live in the prison, but they do. We even have a kindergarten. There are two problems. One, when they get older they have to tell people they live in prison. Two, there´s abuse.¨

III

´´Yeah we saw it,´´ Luick said in his thick French accent. ´´Someone spit on me, so I said, ´Honey, could you please hand me a tissue, there is mucus on my neck.´´´ Luick was referring to Lucha Libre, the Bolivian version of WWF where Cholitas occasionally wrestle in a small city above La Paz, called El Alto. Luick, a grungy Fabio type, is not someone you would casually decide to pick a fight with. His noise looks like it has been broken 3 times and I cringe at the thought of what the other guys look like. While I tend to believe that we attract the people and situations around us, I knew Luick was a good guy; so I chalked it all up to bad luck and some shitty karma; we hopped into a cab and twenty minutes later opened the door to El Alto.

We got online for the fight outside the Multifunctional (a rundown elementary school gym), and I had my eye on everything, especially the boy who introduced himself as ´´Gustavo.´´ He was about six or seven years old, which made him even more menacing. I can´t understand little kids to begin with, much less those that speak rapid fire Spanish and have to suck drool back in simultaneously. Nonetheless, Gustavo was both adorable and a threatening mystery, why was he talking to me and where were his parents?

After 10 minutes of waiting, an aggressive Bolivian barged his way through the line screaming incompressible sounds. I assumed this was not an exercise in onomatopoeia and gripped my backpack a bit tighter. A hand still slid by my back pocket. I don´t keep my wallet in my back pocket and Gustavo was in front of me. Mouse trap…not in the cage….not yet. A few more colorful characters introduced themselves and the line finally began to move. By this point, we determined that Gustavo was genuine, just a kid excited for the fight. He reminded me of my little cousin Zack, and we ended up sneaking him in. He sat with us and babbled little kid incoherence, to which I promptly, and consistently, responded, ´´Vale.´´

So here´s the situation: I´ve never seen professional fake wrestling before so I don´t have much to compare it to. But if men strutting around in Halloween leotards is your thing than I highly recommend it. But, if you’re more of the throw your soda, finished chicken bones, or baby´s dirty diaper type, then I also recommend it. I don´t fall neatly into either of these two categories so I found the whole thing a bit boring. Gustavo, on the other hand, couldn’t suck the drool back in quick enough. While he sat with us for most of the fights, he had occasional moments where he got up and ran around the arena with the other insane six year olds. At one point, he got so excited that he wedged himself under a barrier and got right up close to the ring. As it so happens, his 5´´ switch blade fell out of his pocket. When I pointed this out, he shamefully grabbed it and explained it was only for the ´´bad men.´´

After two hours of this nonsense we decided to leave early. The sun was setting on La Paz and it was spectacular. I only realized this, however, after I was already sitting in the taxi we would be taking back down to the center. So I jumped out quick and started to run towards a little spot with a view. But as I was bee-lining it for the photo op, time slowed for a second and I spotted another road runner heading straight at me and fast, and then I saw three more starting to surround me, setting themselves up like vultures about to descend on a carcass. As time snapped back in place, my Kidneys went into adrenal mode, and I stopped fast. So did the birds, and I was able to slowly back away…slightly confused that something like this could potentially happen to me and fast. From the cab window the only manly thing I could think to do was to shoot the main road runner a wink, a wink that said not this time buddy. And he saw me and responded with a wave, a wave that said not this time buddy.

-Simon from La Paz

PS. Apparently the prison is now being shutdown: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jul/08/bolivia-bans-tourists-entering-jail