Sitting outside his small tin house watching the sunset, he could not help but pondering on what the future had prepared for him. Most of his childhood dreams had already become true in ways he could have never predicted but now he was faced with a decision only he could make.
“Estas son las mañanitas…!” Hermisendo could hear his mom singing in the kitchen as she prepared de corn lawa for supper. A chain of thoughts were triggered as his mind began to wonder on how he came to be. His mother Cleotilde had sacrificed all she had and even signed up at a nocturnal high school to get a diploma while working during the mornings to keep food on her table. Her parents had died during the 1980s yellow fever epidemic only and she was left alone. It is because of her work that Hermisendo was able to finish high school and her effort what motivated him to strive for perfection.
“My country is all I have,” he thought, “and my only way to give back all I received is enrolling in the military service.” Having made up his mind and seeing it was already getting dark, he went back inside. His mother only smiled in amazement at his determination. “Son, God will help you as he helped us get to this point,” she commented, “and if it is His will, He will provide you an open door.” Chills ran down his spine, “open doors could be provided? Is there anything that could impede me from doing this?” he asked his mother. Being born and raised in a small indigenas communities, everyone he came across had the same skin tone and about the same height all speaking with the same campesino accent. “Hermi,” his mother begun, “the military is a place of people from all over Potosí, all looking different, each with a distinct mindset and you will have to find your way in.” She knew the time would come and reality would kick in. Hermisendo, confused but pondering on her mother’s statement, simply left the dinner table and went lay down on his straw mattress. For hours he simply laid there looking at the dim moon through the dense mosquito net covering his window. He wondered how much of the world he yet did not know of.
“Mama!” Hermisendo entered his mother’s room, the day had finally arrived and the military truck would go by at two that afternoon. She woke up and they prayed together before eating breakfast. Hours later, from the side of the road the two could see the cloud of dust coming from around the hill before their town. “Hermisendo,” she advised him, “things will not be easy out there and the simple fact that you will not worship the Pachamama with them will make you stand out, be strong.” He climbed on the back of the dust covered truck where there were about twenty five other men like him and the truck took off. During the seventeen hour of bumpy roads and choking on thick clouds of dust, not a word was said to him and he knew his mom’s advice was long gone by the of phone lines in his hometown. “God,” he whispered as he got off the truck inside the fence surrounded base, “help me.”
That night Hermisendo was informed he was not yet enrolled, but had to go through a one week long “try-out” period. Hours later, a young dark man about 5ft tall with a similar complexity than himself approached him to ask him where he was from. Hermisendo, glad of having the chance to begin a conversation, answered with a smile, “Gopacani.” “I am from a small town minutes away from there,” answered his guest. As so the two began getting to know more about each other until the question came up, “Julian, why so we have to go through tryouts at a public institution to serve our country?” Julian quickly changed his expression and whispered, “We are not like them, they tag us according to our ancestry and both my last name, as I suppose yours is, as from poor indigenas communities that can barely provide for the people’s basic needs. Before coming here, I saw a man who helped me out, and for 1,000 bolivianos, he changed all this. Now, my name is one from the aristocracy in Santa Cruz, and with it came respect and open doors in this place.” Hermisendo thanked him with a nod of the head and simply crumbled on the bed. “How could doors be closed as a result of the family and background I’m so proud of? What gives them the right to say who’s good and who’s not?” For hours he pondered on different questions before slowly falling asleep.
The next morning during breakfast, over the speakers, a harsh voice rang out calling for two names, “Mamani and Perez, to the patio.” To his astonishment, as Hermisendo got up, twenty five to thirty other young, surprised young men got up with him and went to the office.
“Anyone of you who lasts for more than one week here will be a fool or have a will of steel. Not one of you deserves to be here and is not needed here, we don’t understand why you took this choice but here you are and we have to deal with it. On my command, you will run to the fence and back until I command you to stop!” said a tall, built white man of around forty, giving a condescending look to each military prospect in front of him. “Go!” Hermisendo began and quickly realized he was outrunning every one of his peers. However, a sudden cry was heard in the back that made him stop and turn. Before he could see what happened, a sudden blow on his back took him to the ground.
The following day, his group went through the same drill in the morning beginning at dusk but did not stop for lunch. After eight consecutive hours of training, they were excused to their rooms. Three days later, Hermisendo could was too weak and hungry to get up. After extraordinary efforts he reached the patio where there were only five other men waiting, barely staying upright; however, the training that day was just as intensive and supper kept diminishing in size. After the rest of the training that day, Hermisendo looked for his roommates over the whole base, when suddenly; his name rang from the speakers and echoed on every hall, he was requested in the main office. With sweat running down his cheeks, he turned the dusty knob with his trembling hands and walked in to a dim-lighted room where a man was sitting on a chair. He seemed educated, wearing a suit and a tie, gray-haired but probably not over fifty. “Take a seat,” he said. “Allow me to introduce myself, I help young men like you attain things in life, I can make you someone important. I know you have a loving mother who would do anything for you. Listen, for 1,500 bolivianos, I can give you a new identity in this place, the torture will be gone.” Hermisendo sat still, thinking, considering the options. After a couple minutes of silence, he broke out saying “I am proud of my heritage, my family, and who I am and will triumph in life the way I am.” At this, the lawyer quickly changed his pleasant expression into a mocking grin. “Well, I am sorry to inform you we have found illegal substances under your bed as we talk which results in immediate expulsion from our grounds. Have a good day.” And the lawyer quietly stood up and left.
Hermisendo’s dreams crumbled and as he walked past the front guarded gate, he could only think of the shame he would bring to his family from being expelled. Life was not fair and all he could do is helplessly wonder why he was the way he was.
Twenty years later, Hermisendo sat on a rock outside his childhood home watching the sunset. Life had gone by and life did not change. Before his old mother passed away, they set up a store in their small town and sold vegetables he would collect every morning form their field. He thought of what he had accomplished and the goals he still had ahead of him. Suddenly, his twelve year old son approached him to call tell him dinner was ready. “Thank you son,” said his father as he stood up. That night at the table, Juan asked his father for permission to make an announcement in the table and was instantly given permission. “Father, mother, my country is all I have and my only way to give back all I received is enrolling in the military service.” Hermisendo lowered his head, and prayed.
