For children in Cochabamba, February marks the end of summer vacation and the beginning of a month-long celebration called Carnaval. While the festivities do not officially begin until the 17th, children all over Bolivia use the 1st of February as the starting date for their reign of terror. Water balloons. They are absolutely everywhere. You cannot walk down any street in Cochabamba without feeling the threat of an armed and lurking delinquent ready to plant you one between the eyes. The youngest lads take it as simple fun, trying, mostly in vain, to hurl an overfilled balloon in the direction of an unsuspecting pedestrian. It’s the young adolescents that you have to be careful with. These misfits ride around in cars with a seemingly limitless arsenal of water balloons, searching for their victims. Walking along a side street on my way back from the Villa one afternoon, I found myself alone in just such a situation. What seemed like a common 1980´s Toyota pickup with four boys straddling the sides of the bed turned out to be a dangerous projectile launcher. The truck slowed down, and the boys began whistling and shouting things about a gringo(me). I knew that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when the first water balloon narrowly missed my left shoulder and crashed into the wall behind me. This was no warning shot, I quickly discovered, but rather an attempt to injure a “maldito gringo”(again, me). The pieces of broken ice on the pavement betrayed these intentions. With little desire to find out what the next shot might contain within it, I began to run (oddly enough, toward my assailants).
As I passed by the truck, three more bullets fired toward me. Using my best Matrix techniques, I tried to contort my body away from harm. However, I am neither Neo nor Boris, and one of the shots found its mark on my right arm. The sting of the hard(frozen) sphere knocked me off balance and against the wall. Cursing the pain, I sprinted down the street, out-of-range of several more futile hurls. Either they had exhausted their ammo or been sufficiently satisfied with one direct hit, but the boys did not pursue me anymore. I am guessing that it was the latter, because their laughter was audible from a block away.
As I looked down at the red spot on my forearm, I thought to myself, Well it could have been worse. I remembered a story that a fellow American acquaintance had told me about her recent experience with the delinquency of Carnaval. When called over to a stopped car to give directions, she was welcomed with a face full of shaving cream. Another day, while riding on a city bus, I witnessed an unfortunate middle-aged woman get pelted in the side of the head with a water balloon. Lesson: regardless of how hot it may be, this month it is not advisable to lower the window on any public transportation vehicle.
As malicious as these stories may seem, I think they are more of the exception than the rule. Most children carrying water balloons seem more interested in playing with each other than bothering strangers. Who doesn’t love a good water fight? Even so, as the official celebration dates approach, you can be sure that I will be vigilant when in public. Who knows, I might even start packing some heat myself.