Bolivia’s missing children
One office stands out from all the others at the bus and train terminal in Santa Cruz. It’s the only one that doesn’t employ a person shouting the names of cities to which there are still available seats on the next bus: “Sucre, Sucre, Sucre!” “Beni, Beni, Beni!” “Quijarro, Quijarro, Quijarro!”
Even without screaming girls, the office of the Bolivian Transit Police attracts my attention. Its windows are plastered with WANTED-posters, or so I believe at first. “Let’s see what the typical crimes here are,” I think, approaching with curiosity. This might be a more interesting way to spend the time I have to wait for the Orient Express than having another portion of chicken and rice.
The first poster reads DESAPARECIDO. Missing. Well, that can happen. The next poster: DESAPARECIDO. The one next to that: DESAPARECIDO. And so on. Of the 60 posters only one calls for help with identifying a car thief. The other…
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