Cochabamba.
As we drove back from the boy’s home yesterday evening, I saw it, emblazoned in 2 foot high letters. Te quiero Cochabamba. I love you Cochabamba. And I heard it, or I felt it. God saying to me, “You know, I’ve had this planned.” —- 6 years ago, just back from Bogotá for the first time. So in love with Latin America and it’s people, I googled furiously for foundations looking after children. And here was one, three homes, in a city in Bolivia. Kids looked cute. Where even is Bolivia? —- 3.5 years ago, planning my trip to Colombia, alone for the first time. I thought about Bolivia, going there too. It wasn’t the time. —- 2.5 years ago, heading to my favourite continent again. I look up flights to Bolivia, from Colombia to Bolivia. Still not the time. —- 2 years ago, Dad mentions a friend of his. He’s moved, from Colombia, down to Bolivia. “Do you know where he is in Bolivia?” “I can’t remember, weird name, sounds made up.” “Cochabamba?” Of course it is