Sapo is shining shoes outside the cemetery in La Paz, Bolivia, where street kids go to nap among the tombs. I approach the young man with Ivan Unzueta, co-founder of the Centre for the Development of Alternative Education (CDEA), a local partner of Canada’s own Street Kids International (SKI) and the sponsor of my three week trip to Bolivia.

Sapo immediately recognizes Iván, though he hasn’t seen him in four years. He greets him warmly, pressing Iván’s hand against his forehead, as if seeking a blessing.

 “What happened to everyone?” asks Iván.

 “They’re dead.”

 “And ‘The Donkey?’”

 “A while ago, he was sleeping and his liver burst from alcohol…”

 Although Sapo’s life experience may sit at the far end of the spectrum of at-risk youth in this South American country, he is by no means alone in his predicament.

 Some years ago, Iván shot a film, a sort of day in the life of street kids. Using real youths from the streets, he would give them directions like “Eat as a group” and then film what unfolded.

 The movie took six months to make, because the kids would disappear or were too drunk to react to his directions. At the end of the story, the idea was that the protagonists would be cured.

 “But the reality was much cruder,” explains Iván. “The young people began to die. All of them, with perhaps the exception of one. There were 20 kids. So the reality is that none of the protagonists ever got to see the film.”

 To begin grasping Bolivia’s present, one must dig up the past. To understand the past, one must learn the Spanish verb “sacar.” It means to take or take out and is sometimes used in the context of stealing.

And that’s what happened in 1545, when the Spanish were directed to Cerro Rico, Rich Hill, where a vast deposit of silver lay just beneath the skin of Pachamama, Mother Earth.

 So inside the mountain the slaves were sent -- both Africans and Indigenous people. By all accounts, they did not fare well. At 4200 meters, the air was thin, the tunnels hot as hell, and the work conditions fatal. The slaves laboured until death. Millions of souls were swallowed by the mountain.

 Iván and I visit the mines of Potosí, guided by a sixteen year old named Juan. I have to crouch low to enter the mouth of the tunnel. In seconds, I’m overwhelmed by panic, and I think I’m going to die of claustrophobia. I manage to talk myself through it and get my breathing back on track.

 Juan tells us that the men, who still work these mines for zinc and tin, often toil naked because of the burning temperatures. Truly, this is no place for human beings.

 Enter, El Tío.

 He sits perfectly still in a nook in the mineshaft. He says nothing, though he is covered in colourful paper streamers, and there is a can of beer in his clay lap.

 t is no coincidence that El Tío -- the devil -- rules the inside of the mines. It’s a very dangerous place, and the miners need all the help they can get. Each week they visit Tio to make offerings. Life, after all, can be understood as a series of exchanges: Carbon dioxide for oxygen. Alcohol for good luck. Chunks of rock for handfuls of Bolivianos (the local currency). Bolivianos for bread.

 Legend has it that Tío and Pachamama were lovers. That’s why women aren’t allowed in the mines, explains Juan. It would make Pachamama jealous and terrible things could befall the miners.

 This exchange with the devil, not surprisingly, dates back to the arrival of the Spanish and their costly appetite for wealth and glory.

 There is nothing pretty about this history, despite the ornate colonial churches and the Potosí mint that flaunt the wealth extracted at the cost of countless human lives and a piece of Pachamama Herself.

 Of course, the treasures of the mountain never benefited the people of the Andes. The silver was carefully weighed and sent to Spain to fatten its coffers and bank-roll more of its colonial exploits.

 But not all of Bolivia’s stories read like a Greek tragedy.

 SKI, in fact, has sent me to Bolivia to document stories and images of the Life Project, a dynamic program co-developed with CDEA that provides tools for at-risk youths to run businesses, manage personal finances, and take concrete steps to fulfill their dreams.

 In the city of El Alto, I meet Monica Callisaya L., a graduate of the Life Project.

 “Before, I was very shy,” she explains. “But with the games and the way we were made to participate -- it opened me up…It’s better to work for ourselves than other people, because the exploitation of workers in El Alto is huge.”

 Iván and I visit places like Quivi Quivi Alta, located between Potosí and the Capital city of Sucre. It’s a picturesque village that doesn’t make most maps. The road is under repair, so we walk the last few kilometres.

 “It’s hard to believe the project has made it all the way here,” he grins, as the village comes into view.

 This is, in fact, by design. SKI and CDEA live by the philosophy of codigo abierto, or open code. Educational methods are shared freely with other organizations and can be modified to address their specific needs. As a result of this open source knowledge, a large number of young Bolivians are taking ownership of their futures.

 Many youths in Quivi Quivi Alta work the terraced slopes along side their parents. Some, like 16 year old Rimber O., dream of leaving the village, lured by the promise of an education and better opportunities in the city.

 In the near distance, the new sports and community facility being constructed with government funds appears to be part of an effort to stem the hemorrhaging of young people to the cities.

 In many ways, Bolivia is still suffering the consequences of the economic collapse of the 1980s, which created a seismic shift in the social landscape.

 “During this period of hyper inflation, many families from mining communities ended up on the streets,” explains Elmo Condori Lujan of Save the Children, Bolivia. “So they flooded the cities, which weren’t ready for the massive influx. There weren’t enough jobs, so children had to seek opportunities. It was easier for them to find work, because businesses could pay them far less.”

 The economic situation forced many parents to go abroad to Argentina and Spain in search of work and money. This has had a devastating impact on the young people of Bolivia.

 I meet 16 year old Miguel Ángel at a youth detention centre in Santa Cruz, where he is serving a two year sentence. This soft spoken youth is a product of this un-spooling of the family. After his father died, his mother moved to Spain to work.

 “I haven’t seen her in four years,” his voice cracks. “I think of her, but she doesn’t come.”

 Fortunately, after training with CDEA and the youth organization Cilaj, he has begun his own business making sandals. His future plans now include going back to school.

* * *

 Iván and I have been on the move for a week, but the pace isn’t slowing. We hop on an overnight bus to the bustling city of Cochabamba, the epicenter of the Water Wars of 2000, which began after the World Bank pressured the Bolivian government to privatize the regional waterworks. After prices jumped rapidly, there were riots. Then came unconfirmed rumours that the company was going to privatize rain water so that the poor would have to pay for the water collected from, say, their roofs. Of course, there were more riots, which only ended with the termination of the privatization deal.

 Bolivians generally don’t take things sitting down. On any given day, I see demonstrations in towns and cities protesting everything from water purity to labour and health care issues. It appears to be a civic duty to express concerns publicly.

 Even on a bus ride from Cochabamba to Oruro the passengers nearly riot when the bus driver keeps making unscheduled stops to pick up people (and even transport a slaughtered pig to the market). “This isn’t a collective (milk run)! We paid good money,” they shout. I join the chorus. Why not?

 Emboldened by this growing political consciousness, the current administration under the leadership of Evo Morales no longer seems content to have the country “sacado” (taken) by foreign interests.

 Since becoming President, Morales has increased state participation in the energy and mining sector, raising taxes on related businesses.

 The next threshold for Bolivia and its relationship with international business concerns the lithium deposits beneath the crust of Uyuni’s vast salt plains. Lithium is a necessary component for the next generation of electric cars.

 For years, Bolivia has declined outside offers to extract the resource, preferring to do it themselves. Of course, corporate involvement would bring much needed cash to the poorest country in South America.

 It now looks like Morales may allow a foreign consortium to exploit the lithium if there are enough economic benefits for the people. In his own words, Bolivia needs "partners but not patrons."

 Building an economy that keeps parents from having to migrate to find work would -- in very real terms – help the quality of life for many young people like Miguel Ángel.

 Of course, questions remain: what sort of deal will be made with El Tío? Is “Evo” prepared to find a point of reconciliation between economic growth and environmental sustainability, given that both are vital to the long term health of the country? And what’s the likelihood of entering into negotiations with Pachamama? I’d still like to know what She thinks.

* * *

This trip was sponsored by Street Kids International.  Donations to CDEA can be made through www.streetkids.org/.

Robert Brodey is a Toronto-based writer and photographer, whose work has been published nationally and internationally. He can be found online at: www.cloudgazer.com & www.robertbrodey.com