"They want [their children] not to go through the difficulties that they went through, so they are willing to make any sacrifice so their children can go to school," García said in Spanish.

Adapting the curriculum
   Once these students get into school, García said the classroom material should reflect the reallife lessons children learn at home, as well as the information that will be most useful to them.
   "As a joke we say that few [urban] children know where eggs come from, or the noodles; they think they come from a tree, or the eggs from the market," García said. "Things like these are not in textbooks. Meanwhile things that are in textbooks are not of importance to [rural students], like complicated mathematical formulas, chemistry or plastic production."
   To accommodate these differences, Faith and Happiness adapts its curriculum to rural areas to focus on useful information, including lessons in agriculture and livestock. The organization also offers vocational training that prepares students for careers as secretaries, clerks, electricians, hairdressers, cooks, seamstresses and computer technicians. Vocational training begins after primary school to reach a majority of the students before they drop out. The training prepares students to enter the skilled workforce.
   But Faith and Happiness cannot reach all students. The organization serves 370,000 students in 520 centers across Bolivia — about 10 percent of the country's students. Despite the presence of nongovernmental organizations and other efforts to promote education, many students — those who still attend school regularly — are stuck in classrooms that haven't received enough government support to keep the students there much longer.

Redistributing resources
   Rural classrooms like Arispe's face greater ethnic and linguistic diversity, a demand on children to help earn money for their families and schools' shortage of resources. With so many obstacles, rural students have little chance of pursuing higher education in the country's urban centers.
   "It is hard for the children of the community to come to the city and continue when they don't have the same conditions, in terms of faculty, libraries, Internet access, information, radio [and] TV," Arispe said. "This shows the inequity between the countryside and the city."
   Morales and his administration seem to be aware that Bolivians' educations depend largely on location. The president is working to level the playing field, but the process is a slow one, and tangible change has been stunted. The introduction to the Bolivian Constitution calls the nation "a state based in respect and equality among all, with principles of ... equity within the distribution and redistribution of the social product" and one that is in "collective coexistence with access to water, work, education, health and household for everybody." That rhetoric may be confined to the ink on the page of the constitution or restricted behind the podium at a political rally, but people such as García are taking those ideals and translating them into an educated Bolivian youth.
   "In economic terms, it is better to invest during some years and to later on have productive people in society; otherwise they will be a burden," García said. "The education is different depending on the money they have — some people have less infrastructure, less quality in their facilities — [and] we try to breach this gap because the access to education is a basic right for young people."