Sunday, July 03, 2005

A True Adventure

July 2, 2005
Last night was unexpectedly a lot of fun. I went to the orphanage as usual in the afternoon and found the oldest girls of the house fretting about what to wear to one of their friend's 15th birthday party. Turning 15 is no small feat for a teen here. Her QuinceaƱera is the equivalent of a coming out party and everyone attends dressed to the nines. So, I helped the girls decide on shoes and dresses and then before I knew it, they were sure I just had to go with them. I tried to dissuade them with my lack of proper attire, but Rosie, the oldest girl of the house, assured me if she went with me to my closet, she could find something appropriate. In my room, Rosie proposed that I wear a pair of red pants, my red knitted poncho, and black heels. Now, I would not have been caught dead in the States in this outfit for I felt like a she-devil headed to a prayer meeting, but here in Peru it did somehow seem appropriate.

Back at the house, I put all the girls' hair in up-does. Seems my long-lost hobby of doing hair was once again coming in handy. In all, I did 7 girls' hair and makeup, plus my own. Around 10:00, we were off. I succumbed to the girls' pressure of taking a taxi so we could all arrive in style. I guess we did make quite a stunning entrance to the party, an entourage of pretty, dark haired young ladies in long gowns and a tall Gringa dressed from head to toe in fire-engine red.

The church where the party was held was very prettily decorated with a big cake, flowers, and streamers. The girls giggled the entire night and worried over the boys, like in any culture, I presume. I actually met some new people, ate corn kernels and cheese on a toothpick, and found myself having a very delightful time.

July 1, 2005
I am trying to get back into the swing of things here in Huaraz after a weekend in Lima. I didn't do so much just finished up my cavity-filling fun, hung out with my boss a bit, and met the new group of trainees. It's so crazy to see how far I have come since my days in Santa Eulalia, when I was a scared to death novice. To think that I am considered a knowledgeable volunteer these days. It seems almost impossible that I have made it this far.

With only 10 months left in my service and many of my months filling up with activities it really makes me consider what I will get myself into after PC. I have been looking into English teaching programs in Spain . Looks like for free room and board you teach English for 3, 6, or 12 months to the children of a host family. You are guaranteed 3 days off a week. This seems like a good way for me to make it to Europe, work a bit, and travel a bit. After a couple of months in Europe , I will eventually make it home to the good ole USA for a career and graduate school.

I have a host-grandmother that lives here with us. She is the sweetest lady. It's interesting to me how she lives in a very modern house (by Peruvian standards) and still holds to some of her campo traditions. This morning, I saw her get a bucket full of cold water and go to the patio to wash her hair, face, and hands. It was like she was still in the countryside where sinks and showers didn't exist. She washed up, blew her nose into the suds on the ground, and dried with a scrap of material. I thought to myself that a sink and running water simply isn't reason enough to change what she has probably been doing for 70 years or more.

June 28, 2005
I read online at the White County News Telegraph (my hometown paper) an opinion piece about Mexicans that really struck a raw nerve. I felt it necessary to reply with an article of my own. I am sure it will probably ruffle some feathers and most won't agree, but I felt it was part of my responsibility as a PCV to share some of what I have learned abroad.

Here's what the article said -

Could it happen in other places? If you are ready for the adventure of a lifetime, try this.-Enter Mexico illegally. Never mind immigration quotas, visas, international law or any of that nonsense.
-Once there, demand that the local government provide free medical care for you and your entire family.
-Demand bilingual nurses and doctors.
-Demand free bilingual local government forms, bulletins, etc.
-Keep your American identity strong.
-Fly Old Glory from your rooftop or proudly display it in your front window or on your car bumper.
-Speak only English at home and in public and insist that your children do also.
-Demand classes in American culture in the Mexican school system.
-Demand a local Mexican driver's license. This will afford other legal rights and will go far to legitimize your unauthorized, illegal presence in Mexico.
-Drive around with no liability insurance and ignore local traffic laws.
-Insist that local Mexican law enforcement teach English to all its officers.Good luck. You will be demanding for the rest of your life because it will never happen. It will not happen in Mexico or any other country in the world except right here in the United States. Land of the naive.

Hopefully, my article will show up in the next edition in White Co. Here's what I replied –

A True Adventure

Over a year and a half ago, I chose an adventure to move to a different land, to learn about another people, and to challenge myself to grow as an individual. I joined the United States Peace Corps. I moved out of my apartment, resigned from my job, sold my car, packed two duffle bags, told my friends and family goodbye, and I moved south of the equator to Peru .

As a volunteer in the Youth Development sector of Peru's Peace Corps Program, I have had the opportunity to teach in small public schools in tiny rural towns where electricity and hot water are unheard of luxuries. I have worked in youth centers in large, urban cites where internet cafes and cell phones are used by most everyone. I have held sick, crying orphans while pressing cold rags to the fevered bodies when no medicine was available. I have mucked out a latrine to provide a healthier sanitation system to a community center. I have fed live stock and moved animals to grassier pastures. I have taught teenagers how to brush their teeth and the importance of personal cleanliness. I have walked through a garbage dump to the home of a grieving widow hoping to give solace and a little hope to her and her six malnourished children.

There have been days when I could not have imagined myself any where else in the world. There have been other days when I have just prayed for guidance and strength to complete my commitment to a community that doesn't seem to need or want my assistance. I carry a note in my journal that was given to me during my first week of service. I pull it out when I have had a particularly stressful day. The note, written in a child's unpracticed hand reads, "Please help me make my parents proud of me." Most days, it's enough to rekindle my motivation to serve.

Many people continue to ask me, "Why did you join the Peace Corps?" My answer doesn't change. I joined the Peace Corps to help others, to learn more about the world, and to better understand myself. What I have come to realize is that I will always be learning these lessons for rest of my life. Had I never decided to leave the safe surroundings of my home town in rural, northeast Georgia , I would never know what poverty, what riches, what lessons, what heartaches the world has to offer. I would never be able to appreciate the wealth of life that I have been able to enjoy as an American.

I entered Peru legally. I have my passport, visa, and green carnet that state my affiliation with the United States Embassy. Gaining the documents was relatively easy for me, as it is for any American citizen to travel. I simply filled out the necessary paper work, attached my birth certificate, paid the $60 application fee, and gave the packet to the clerk at the county court house. A month later I was ready to head to overseas.

For citizens of other countries, it's not as easy and simple. In fact, it is practically impossible to gain the proper documentation to travel unless you are a wealthy, influential citizen; even then it is hardly certain you will be granted permission. With the majority of the country's population being unemployed, living in poverty, making little to no money, a passport to travel is only a dream. Yet, that doesn't stop many people from seeking a better future in a different culture for their children.

As a person who sought for me a better future, as an alien in another country, I understand all too well the strife of foreigners that live in the United States . Even after becoming fluent in Spanish, being sensitive to cultural differences, and living in a community where I try everyday to integrate, I still feel as if I am an outsider. I believe that is something that never changes, no matter how long you reside in a place that is not your home.

On several occasions, I have had the unfortunate luck to become sick, ill from bacteria, parasites, or food contamination. I have found myself in the hospital, doctor's office, or at the dentist and what a relief it is to find a nurse or doctor that speaks my native language. There is just nothing like being sick and trying to think through the pain to a language that even after years of speaking fluently won't quite role off the tongue.

I may continue to live in Peru, I may choose to travel to other countries when I finish my service here, for whatever motive, if it's to visit, to work, or to make my home, I will always be an American in my heart. It's a sense of self and pride to hold strong to your personally allegiances.

I have a Peace Corps, an Old Glory, and the Peruvian flag proudly patched on the backpack I carry everywhere. I am guilty of speaking English when I am in my Peruvian host family's home. I talk to my parents and friends in English on crowded public pay phones. My Peace Corps volunteer friends visit and we sit around and chat in English. What's more, when I am with another English speaker, I speak English in the post office, in elevators, in stores, and in taxi cabs. I take the English tour or brochure when it's offered.
My hope in writing this article is to share some of the lessons I have learned by being a stranger in a foreign country. By being guilty of some of the same transgressions that anger those in my hometown, I hope to show the other side of the situation.

My goal is to share that tolerance and acceptance is something we should all strive to obtain in our lives. Just because someone is different from you, speaks an unusual language, or comes from another country doesn't mean they deserve to be disrespected. Many Peruvians could argue that the Peace Corps isn't needed or wanted in Peru . They could demand that I abandon my work or they could write weekly propaganda proclaiming the injustices done to the Peruvian people by foreigners.

So, I thank the Lord every time a Peruvian lends me a kind word or favor, offers me a meal, and opens the door, not only to their humble housing, but to their hearts.

If you are really ready for an adventure of a lifetime, befriend a foreigner, adopt an orphan from a poverty-stricken land, travel, sign up for a language class, or join the United States Peace Corps.

God Bless America, Land of the Free.

June 23, 2005
Today I got up early to go with my one of my counterparts to a small rural community called Canchacuta. We boarded the combi and followed a small dirt road for over two hours. Then we hiked another 45 minutes over rolling hills to a small collection of adobe, thatched-roof houses. Having come to teach the kindergarten class that my counterparts had formed, we were surprised when no children arrived to class. Thinking it was best to go door to door, searching for the students, I was certainly surprised when one brave man told us that the mothers are scared that I will steal the children. It seems that there is an old-wives tale that Gringos come from afar to abduct children from rural communities. Having never seen a fair-haired person before, they could only assume that I was there to take all the children away. My counterpart quickly explained that I was a new teacher and that I would be helping in the classes; for the mother's not to worry, that all of their children would return safely after school.

Rounding up all the students, we finally started class with around 12 little ones. One student even brought his pet lamb. Since most of the conversations were in Quechua, I understood little. We played the equivalent of duck-duck-goose, had a snack of bananas, and then settled into the lesson for the day. Very few of the children spoke to me, but all gave me curious stares. My counterpart told me after class that it is good for me to visit to quail some of their long held fears of foreigners.

As we were hiking out, a man with a bucket of yellowish liquid called to us from across the field. He wanted to invite us to drink some of his chicha, a sweet corn juice. A little apprehensive, my counterpart said we should visit so that we would be welcomed in the future. We ventured over and 10 or 12 other men swaddled over as well. They bombarded me with questions and I answered them all with ease, before we knew it, we were invited behind the house to meet the ladies. What a sight! As I rounded the home, I came upon 20 or more women dressed in their traditional finest. Huge skirts of brilliant colors, sweaters and blouses with elaborate embroidery, wide brim white hats decked in cloths to block the bright sunshine. All with toothless grins and smiling eyes. We were immediately welcomed and invited to sit in the soft grass with other community members. We had happened on a celebration for Dia del Campesino. We were handed huge portions of soup still boiling in their gourd bowls. Imagine their surprise, when I tore right into my portion of guinea pig complete with claws and eye balls. Which I found to be delicious! After I had taken a turn sitting by each little lady, eaten my fill, I left with a promise to return and learn the ways of their people. Which I fully intend to do.

June 19, 2005
Today is Father's Day and it has been a good day, even if a little bitter sweet because I wasn't with my real family in Georgia. I went this morning with my host mother to a small Christian church. It was an interesting experience. The service was in both Spanish and Quechua, but strangely reminded me of the services I attended so many years ago in at home at Bell Scene. We sang "Power in the Blood" in Spanish, then there was the Sunday School report, and messages from the Pastor before he started his sermon. He preached in both Quechua and Spanish, so at times I was a little lost but it was nice to able to worship in a way that was familiar to me.

The finest part of the experience was that I was able to meet a most peculiar woman. At 95 years old, she royally sat in her wheel chair in native dress. Her silver hair was articulately done in braids that circled her head. Imagine my surprise, when she spoke to me in American English. Having been born to American missionaries living in Ecuador, she has spent the majority of her life in South America. Married to a Peruvian, with four children, she has called Peru home since 1928. She was excited to see me, a fellow American, and entertained me with stories of wars, earthquakes, and life in small Quechua communities.

June 16, 2005
I have spent a week in Lima with the rest of my Peru 3 group for our Mid-service medical exams. I have been fortunate to be a guest at the Ambassador's Residence, the local equivalent of the White House. Seems that the Ambassador wanted to also host a PCV during a visit to Lima and I was the lucky one chosen to be the first. The residence itself was spectacular and surrounded on all sides by Secret Service and Peruvian security. I was welcomed in by the 16 year old son, Peter, and was given the grand tour. Mrs. Bush, the First Lady, had just stayed in the VIP Suite a couple of weeks before my visit, complete with a personal office, kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bed room. Since I lack such political power, I was put in the last bedroom down the last hall way. Decked out in pink and flowers, definitely a girly room, I enjoyed a private bathroom and sitting area. It was quite exciting when I figured out that I could call the kitchen from the phone on my bedside table and they would bring me most anything. My food would arrive by way of a butler clad in a black and white tux. He would sit the tray on the bed or the table, wherever I preferred. The tray was finished with a personal silver carafe of coffee, Splenda in a crystal bowl, and my food on a plate embossed with the United States Emblem with a periphery of gold stars. I was able to converse with the family, use Internet, and watch TV (satellite channels straight from the USA) in their personal quarters upstairs. Downstairs beheld the George Washington Room with a painting of his likeness, a library filled with Pre-Incan artifacts, the formal dining room with chairs fit for kings, and a patio and pool area that boasted two pet rabbits.

May 23, 2005
I am definitely staying busy here. I think I could spend every waking hour at the orphanage and I would never get bored nor would all the work get done. Kanela as well is having a ball with the kids. I think her first day with all 25 kids was a bit overwhelming, but now she is just another part of the orphanage community.

Last Saturday, I undertook co-responsibility for taking the kids to the circus. Boy, what a day.

May 17, 2005
Yesterday was my first official day of work. Around 11:00 a.m. I started out by going to the comedor or community kitchen that is supported by the Rainbow House Association. It is located just a few blocks from my house inside the Christian Alliance Church. There I found three women preparing the day's lunch, in a comfortable lengthy way, they chopped cabbage for the salad and added potatoes to the beef stew. And like most moms, they were discussing issues they were having with their children. They welcomed me, gave me a chair, and I asked a few questions of my own. Around 12:30 children of the city started trickling in for their meal. All of the children are street workers: shoe shiners, vendors, or beggars. Most were dirty and unkempt but all had a huge smile on their face. A few mothers brought in babies and toddlers for what is probably the only meal they will receive for the day. I got the usual questions from the children. Are your eyes real? Do you dye your hair? How did you learn to speak Spanish? I noticed that not one crumb was left on the plates of the children. Most of them said a prayer before they started to eat, all had good table manners, and ate quietly. With a "See you tomorrow", they went back to work on the streets of Huaraz.

I had lunch at a Chinese Restaurant, chicken with vegetables. I then headed back to my house to chill out for about an hour. Kanela is doing well here. She was fast friends with the other dog in the house and is able to step right out the front door to do her business.

Around 5:00, I headed up the hill to the Rainbow House. I could hear the children making racket from outside the gate. I was welcomed in by a harried house mother and was immediately invited to sit at a table with two little girls. They were practicing reading aloud; I just stepped right in as tutor and helped with their pronunciation. The children are on a tight routine, they do the same things every single day. At 5:30, bath time and all the kids returned to the living room in their sweet-smelling clean pajamas. Some of the girls needed their hair combed and the rest settled in on the wrap- around couch for an hour of TV. I settled myself down with 3 toddlers, one on each leg and the other tucked under my arm. I noticed immediately, that although the kids have many creature comforts like a nice home, clean clothes, hot water, healthy food, they are starved for love and attention. The house mother is so busy taking care of the basics, like washing clothes, cleaning rooms, preparing food, that it's difficult for her to sit and chat or hug all of the children. All of the children at one time or another climbed up on my lap or gave me a hug.

There are two small babies in the home. I picked up the four month old from his cradle and the house mother warned me not to hold him for long because 'he will get used to it'. I was a little startled by her declaration. She said that it would be soon anyway that the babies would be adopted. Having studied a bit of psychology, I know that holding a baby is integral for proper development. If a child isn't held and nurtured, many problems can ensue. So, I held the baby for a couple of minutes then returned him to his cradle. In my mind, I rationalized that the house mother can't spend all of her time holding and caring for two babies, when there are 23 other mouths to feed. It's in my heart to incorporate a better system for the babies.

Dinnertime started around 7:30 and the children were served a sort of porridge with a piece of bread. The smallest toddlers were given a sippy cup but all had to feed themselves. I took pity on one little girl that was struggling with her spoon and helped her eat. She ate every drop without a whimper. I thought of all the two year olds I know at home in the states that fuss and complain about eating or make a mess in their chairs. In this house, they have never heard of the 'terrible twos' time period for children.

After dinner, everyone ran up the stairs to brush their teeth. I helped the smallest ones with their brushing and rinsing. Then it was back downstairs to the living room for the nightly prayer and devotional. The house mother chose four children to pray and we all bowed our heads. We sang three songs then it was off to bed and to sleep. I gave and received hugs and kisses and headed home.

Some of the things I noticed about the Rainbow House is how the oldest ones (from necessity) take care of the younger ones. For example, there are 8-year-olds changing diapers and 13-year-olds holding crying 8-year-olds. The children have to fend well for themselves and for the other children in the house.

May 4, 2005
Boy, what a day! I arrived to Huaraz around 6:45 a.m. this morning and was so wired that I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't wait to find my new host family and counter part. I met my APCD for breakfast at 8:30 a.m. and she put me in charge of finding me a place to live here in the city. I don't even know a thing about the city, much less where to look for a place to live. So, I just headed to down town and asked random people on the street. They suggested I look at the advisory wall. There is a section of the wall in down town where everyone just tapes up hand-written notices. Some are for employment and a few were for room rentals. Not knowing any street names, I just thought I would set out. I soon encountered a few houses that had a sign in the window saying they rented rooms, but no luck. Along the way, I couldn't help but take in all the sights, smells, and sounds of my new home. The majority of the people was speaking Quechua and was dressed in very traditionally clothing -- brightly colored skirts, hand woven sweaters, and white straw hats were everywhere. I made it to an old hostel that had been turned into something of a boarding house. They didn't have anything that I considered appropriate, but the daughter of the family (around my age) said she would show me some places that she knows about. She ended up showing me around town for 2 hours and we finally found the perfect home. It's a two story house, just off the main plaza. I have my own entrance to my room from the road, my own bathroom with hot water, and a small patio. The lady of the house was so sweet! She said I could use the kitchen and the house as if it were my own. They even have a refrigerator and a microwave. The best part is they have a little dog named Lucky and Kanela is welcome too! I couldn't believe my luck. A great place to live, a really sweet family, in a nice part of town, and at a cheap price – all found by me within my first day in my new site.

Huaraz feels a lot different than Trujillo. In Huaraz, the people seem more trusting and genuine. In Trujillo , the people seemed jaded. It's also a lot smaller. I walked from one end of town to the other and that would have been only the distance to the market in Trujillo. I can't wait to get my bike and explore the city even more. I am hoping that I can ride to visit volunteers who live relatively close to Huaraz. There are around 25 volunteers in this area.

Tomorrow we visit an orphanage, translated The Rainbow House in English, for a possible work site and countepart. Such a coincidence, I worked with a shelter in Dahlonega with the same name. I think it's a sign. I hope everything works out. I need a good job to do here.