August 23rd, 2006: Closing Time

Our time in the Santa Eulalia area is drawing near as training is about to end in 10 days. I fear that the majority of us are no longer putting our best feet forward, because after having visited our sites, we are itching to get our projects started. Training at times seems repetitive, and our attention is definitely on other things. I have developed some nervous tendencies such as twitching rather noticeably when I get bored, or writing nonsensicalities on any blank surface I can find in my bag, to the point that I have used all of the ink in the five pens I brought to Peru. While all of our mandatory community projects are completed, we have other time consuming plans to make, such as orchestrating a goodbye and thank you party for our host families, meeting about Peace Corps paraphernalia we might want to design and purchase, and most importantly, deciding what we are going to do our last weekend as a group. It’s finally occurring to us that while Santa Eulalia isn’t the most hopping small city in the world, it definitely has more entertainment options than the countrysides we will be inhabiting for the next two years. I am not sure that I mentioned this before, but the closest thing that my site has to “fun” is sitting with my hostdad in his openfront pharmacy, staring out into the plaza and talking about the day’s weather or the habits of the neighborhood dogs. Luckily I have a great imagination. I do, however, anticipate missing having 35 people at my fingertips to call whenever I want company to speak English with and entertain me. It will surely be a rude awakening for all of us when we are plopped at our sites for good, hundreds of miles away from each other.

In addition to wrapping up training and bidding farewell to one another, we are also struggling with saying goodbye to our families here, which is a great deal harder than I ever expected. In a mere ten weeks, we have all established relationships with these people that I am sure will last forever. They have seen us at our best (collaborating to enhance their communities) and our worst (stumbling home with them drunk and sloppily leaning on them for support after realizing that we are not nearly as tolerant of alcoholic beverages as they are), and despite all cultural differences, they have accepted us in all of our glory. To me, they truly feel like real family members, and it saddens me to think that for the next two years, I won’t be privy to their daily happenings. I can only hope that I build the same relationship with my new family. Attempting to detach from my family here has been difficult, because the closer my departure date gets, the more complicated their lives are getting, which makes me want to stay even more to help them out. Over the last two weeks, my host dad’s dad has become very ill with an enlarged prostate that desperately needs surgery, which my family doesn’t have the money for. A common fundraising tactic here is called a “pollada”, where the family in need cooks a meal of chicken with aji (a spicy pepper sauce), potatoes, and salad, and charges everyone interested 6 soles (2 American dollars) to attend. My host mom and I planned one for my Peace Corps friends and staff members, and in doing so, it occurred to me just how invested I am in this family. Any emotion they experience, I feel as well. We were able to raise around a quarter of what they need for the surgery, which is good considering how slowly money accrues with polladas. The response from the Peace Corps crew was incredible, especially considering that they had the option of getting fed for free by their families, and all of us are financially strapped from how expensive our travels were. Not only did most of them purchase a meal ticket, but most of them also made a generous donation. These are the types of people I hope to fill the rest of my life with.

On an unrelated note, I mentioned in my last entry that I had forgotten to mention two experiences that I have had here in Peru, one that scared and nauseated me, and the other that confirmed exactly what I am here for. Let’s start with the former…

I think I may have mentioned a few weeks ago that my family had invited me to the mountains for a pachamanca over one holiday weekend, which I was ecstatic about, because such invitations are indicative of acceptance within your family and the culture. Before going over the details of this “holiday celebration,” allow me to explain what a pachamanca is (probably one of the most enjoyable components of Peruvian culture, or at least that which is specific to this region). A pachamanca is a barbecue of sorts, where rocks, alfalfa twigs, and the food you desire to cook is buried in the ground in a circular hole to cook for an hour or so. Usually, under the earth and a tarp, you place marinated chicken, cheese, sweet and regular potatoes, whole apples, pineapple, beans, and sweet corn tamales. Man, have the Peruvians mastered grilling! It doesn’t need to be watched carefully, nor do you have to flip the ingredients during cooking. I cannot wait to recreate this idea in the states because the concept, not to mention the FLAVOR is out of this world! Anyway, back to the story. We awoke at 3am, after I had been out until 2am the night before, and while I was a little cranky from the lack of sleep, I was reassured by my host mom that I would be able to sleep in the car during our 6 hour journey. This was a gross exaggeration on her part, considering that unbeknownst to me, my family was playing a little game of “How many family members can we pack into one tiny car for a really long and uncomfortable roadtrip?” Not only was I smooshing together body parts with people I did not yet know, but our body heat was making the raw pachamanca meat cook in the back of our car. The stench was unbearable, and I really considered walking the rest of the way. We were apparently in no rush to get there either, and made an effort to stop at almost every random building we encountered along the way.

After spending two hours getting to the mountain, the remaining four hours was spent battling the upward climb to the top of one of the larger mountains I have seen here, or anywhere, for that matter. Even if our car hadn’t been packed with people, I would have never been able to sleep with how rocky our path was. My host brother had to get out of the car and walk in front of us for most of the ride, clearing big rocks out of the way so that they didn’t kill our car. Wait a second here, is this even a road? I was feeling so sick at this point, because I really felt that if all of us leaned to the left, our car would surely go soaring off the mountain. While we made 35 stops on the flat land we were previously driving on, I don’t think it ever occurred to them to make some stops while driving up the mountain so that we could acclimate to the altitude change. By “we” I think you all know I mean “I,” and boy oh boy oh boy was I feeling the change in altitude. My host mom was dementedly delighting in how many colors in the rainbow my face was changing as we ascended, and at that point, I would have paid my entire life savings to take a private jet back to our house to sleep it off. I kept a smile on my face though by thinking about the delicious pachamanca that awaited us, and the cultural exchange I was about to partake in. Unfortunately, all that truly awaited us four hours later was some drunken Peruvians (at 9am) slicing up a live llama with machetes in the middle of nowhere, no buildings or bathrooms in sight, only sprawling mountains and a very unhappy Lindsay. After being sprayed with llama blood, I decided to use the bathroom to both pee and throw up, but the bathroom was just a half-dollar sized hole in the ground, with no structure blocking you from the rest of the crowd. How in the world are you supposed to aim your pee or anything else towards such a miniscule hole? I didn’t even really try to do so, but instead, I just peed all over my pants. This, in such a frigid setting, froze almost immediately, and I found myself pondering which was worse, being covered in wet or frozen urine, llama blood, and vomit. After being there for 15 minutes, my family decided not to have the pachamanca after all because it was too cold, so essentially, we took a twelve hour roundtrip to see the violent slaughtering of a llama (I wish I was exaggerating, I really, really, do, but it’s the truth, just ask my dad who I called in a bewildered state right after the event, wondering if what I just experienced really happened). Remind me to never, under any circumstances, agree to such a trip again. Also remind me never to complain about a holiday celebration in the states, because nothing compares to my mountain mishap.

Now, onto more uplifting themes. Every Wednesday in training, we have a dia de practica, a day to put our skills to the test. For youth development volunteers, this usually means working with yappy children in a really rowdy setting. A few weeks ago, though, we all took a bus to Lima to spend the day at a boarding school/orphanage for boys. We never really look forward to going into Lima because the air quality is really poor, and the weather always overcast, so usually, we return from our trip feeling pretty shitty. One component of our dias de practica that we are never really stoked about as well is that we never have any concrete details, which we are told is common for Peru. Details and punctuality lack, so usually any activity you plan will not be applicable to the setting, and whatever time you want it to start at will be unrealistic. The Peruvians live by the “hora Peruana,” which means they never start on time, even in professional settings. This can be difficult for Americans (North Americans) to adjust to, since we are so time-obsessed. My mom, however, who is perpetually two hours late, should move down here where she would fit in nicely.

So we get to this school with minimal details about the age group we will be working with, how the day is going to be structured, and whether or not the kids know anything about the topics we prepared for them. Within our group, the volunteers broke up into groups of three and each group planned a charla (interactive discussion) on a different theme, including topics such as values, nutrition, and decision making. We were told upon our arrival that we would be doing a round robin, where we would stay in the same room all day, but the kids would rotate in groups of six to see our charlas, which all lasted for 30 minutes. My group prepared a charla on dental hygiene, which is something that is oftentimes neglected with the population that we are working with. We took the kids outside to play a dynamica (a game related to the topic) in order to get their energy levels up. We chose to do duck, duck, goose, but instead, transform it into tooth, tooth, cavity. If they got tagged, they had to visit the center of the circle, which was labeled the dentist office. We thought this was brilliant, but as I type this, I realize what cheeseballs we are, but whatever, they enjoyed themselves. We returned to the classrooms and made our first focus flossing. Floss is fairly expensive here, so many people overlook that step, and their dental health subsequently suffers. We listed the steps to proper flossing on a piece of cardboard, cut out each step, and had the kids place the steps in the order they thought they belonged in. It was surprising to see how many steps they mixed up, but it made us thankful that we had included the activity. Even after the activity though, they seemed confused about the importance of flossing, so we slyly brought popcorn as a treat for them, after which we caught all of them picking their teeth. AHA! Wouldn’t that be easier to remove with floss? This is when we gave them all a piece of floss and had them demonstrate what we had just shared with them. After this, we did a little toothbrushing activity which we overdramatized a bit. I stood behind one of the guys in my group, hiding my body, and wrapping my arms around his body to serve as his own arms. The other guy in our group read to us the appropriate steps to brushing ones teeth. We started off by eating oreos, to show how much sugar can stick to your teeth and cause cavities. I couldn’t see what I was doing obviously, so as much as I tried to get the oreos into Josh’s mouth, they were actually being smeared all over his face. When I tried to floss his teeth from behind, I inadvertently flossed his nose and chin, and when I brushed his teeth, it was even more of a mess. The kids were losing it with laughter, and so was I to the point that tears were running down my face. It was such a fun activity, and when we quizzed the kids at the end, they seemed to really get something out of it. On the way home to Santa Eulalia, I thought about how when I used to babysit when I was younger, I would always try to plan fun and educational activities for the kids I babysat, and none of them would be receptive. I would spend hours cutting out materials and planning interactive learning games, and instead, all they would want to do was play video games and watch t.v. I can’t explain to you how rewarding it was to be around kids who gave us their undivided attention and took something away from what we had planned for them. This is the first time since being here that I was absolutely sure that I was exactly where I belong. As many ups and downs there are here, there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be. While the business group of volunteers makes fun of us because they think all we do is play really simpleminded games with the kids, I can truly say that I think the kids are learning important skills and lessons from our interactions.

In the spirit of sappiness, below I would like to list the things I will miss most about Santa Eulalia.

1. My dear friends Hana and Kristen, the first people I have found in the world who are as dorky as me. I will miss our cooking, dancing, and slumber parties, talking about snacks and/or our bowel movements constantly, and how honestly we communicate with one another.
2. My host mom’s shy and embarrassed smile and how well humor translates without words.
3. Having tickle fights with my host sister, which we are entirely too old for, making it even more fun than it would normally be.
4. The confused roosters that live in our town who never rise with the sun, and cockadoodledoo whenever their hearts desire, which is usually every five minutes ALL DAY LONG.
5. The makeshift motorcycles with huge rickety carts attached to their fronts, whose drivers scream with purpose into their megaphones about nothing other than oranges and apples in their best auctioneer voices. “NARANJAS, NARANJAS, 1 SOL PER KILO, NARANJAS!”
6. The training staff here, and how at peace they seem to be with their lives and jobs. I hope that all of us absorbed some of their tranquility to take to our sites with us.
7. My Spanish teacher Isabel, who I may or may not have written a love letter to.
8. Waking up early enough to greet the people on the hill who have to wet down their land so people like me don’t go flying down it with the dirt. These people alone are responsible for my well being here.
9. The incredible view of the city from my room on the mountain.
10. Being so close to Lima. It’s been good for my peace of mind.
11. People blasting Huayno music all day long, which sounds like a weird combination of Indian music and something else really weird and bad. Somehow though, it has quickly become my favorite. If you are wondering why you have never heard of it, it is because its utter awfulness has made it so it has not been able to transcend country borders.

August 22, 2006: Guest entry

“I do my best thinking on the can.”
--Aristotle

Hi. My name is Kevin, and I’m writing this blog entry for all of you trusty Lindsay followers straight from the comfortable confines of my porcelain throne. I would prefer to be in my bedroom, or even the living room, but my stomach has had other ideas. I had the idea for a guest spot on Lindsay’s blog a little while back when I realized that she’s been feeding you all boring, mindless drivel on a regular basis. The only problem was that I was unsure of what to discuss with you. Since I have nothing really substantive or useful to say, and since I’ve spent something like 50 hours in the bathroom in the last week, I figured I’d share with you some of the thoughts that have crossed my mind during that time. Anyways, without further ado…

I have a cousin named Billy Rabbit who is a phenomenal pooper. He has no qualms going anywhere at anytime. He could be visiting the house of a girlfriend for the first time and he’d have no problem blowing up the can within the first ten minutes of being there. If he has to go, he’s going. It’s inspirational, really. With that said, Billy does have one phobia related to his dumping dynamics: he’s really afraid he’ll clog the toilet. What he does to counteract this is he throws out the toilet paper instead of flushing it down the toilet. I used to think this, although a rather intelligent response to his fear, was a pretty fucking gross alternative. Well, I no longer feel this way. You see, everyone in Peru does this. I haven’t done much traveling before now, and this non-TP flushing is probably a more common practice than I had previously thought. It is still pretty nasty seeing a garbage can full of used TP, but I don’t think it’s nearly as strange and gross as I used to. Anyways, I think of Billy every time I use the john for this very reason.

Is there a diet out there where people abuse laxatives? If not, there should be. I think I’ve lost ten pounds or so via the bathroom over the last week. I also think this would be a better means of losing weight, as opposed to bulimia and anorexia. Shit your way to a sexier you. I really think this could work.

You know those potato chips that have no fat which girls have sick addictions to? The ones that supposedly taste the same (I don’t recall ever having them, so I can’t tell you if they do) as regular chips, yet aren’t unhealthy? Well, the ingredient in them that allows them to keep the taste without the bad health factors is this thing called olestera. You may have heard of it. Well, on the bag of chips is a disclaimer that says that olestera causes loose stool. Yah, and girls eat these things like they’re laced with heroin. There was nothing worse than sitting in line at the cafeteria in college behind a hot girl, only to then see that she was buying nine bags or so of these chips. Pretty gross.

I’m a pretty bad Spanish speaker. I’m getting better every day, but I was really horrible at the start. Because of this, I missed and continue to miss a lot of crucial information that my host family is trying to tell me. One thing that I did not miss, was that my host family’s house has a funny rule about their bathrooms. There are two bathrooms, but one of them is used solely for pissing purposes. How did I pick up this information on my first day, you ask? Well, it seems that the terms “number 1” and “number 2” are somewhat universal. When my host mom pointed at the first bathroom and said “solo numero uno” and then at the other saying “uno y dos,” even a big dumb animal like me could understand that. I’m not sure if these terms span the globe, but I’m sure glad they’ve made their way down to South America. To the inventor of these terms, I tip my cap. Oh, and I have yet to figure out why only one bathroom is for dumps. My Spanish is still pretty fucking bad.

While we’re on the subject of bathroom lingo that transcends language barriers, let’s talk about T.P. Toilet paper is called papel higienico down here in Peru (and probably other Spanish speaking countries as well). If you want some good old-fashioned papel higienico, guess how you ask for it: P.H. (pronounced “pay achay” for you non Spanish speakers like myself). Again, I’m not sure if it’s a worldwide phenomenon to acronymize (what?) the words for toilet paper, but it would be cool if it was.

Diarrhea is a facilitator of change. Seriously, it is. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a nail biter. It was pretty bad, too (not in terms of technique, mind you, since my form was rather exemplary…I’m just saying I did it a lot). Well, ever since I’ve been spending the better part of the working day in the loo, I’ve begun examining my living habits in order to extract the exact cause of my stomach woes. In doing this, I thought a lot about nail biting. I always knew that it was a bad habit and pretty fucking gross, but that was never enough to stop me from chomping away. Well, since the runs have entered my life I’ve been pretty conscious of everything that enters my mouth (insert joke about male reproductive organs here). Because of this, I no longer can shrug off the unhealthy aspects of biting off one’s fingernails, and I have since stopped this horribly disgusting habit. So, I just want to say thank you, diarrhea. You’ve changed my life for the better.

Well, it seems that my stomach is going to give me a few minutes of downtime, so I will no longer provide you with mind-blowing thoughts such as the ones featured above. Actually, I’ll probably be back in a few minutes, and I’m sure to have more useless crap (pun intended) to share. In the meantime, I’m going to Billy Rabbit, wash up, and see what the host family is up to. I’ve been in the bano with a computer for the last half hour, so I’m sure that they are more than just a little freaked out. Happy hopping everybody, and remember, there’s no such thing as a one wiper.

- Kevin

p.s. This is actually Lindsay. I just didn’t want to freak anybody out with my nauseating bathroom routines. Please, don’t judge me.

August 14-17, 2006- My first site visit

Greetings from Cajamarca, a province in the Northern highlands that has stolen my heart. Fortunately for me, this is where I will live and volunteer for the next two years, and right now I am in the midst of a four day visit before I return to Lima for my final two weeks of training. My entire group just completed an eight day field based training, during which we traveled all around Peru visiting current volunteers at their sites. My small group went to the coast, where we stayed for a bit in Piura and Chiclayo, two towns by the beach. While I had a great time with some really good company, it became immediately clear to me that I could never live in either place because the heat was sticky and stifling (and it`s WINTER!). I´ll spare you all of the gross details, but let´s just say that the climate affected me so much one day that I ended up throwing up on myself in front of some Peruvian teens that I was about to lead a workshop with (maybe that wasn´t sparing the details, sorry) Aside from the heat and the brown desert-like surroundings, there was very little to complain about during our visit. The ceviche was out of this world, which is something I will surely miss in the mountains of Cajamarca.

So now, after visiting some volunteers, we are all at our individual sites spread out amidst the vast Peruvian landscape. I am spending some time with my new host family, and my counterpart, which is the Centro de Salud (health clinic, my town does not yet have a hospital). The town I live in is called Jesus, which is comedic considering my lack of religious affiliation. I have been here two days, and I have already been asked about my religion 16 times. I might need to start going to church on Sundays just to get them off of my back (Adriana, I am sure that the image of me in church is making you giggle like a schoolgirl. Thanks for your support). My host family is a lot less conservative than most people who live in the mountains, because they are originally from the beach. My family consists of a 50-something year old dad, a 28 year old mom, and two kids (a four and eight year old). At first I thought the age difference between the parents was a little scandalous, but now, after seeing how vivacious the dad is, it is not so strange to me. He is a popular guy in the town, and is actually running for mayor in November. I do not get to meet the kids this visit (which doesn´t bother me at all since I don´t really like many kids) because they go to school in a different town and stay there during the week. The parents have been super accomodating, and they are so excited to learn about my culture and share their ideas for the town with me. Since my hostdad is running for mayor, he has many visions for the town, and I believe he will serve as one of my best resources here. In terms of my living arrangements, my house is huge and nothing like I envisioned Peace Corps provisions being like. I have a large room with two beds and a balcony overlooking the main plaza gardens and the lush mountains. I also have hot water and a toilet seat, which are luxuries that I don´t think many of us will be able to boast about. I can´t imagine it getting much better than this. While I was sort of looking forward to roughing it, I don´t think I would have been able to do my best work under such conditions.

Yesterday, my host family took me to visit my grandparents down the road, who own the most beautiful farm estate with every animal and fruit tree imaginable, not to mention a hot springs pool right beneath the mountain range. Their land stretches out over five hills right under the mountains, and I can honestly say that it is the most gorgeous place I have been in my life. I imagine that this land will serve as my escape over the next two years if (or when) ever I get stressed out. I guess I should mention here that my grandparents raise guinea pigs to eat, which is the most common dish in this region (cuy frito- which is a still semi-hairy guinea pig fried and served spread eagle on a plate...YUM!). I have yet to try it (though I hear from everyone that it is bien rico) mostly because I promised my former boss that I would refrain since she has one as a pet, but I don´t know how much longer I will be able to decline (EEEKKKK, sorry Leslie and Apollo!), considering there is not much more to eat here. There are no grocery stores in my town, and my hostmom seems against cooking, so we have been visiting a neighbor´s house for all of our meals. Most people in my town do not have cars, so they use mules and horses to transport themselves and their belongings. The roads are all dirt, and the houses are simple block-like structures made out of cement. The townspeople wear mostly traditional garb, which consists of skirts or slacks, colorful sweaters, and tall white tightly-woven straw tophats, as the sun is incredibly potent here. They carry their children in colorful wool blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and boy oh boy are the babies cute! My town does not have phonelines or internet, so I will need to visit Cajamarca city probably twice a week for those amenities. I thought this was no big deal, since it is only a half hour away, but today, I was trapped in a bus with 30 other Peruvians when it was brought to our attention (when we nearly drove off a cliff) that our busdriver was incredibly drunk. When we yelled at him to let us out of the bus, he refused, and continued speeding towards the city. I kid you not that we made it there in 15 minutes, instead of the 30-45 it usually takes. It was a pretty harrowing experience, and apparently, one that I will come to know well.

The center of the city, which is 45 minutes away from us, has delicious dairy products, which I crave all of the time, but I guess they are too expensive for my family to purchase because all we have been eating is rice and chicken and potatoes, the typical Peruvian fare. I have spent some time in the Centro de Salud, my counterpart, and today I went to the town school to introduce myself to the adolescents I will be working with. The town doctor, who is intimidating in his handsomeness (more so than Dr. Baumgartner, this is AWFUL!), accompanied me to the school and assisted in my introduction. This is embarrassing to admit, but he made me so nervous that I forgot what the heck I was doing in Peru, as well as what the Peace Corps stands for, and those who know me know that I rarely get flustered. My first two introductions were rocky, until I convinced the Doctor that he could go attend to his patients, and that I could do this myself. Luckily, I had 11 other classrooms to visit, so I hope I was able to redeem myself. The one and only good thing about working closely with someone so handsome is that my immune system has probably been scared into never becoming ill, because if it does, it will be that doctor who will have to poke and prod at my body (since he is the only one who works in my town). Me and my immune system will have none of that! I plan on being the personification of health over the next two years for that reason alone.

Back to the adolescents I will be working with (see how distracted that doctor makes me?). The kids I met were incredibly welcoming and polite. They all stood up as I entered the classroom and in sync said ¨Buenos dias señorita.¨ They refused to sit down until I gave them permission to, and then they provided me with their undivided attention as I floundered in front of them speaking some kind of jibberish. There were just so many of them (approximately 300), that it is going to be difficult to establish an all-inclusive program. Some issues that were obvious during my first visit in the school and town were teen pregnancy, poor hygiene, and alcoholism, which are some fairly simple topics that I can tackle first. During my first three months of service here in Jesus, I am not supposed to start working, but instead, I am supposed to learn the town and establish confianza (trust) with the townspeople. My plan for doing this is to spend a day or two with people who have different positions within the town. So far, I have an interest in spending some time with the town judge/mediator, the garden keeper, the restaurant owner, and the seamstress. I will work with them and informally interview them to gain their perspective and see what they feel the true needs of Jesus are. It is an incredible and slightly scary feeling to have the freedom to do whatever I see fit in this town. The townspeople have never had a volunteer work or live here, so all seem incredibly eager to have me and put me to work. Hopefully my first three months with them will make it easier for me to prioritize my goals. I get to design my own schedule, which is nice, because I feel I will be able to accomplish more that way, provided that the hotsprings and dairy products do not tempt me away from my work too often. One funny aspect of my stay here is that the entire town is convinced that I am a doctor (a Dr. of psychology and sociology) and no matter what I say against that, they refuse to believe me. They think I am just being modest. So...if anyone is fearing getting their PhD, just come down to Peru. You certainly don't need one here. I feel guilty because it seems like I am living a lie, but at the same time, I was told that they will view me as more competent if they think I have an advanced degree in whatever I studied at my university. You can just call me Dr. Buck, it's no big deal.

Well, that's enough for now. Right now I am in the city waiting for my friends (some of whom, including one of my two closest friends here, were also placed close to Cajamarca city) so that we can take the 13 hour busride back to Lima. I will write more soon, because it just occurred to me that I forgot to write an entry about my best day yet in Peru.