How is it that the work I am able to do that isn't planned tends to be the most rewarding? I think the world is trying to teach me something.
I came back to Madrigal frustrated that I was unable to accomplish everything I wanted to do today in Chivay. I didn't even get to purchase produce, and I was seriously worried about getting nutrition for the week without any fruits or vegetables. And, I ended up back earlier than I would have liked and had nothing to do until the townsfolk returned from the fields. But, then a knock came at my door.
Some girls were at my "doorstep" because their teacher had yet again given them an assignment and not the resources to find their own solution. This professor had even reprimanded them for not being able to find the answers. It isn't like these kids have text books or a library where they can look up whatever questions they have, and of course they don't have internet either. The girls know that I have a small mountain of books in my room and that I am always reading, and they were hoping that maybe in one of my books I might have the answers to their questions. Unfortunately, I didn't have a list of the Ministers of Peru in my library, but I did call another volunteer in a more urban living situation who had easy internet access and could look up the answers for them. It is an unexplainable feeling helping someone help someone else. This tiny interaction felt so rewarding.
There is one vendor in Chivay that I seem to have clicked with well. He is older and his wife is a beautiful women I get along with well. They like to keep and eye on me and test my quechua each week when I come in. They are also the only place for hours that carries things like olive oil and wine. Some day I will save enough sole to buy a bottle of wine from him... but anyway... Jesus and his wife also happen to be from Madrigal, so when I was in town today he asked me to deliver an urgent note to his sister. I don't know his sister, but of course would love to help. His directions were something like, "Her house is very far from the center of town (motioning south), towards the river. It's a small house on Colon street. Can you take the note there?" I am thinking sarcastically, "With those directions? Ha! Of course!" I went on a little mission, first asking my host sister, then looking on a map at the Health Post (yeah, no Colon street), then asking some women in the plaza, all making me feel like a terrible messenger and doubting my understanding of a 'small town', then I hit jack pot. A woman that works at a bodega recognized her name and said, "she lives very far, just past the stream, and she has a big dog. Be very careful, her dog is brave." I asked the color of the dog hoping that would help me recognize which house. "Black." OK, one step closer. "Very far" in this town apparently means 4 blocks away. As I crossed the stream I decided to ask again. A man on the corner said I needed to jog a block and it would be right there on the left. But, I got there and had no way to know which door. No one on the street, no dogs to clue me in, and the street lights were getting more and more dim as I walked and the stars began to flood the sky. Then, around the next corner comes a woman with a huge black dog trailing. What luck! And what appreciation she had for this important note. Mission accomplished. I was already on cloud nine.
As I was walking back to my room some girls seemed to illuminate the shadow they stood in when they saw me, "Luz! Could you please help us with our English homework?" and they ran to get their paperwork and sure enough right on the curb under the street lamp we sat for over an hour sounding out words. This was fabulous "advertisement" for me because of the handful of people that walked by and saw us working, and I think it was the first real English class these girls had ever had. In return, they taught me some of their favorite quechua words: rat-(which I don't remember), alpaca- paqu, eagle-anka, sheep- uwiha, dog-allqu, etc. They asked me why I don't come be their english professor and I said I am not a teacher and I haven't met with their principal yet to get permission to spend time with them, then we discussed the importance of getting permission, and I asked, "Besides, I would rather play with you guys than teach you anyways. Would you guys stay after school once a week to play games and do activities with me?" A resounding "Yes" and smiles followed. How uplifting! What more could I ask for? "And if I have a special place where I am every evening, would you come and bring your homework questions?" again, yeses and smiles. My conniving brain is envisioning a room with shelves I have built and stocked with as many books as I can get my hands on. Now, I just need to find the space and get the organization PromoLibro to fund the book purchasing. Such an exciting thought for me. What a project!
I headed to the Municiplity after I left the girls and was stopped by a councilman and his wife. They had read the very small 8 ½ by 11 "poster" I had hung explaining who I am and why I am in Madrigal, and they wanted to talk to me in private. Excited that they read it, but frightened at the seriousness of their inquisition I agreed and stepped into a corner with them. They saw that I have a degree in Psychology and want to talk to me about their child in a private place some day soon. I don't know their child, but I agreed to meet them Wednesday to talk and see what I can do for them. The harsh word "discapacidad" fell out of the wife's mouth which translates to "unlearnable" or "unlearned" and is used in Peru regularly to mean "disabled". I only hope that I can help thir family in some way and it isn't beyond my realm.
Then I stopped at the Municipality to get signatures for a petition all the volunteers in the canyon are collecting for to get internet access in the valley. We are presenting the petition to the Ministry of Tourism as a potential money maker, and are all actually planning to use it to help the people who live in this town who have been forgotten by their own government. We hope to get computers and internet access in a public location (library?!) as well as the schools in each town we work in. It is a lofty goal, but it just may be possible. After two weeks of searching people down, I got all the signatures I needed tonight!
What an incredibly productive evening! I am completely and utterly empowered! I love my job.
Today we returned to planting another
set of three"chacras"- terraced fields. The only thing on my mind is how lucky I have been for the past handful of months for not having back pain. One single pang shot down my right leg yesterday but left as quickly as it came. Today, I am astonished at the strength and agility of my 60-year-old host father as I hobbled around like I am 200. I took enough breaks no one noticed, except my sister. I caught her eye as I dropped my shovel in pain and she glared with worry, "Give yourself a break." she insisted over the bull's whacking tail. Thus, on the walk home she inquired about the obvious discomfort and got my life story. All my family and friends will be happy to know there is a Peruvian in my house keeping an eye to make sure I take care of myself.
Last week we watered the field. This week it had dried enough that the soil is lose and the bulls won't tire out from pulling the plow.Before we start anything, we all drink a glass of chicha (fermented corn blah, as I like to call it) one at a time. And before drinking we make an offering to pachamama- mother earth, and the bulls. Then, the men, and the women who will be planting take a shot of alcohol. I asked if it was a popular Peruvian drink called Pisco, and they laughed and said it was far stronger and less smooth. I must say, it tasted like rubbing alcohol. Then the men shove some coca leaves in their cheeks and we begin. One person leads the bulls to keep them in line, and one person follows with their hand on the plow also keeping it in line. Then, usually a woman follows and drops the seeds, one at a time, one foot apart, in the divot the plow has created. All three jobs require slightly more concentration than one would imagine. The person guiding the heavy plow definitely has the most laborious job.The plow is heavy, and bulls don't naturally walk in straight lines. There are intermittent breaks involving more fermented corn blah-chicha, alcohol, and offerings to mother earth. Hours later, after all the seeds are dropped, everyone grabs a rake and we even out the entire field. Breaking up clots of earth, pulling weeds, and replanting any loose seeds. Yes, the entire field, by hand, after you have already been working all day.It is fun to think about how similar these people's lives are to the Native American's of the United States. How THEY taught US how to grow corn. How similar what I see here is to the corn field in The States, and yet how different today. I had to explain many times how we use machines in The States, and how much I appreciate them teaching me how they plant. They were just tickled pink.I was in charge of the actual planting of the seeds. 
They called me the "Semillera"-literally meaning 'seed planter' and made jokes about the corn growing to be tall because I planted them. Never in my life have I felt so tall as I have since moving to Peru. Beside the actual job of planting, I had to be careful not to get too close to the plow crew to avoid the backswing of a whip to the face. I can just imagine calling the Peace Corps doctor, "You see, I got whipped in the face..." Yeah, that would go over well.The bulls move down the line pretty quickly, and counting out one kernel at a time to drop evenly apart proved to be far more challenging than I would like to admit. The tip of the kernel is sharp and your hand really doesn't want it in your fist, so quite a few will fall at a time if you aren't careful. My host father's voice, "One at a time good, two ok, three no." wouldn't leave me alone. Then I discovered that if I just loosened my hand and kept a brisk walk (without tripping) I could let the kernels fall from my curled fingers and the wind would place them, one at a time, evenly apart. Funny how releasing your grip can give you more control.
We left Madrigal at 3262m to hike up and see pre-Incan graves and Fort Chimpa a 4600m. It took 2 ½ hours toget to the top and I will let the photos speak for themselves.
There are so many well preseved pre-Incan and Incan ruins in Peru they are almost devalued. This hike was unmarked, and empty, not a tourist as far as the eye couldsee.The carved, lined rocks are models of ancient irrigation systems. The fort is unreal, and the wind is actually, physically, breathtaking. I told Edwin that I think I ambegining to have a romantic relationship with the god of wind and he said,
"You know the wind god is San Lorenzo, there is no coincidence that you share a name.And because people here call you Luz [which means light] you must have a strong relationship with the sky indeed." He left me speechless with this quick "obvious" statement. He spit it out with a, "well duh" air, as my scarf fluttered in the strong nudges of affection sent up the canyon from San Lorenzo himself.
Damn it so the water comes slowly and build small tributaries with a stick across the field. Yup, a stick. What takes little strength and some brainpower is exhausting. By hour five Kaysi and my hands were blistered, our backs aching from sun, and our feet were begging to be put up. It was right around then my sister said we needed to go tend to the cows on the other side of town. Kaysi retired to prepare our lunch and my host sister's begging eyes pulled me on the hour hike to take the cows to water and food. Then the donkeys. Then we collected harvested greens for the rabbits and guinea pigs at the house. I carried a blanket wrapped around pounds of straw and greens back to the house around 3:30pm drained and ravenous.
I helped finish up the construction of the solar ovens today which consisted of pulling apart the fibers and separating wool from the sheep's poop. The wool acts as a thermos under the oven to keep the heat from escaping, the design is kind of brilliant.The municipality was there to monitor the project and it was good that they saw me helping.
I bummed a ride with the councilwoman into the local town of Chivay so I could meet up with some other volunteers who were getting together for chicha and arequipenia on James' (a fellow volunteer's) last night in town before his close of service and return to The States.
We appointed ourselves to help an older woman heard her sheep back down the mountain. She was not impressed in the slightest, nor did the few quechua words we used engage her in any form of conversation, so we returned to the festivities in the small town of Yanque. Chicha is a fermented corn drink that pretty much tastes like vomit to my tongue. But, I am getting used to it and the evening was a beautiful demonstration of possibility. Half of the attendees at the going away party were Peruvian, and it does appear to me that there are some strong friendships that built between these people over James' three years of service. He didn't hide how melted and gummy the people of this canyon have made his heart, and I believe him when he says he is going to come back some day. It was inspiring to see as I am stepping into my service.
There is a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) here in town to teach thewomen how to build and cook with solar ovens to save money on gas and wood as well as minimize waste. Bolivar Inti is the name of the organization, they are a French organizationthat has worked in multiple countries to combat environmental destruction. I was extremely excited to be a part of the day's activities, but a little weary of the project at first. The 
Organization hired Peruvians to run the trainings here in town, while the carpenter that was helping build was amazing, the woman teaching how the oven worked laughed at herself when she didn't know what CO2 stood for. And they all kind of had this air of 'we are better than you' to them, which I have seen commonly in urban-lifestyle Peruvians when interacting or talking about rural-lifestyle Peruvians. And, I didn't think this was the wisest implementation. Will these women really drop their ancient conduct and start using these solar ovens? Will they keep the glass clean enough over time for the sunlight to enter and do its job? Doubtful, but maybe.
I never knew the value of a stone in the kitchen. Who needs a garlic press or a blender when you can just use a smooth rock from the river?
