26 and 27 Noviembre 2011

At three o’clock this yesterday I boarded the bus from madrigal to arequipa. I met up with The early PCV crowd around 9am when I got in and we did the Thanksgiving shopping and got the turkey in the local bread oven.

I was in the kitchen all day. I have to say, Grandma, you would be proud. I had my fingers in the mashed potatoes, stove-top green bean casserole (I battered and fried the onions myself, thank you very much), sweet corn (which was almost impossible to find this morning), mashed potatoes and gravy. The other volunteers came with absolutely delicious platters as well. It was a fabulous meal and fabulously fun.

Photos to come

Today was Peace Corps volunteer cram day. We only had a couple limited hours in the city and we were in meetings together and/or working and planning all day. We are in the very beginning stages of developing a “summer camp” that focuses on leadership, health, creativity, and planning your future for youth all over the arequipa department. There weren’t enough hours in the day or speed on the internet to get everything done we wanted to. We all sat around a table with our laptops open for about 10 hours, then I hopped on the 2am bus back to Chivay.

Today I worked in the Health Post in Chivay again following up with an ophthalmologist on the post op cataracts patients. They are all experiencing improved vision, and I have become an expert at eye charts, haha!

This afternoon I will prepare for this week’s VALE, grab some fruit and veggies for the week, and hop back on the bus to Madrigal this evening. 

24 Noviembre 2011

The last two days I have been living and breathing the VALE program (yes, more than normal).

We completed the Community section of the program today and celebrated with a large dinner and jeopardy game to test what they learned this past month. The secondary school won with flying colors this time. We still had far few parents attend than I would have liked (about 5 moms… 80 kids).

They learned how to make mashed potatoes together, and we roasted two chicken. Everyone got very small portions, but really loved the meal. Mashed potatoes have become a big hit in town, which I find kind of entertaining. Because the family requests them so often I make them about once a week. Then Roxana made them at school for a cooking competition and her peers licked the pots clean. They were ready and rearing to learn how to make them and I think they remembered how to after leaving.

I didn’t have anything for the littles ones to do, and they all arrived early, and I dind’t want them around the kitchenette, so I sent one of our more dynamic high school students to read to the younger ones…

Some more photos…

Darling Roxama and I sharing a plate after everyone else had eaten. She insisted I have the honor of a leg. 

I wispered in he ear, "but aren't we going to have to eat again when we get home fore you dad's birthday?" 

"No son sanos." She replied, meaning they are drunk and probably haven't cooked. 

She was right.

But, i whipped out the yellow cake I had baked and frosted that morning and we sang happy birthday, did tingachi (payment to mother earth), and laughed together for a few minutes until the drunks couldn't hold their head up any more. as It was my turn to breath good wishes on my host father for his coming year, I breathed into my beer glass, said a prayer, and sprinked a few drops on his open hands and feet. With no needed assistance in explaination of the tradition, I felt like the daughter of the house, sister to Roxana, aunt to elvis. 

"Get out that music from your land." Don Juan requested, "Like we did on your birthday." 

He wanted to dance to some Micheal Jackson, but unable to stand I lied, "I don't have speakers, I'm sorry dad. He was asleep within minutes, and Roxana and I were frying up some fresheggs and rice to quench our late night, tired hunger. 

22 Noviembre 2011

As I was bringing the horse and donkey water this morning Doña Juana returned from a party to go move the cows because Roxana went to school. Before I had taken the time to make myself a cup of tea and breakfast she said Elvis was at the house of her brother with his parents drinking. I literally dropped the kettle, forgot about the last load of dirty laundry and headed for tio felix’ house. Elvis was standing next to his mother as she milked a cow. Whether he was drinking or not isn’t quite clear, but he was an hour late for school and clearly not intending on going.

I was hoping all I had to do was say, ‘jump’ and he would say, ‘how high?’ as usual. That was not the case today.

“Elvis,” I called over the adobe fence, “it is time to go to school. Let’s go.”

He ignores me.

“Elvis, you have to go to school. Come with me. I will go with you. Let’s go.”

His mother says something to him, without looking at me he responds to her, she hollers, “he doesn’t want to go.” And continues milking the cow.

“Going to school is not an option. You have to go to school every day Elvis.”

To which he ignores me and the charades begin. I hopped the wall with two dogs trailing me and tried every tactic in my book:

“You have to go to school so you can be smart and have lots of animals and a happy family when you get older.” “ It is your right to go to school.” “Your mom and dad and aunts and uncles want you to go to school.” “You know the fruit and hot chocolate I give you? That is because you study, if you don’t study I won’t be able to give you goodies.”

I was speaking to an unlistening ear, to a body collapsed on the ground crying in a silent tantrum.

“Should I hit him?” Elvis drunk father asked. Honestly, a good smack might have done the kid some good, “Probably not, but you can lift him to his feet.”

Ignoring my recommendation he curls up next to his son on the ground and tells him with alcohol on his breath how much he loves his son and begs him to go to school with his aunt Luz.

Then the excuses roll, “But, I will get in trouble for not doing my homework.”

“I will talk to your teacher and you and I will do it together tonight so you aren’t in trouble.”

“They will castigate me for not having my bible for study today.”
“I will buy you a bible. You know whenever you need anything I will buy it for you. When you said you needed a ruler, I bought you a metal one; when you said you needed markers I brought you crayons, colored pencils, markers, and pencils; when you said you needed pens I brought black, blue, and red. If you don’t have something you need, you know all you have to do is tell me.

“But I am late now and they will have started.”

“All the more reason to hurry up.”

He hit everything he could think of and I would have none of it. This is the first time I have ever been harsh with anyone in this community. I have put my foot down and pulled some ears, but I have never been so insistent and impatient.

An hour later Elvis’ mother had moved on to another cow and was ignoring the entire situation. Elvis father was still curled up begging his son to please go with his aunt (probably to make me shut up).

I admit, I understand. He is the most poor of the poor. He is the slowest of the slowest. I can’t imagine school is fun. His shoes are holey and don’t fit him right because they are hand-me-downs. Even his best socks have holes in them because he only has two pair. I am sure he doesn’t understand half of what the teacher assigns. He is probably embarrassed often. But, he is improving in his studies. I have been helping him improve in reading, and he has improved 10 words per minute since we started about 5 months ago, which is great. He is 14 years old and in third grade. He has to keep working at it. He has to be able to read. He has to be able to do simple math (adding and subtracting is still something we are working on). Even if he never makes it to secondary school, he has to finish primary.

As I am thinking of the men in town I know that might be willing to haul a 14 year old kicking and screaming to school Elvis father said, “Should I get the police to take him?” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. Pablo, Elvis father, is still “en problemas” as we would say here because he is fighting for the right to get his daughter back after she was taken away by the government for being neglected by Pablo’s wife, Claudia (no, I don’t get it). If things went bad and police were involved, Pablo could be in deeper “probelmas”. But, before he could change his mind, I was off.

“Elvis, I am going to go get a police officer to talk to you.”

He does move, suddenly his mother is very interested in this conversation and moves over to talk to Elvis.

Minutes later I returned with a police officer. Elvis father lied to me and said they were still in our uncle’s house, but I saw Elvis with his mother walking back to our house to dress him for school. The officer walked briskly with me to reach the runaway. When we got to the house I asked his mother to get his clothes ready, and I boiled some water for tea while the sweetest and kindest Peruvian officer I have ever met sat on a rock and chatted with the truantor. As I distrated his mother and father from trying to talk to the police officer, he chatted away calmly with elvis about school and the importance of studying, and even offered himself if Elvis ever needed any help.

Quickly elvis was cleaned up and out the door. Señor Noe and I walked with him (which caused a bunch of wide eyes in the school, but Elvis walked proud), and talked to his teacher about the situation. She really is a great teacher and was very understanding. Surely, before we were even talking to his teacher, Elvis parents had already forgotten the entire situation happened and were back to drinking.

I was wrung. Like the wet rag that calms your fever, I was tossed aside in the bucket only to return to hungry, thirsty animals. The officer followed me back to the house, “I can take care of the suffering cat if you like.” He politely offered. Way out of his line of duty I greatfully excepted and started digging a hole to which he insisted I stop, that he would take care of it. Needless to say, I brought him a plate of homemade spaghetti for his lunch. 

21 Noviembre 2011

Because of the fiesta this weekend, all of the adults are drunk, and it appears that the children are taking care of their responsibilities. As I am now a member of the family that left me in charge of the family’s chickens, cat, and dog, an uncle’s horse, donkey, and dog, and somehow some random sickly kitten that showed up on the doorstep a few days ago.

Of course, because I am a freak, I couldn’t just feed and water the animals. I had to fix (aka rebuild) the chicken coop, brush the horse and tend to it’s wound, and set the crying dog free and keep her by my dog’s side so not to lose her. Roxana has been taking care of the cows and pigs. You would think that we were encouraging our parents to get drunk more often, because when they come-to from a 48 hour drunken stooper they will find their animals cleaner, fatter, and in healthier living situations.

Doña Juana asked me last week why the hens I bought weren’t laying, I said I wasn’t sure a became concerned. Quickly, today I realized its because she stopped feeding them and was letting them scavenge for food instead of keeping them fat and healthy.

I had been treating the sickly kitten, until I got ahold of her diagnosis (thanks mom and dad), cancer. Then we cut down to just ibuprophen so it wouldn’t suffer, but I couldn’t kill the thing. I was waiting for Doña Juana to come back to this world so she could break its neck quickly and painlessly, but as of this morning she still wasn’t with us. The poor kitten had crawled its way to the sunlight and was sprawled out, weak, and waiting to die. It had vomited up all of its food and medication the night before.

Incompetence is torturing me to my core, and this little lady had to show up and wave ineptitude more clearly in my face, just in case I wasn’t catching on. 

20 Noviembre 2011

As I was making elvis and I chocolate pancakes this morning a little kitten crawled into my room to lap up Menina’s morning milk.

At first glance it looked like the kitten’s left eye had exploded. It immediately got some ibuprophen mashed in tuna. The poor thing made no cries. Even in its weakness it purred when I rubbed my fingers against its boney body.

Upon closer inspection I realized there is a growth on the left eye preventing it from closing and even hair-loss around that eye. But, the other eye is fine, beautifully green and tracking well. The rest of its body is so dirty and matted from the rains the past few days I can’t really inspect the rest of its health, but it doesn’t seem healthy by any stretch of the word.

Do I attempt to nurture a dieing creature back to health that I can’t keep? Do I put myself through the frustration and then possible pain if it dies anyways?

With no vet, I am on my own. I put antibiotic ointment in the eye and then a steroid drop. I will continue with both for the next few days and see what happens.

Meanwhile, Menina and Perla are furiously jealous.

Word around the house is Elvis found the kitten in the street and delivered it to my doorstep. 

19 Noviembre 2011 take two

Today felt like a proper Sunday morning… even though it was Saturday.

It is amazing what enjoyable people elvis’ parents are when they aren’t drunk. Actually pleasant. This is their last day in town before they head back up to the alpaca ranch.

While I was washing laundry and dishes with Roxana, the dogs were playing on the patio, elvis’ father was sorting the last batch of potatoes from this year’s harvest, his mother was tending to their horses, Doña Juana was cooking breakfast, Don Juan was still in bed, and elvis was playing with animal figurines on a log.

I loved that moment when everyone stops what they are doing to watch the dogs play, laugh in unison, then return to their individual chores.

‘Thank god they don’t watch tv’ popped into my head.

“Luz” elvis’ father hollered, then he made the motion of cutting his own hair. Roxana must have told them I was cutting my hair yesterday.

“Would you like me to cut elvis’ hair?”

“mine!”

Elvis grabs his head and feels his hair.

“would you like me to cut yours too, elvis”

“just all of it but this.” He says as he yanks his bangs, “but my dad first.”

We set up a chair in the corral, and I brought out my scissors.

“Just even all over.” Elvis’ father says, but I know he wants more cut off than what he is saying. It took about 5 minutes of repetitive conversation for me to figure out what he wanted. “But, how much do you want me to take off?”

“Just even all over.”

“Yes, I am going to try my best to make it even all over, but at what length?”

“just even all over”

Then sweet elvis took his seat. He is such a good boy. Especially to me and his parents. He is a little ornery with his cousin Roxana and his aunt and uncle don juan and doña juana, but he treats his parents and myself with his own beautiful concoction of respect and reverie. I kept bouncing back and forth between what his mother wanted and what elvis wanted and landed somewhere in the middle with both of them happy. At one point this conversation happened,

“luz, this part on his face bothers me” Claudia said in reference to hair that had grown down in front of his ears like side burns and she made a quick motion from his check to his ear with her finger, “zzzzzip”

“Ok Elvis, I am going to trim this up to here, ok?”

“ya”

As I made the cut I saw that he is starting to get some facial hair.

“Oh, goodness, we are going to have to trim this too! You are getting some hair on your face! Becoming a man, you are!” I celebrated with this child brain in a 14-year-old body.

“like Gray?” he said

“Yes, just like Gray.” I smiled, fighting back the tears in my eyes while he sat up taller in his seat and I trimmed his sideburns. 

Within 45 minutes they were both trimmed and surprisingly happy with what a botch job I felt I did. Pleased, Elvis father insisted on giving me 1s/. per cut (about 70¢ total). He shoved the coins in my hand and I passed it on to Elvis in one fale swoop.

Then we all returned to our day’s duties. 

19 Noviembre 2011

Roxana did it again. I swear, I live for this girl. She pulled me out of my self pity.

I forgot that I told her earlier in the week that we could play monopoly together Friday night. She peaks in my room last night,

“monopolio?”

I was translating the coming week’s curricula for the program. “Of course, of course, but I still have some work to do before we can play.”

So patient and so sweetly, “I come back in half an hour.”

When she came back I asked if we needed snacks in order to play monopoly and she grinned. As we walked down to the corner store I asked her if it was alright if I invited elvis to play with us or if it should just be us girls.

“do you think he will understand how to play?” I asked

“He can move the pieces but he will lose.” She replied.

I shrugged.

“he can be banker!” she caringly recognizes.

As much as she acts irritated with the kid, she does love him.

Returning with warmish coca cola  in a glass bottle, chocolate, and toilet paper (the drunks knocked the last roll in the toilet) we passed elvis.

“Where you out looking for your dog?” Roxana interrogates

“no”

“Well, then where have you been?” The concerned older sister figure questions.

Searching for a response better than wandering around in the rain he replies, “ah, um, looking for the dog.”

Roxana scoffs and gives me that look you get from members of your clique when and outsider does something against your group’s manifesto. “Why don’t you just go make an announcement on the loud speaker to the whole town?”

Elvis looks at me as if asking permission.

“That’s a good idea, Elvis.” I nod

“Luz, will your go with me?”

Then I look to Roxana for permission.

“ya” I hear her mother’s voice trip through Roxana’s lips as she takes the goodies and I accompany elvis to the municipality.

The next morning a neighbor brought elvis his lost puppy.

Roxana popped some corn cornels called “cachitas” (a starchy and less tasty version of popcorn) and I started making macaroni and cheese and esparagus for dinner and elvis set up the monopoly board. The lack of water situation left us with three forks leaning over the mac-n-cheese pot together while the monopoly game continued un-interrupted.

It was enheartening to watch elvis struggle and really try to do the simple math involved in making change. Even more enheartening was to watch Roxana watch me teach him and then duplicate it the next time around.

We laughed for hours, none of us wanting to go to bed, determined to bankrupt the others. It was the most dynamic game of monopoly I can remember ever playing. 

18 Noviembre 2011 take two

Thus, the visitors’ drunkenness started my day.

Noonish stepped out of my little sanctum of a bedroom to peer out into the silent patio. Somehow elvis’ father had managed to pull himself to the other side of my doorstep towards the corral. Passed out flat on his stomach missing a shoe I scurried by him to go wash another load of laundry before the rainy season starts and the water is brown and there isn’t enough sunlight to dry clothes before it rains again.

As I passed the kitchen I saw Elvis’ mother passed out with her head on the stump we use as a seat. Her dirty cheeks covered in flies. It was such a sad sight I now wish I had thought to take a picture. Poor elvis. The poor animals they tend. These poor people who’s lives are so boring and depressing that the only way they get excitement is to make fools of themselves.

I opened the faucet and it echoed an empty gurgle at me. No water. Thank god that I thought two days ago to fill a bucket so we at least have water to cook with.

My irritability fumed.

Last night I was irritable because toys were stolen from the library, and my frustration didn’t wane because I was awoken my singing drunks, and now: no water.

I can feel my mind checked out. I am tired and frustrated and bored. I fear that I am not fully serving because I am so listless.

I doubt so much. I am reading the book Living Poor by Moritz Thomsen (his chronicle of Peace Corps). I will write more about my experience with the book later, but what astonishes me the most is his confidence. He seems to know what he wants, he has confidence that he knows what these people need. He even extends his service 2 years to ensure that the programs he starts are successful.

I feel like I am doubting myself and everyone around me all the time. I envy his confidence. Should I be nurturing these drunks instead of avoiding them? Should I be scolding them? Should I take Roxana and Elvis elsewhere so they don’t come across their drunken parents when they come home from school? Should I tend to the cows for Doña Juana so she can sleep off her drunk? Should I not let her go to the fields for fear that she could fall and hurt herself? Should I go with Roxana to the fields when she gets home just to be there as moral support? Should I buy and cook dinner for the family tonight because I know Doña Juana will not? Should I leave town for the weekend so that I can avoid the rest of the drunken fiesta that makes me so uncomfortable and resentful of the community members?

Chanting isn’t bringing me peace or answers like I want it to. I usually leave my chanting sessions more upset than when I went in (good for self discovery, bad for patience with the locals).

Sometimes I wonder why I feel so irritable. It isn’t like what I came here to do isn’t working. The program is working so marvelously that it doesn’t really need me anymore as long as there is someone else to run it the way it is written. This is dis-animating instead of animating because I want to continue my life. I feel I have done what I came here to do. I have learned, I have taught, I have developed something effective and sustainable. I am about ready to go back to school, to start living for me and my family instead of this foreign community. Have I become selfish? Is this just irritability speaking and it will pass?

One month from today I will be in the United States visiting family and friends in Ohio. I can only hope that that time reinvigorates me to come back and finish my service with a strong and patient ‘bang’. 

18 Noviembre 2011

At around 5am today I woke up to the sounds of drunks outside my door. “Damn it, is there a fiesta this weekend?” I think as I roll over.

They start singing and I can’t sleep. The Sun is just coming up. “Why are they outside my door?” I recognize each voice, Doña Juana, Elvis’ father and mother. They sing for hours. I really want to go to the bathroom and get some water to make tea but my cowardice keeps me behind a closed door.

8am, they are still singing. I know that the minute the gringa walks out of her room she will become the center of attention. I attempted to wait for the perfect moment (not knowing what that will be) but my bladder trumps and I open the door slowly. Elvis dad is actually sitting on my doorstep, so there will be no sneaking involved. They are there because next to the oven Gray and I built is a stove for the large pots. They are cooking chicha. That is why they chose my doorstep this morning. I blatantly ignore them calling me and walk straight to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and fill up the kettle. I wanted to finish my laundry today, but I forsee this as another day in hiding. I don’t mind. I have studying to do for my English teacher certification, and I am in the middle of a good book.

On my way back into my room Doña Juana grabs my hand and they all start talking at me in unison in an uncomprehendable Spanish/quechua. Politely I say, “I am sorry, but I don’t understand when you speak to me in quechua.” A lie. Doña Juana is saying something about her husband coming home and her being drunk and who will tend to the cows. I assume an attempted guilt trip to get me to go take care of the animals today. Elvis father is saying something bout kissing me to which I have planted myself at Doña Juana’s side “Manang”-No I state firmly three times with a finger in the air. Elvis’ mother hands me a shot and I use this to free my hand from doña juana’s firm grasp. I respectfully take a sip and toss a majority of the alcohol to the ground for pachamama. Claudia starts rattling away in quechua about how she won’t invite me to a shot if I don’t drink it and I proclaim, “ I don’t understand when you talk to me in quechua.” as I squeeze past her husband back into my room and shut the door ignoring them calling my name. 

I make my tea and put in my headphones while I read. Around 10am  the tea wants to come out the other end.  I take out my headphones and hear no singing. Maybe they left.

I very slowly open my door as to not call any attention to myself and elvis’ father is passed out across my doorstep. I step over him and this wakes him up, I don’t flinch and head straight for the toilet.

“Claudia….. Claudia!” he barks

“Huh?!” she grunts

“My pants”

no answer

“My pants, did you wash them?”

is the conversation I hear from the bathroom.

When I cam headed straight back to my room Elvis’ father is half crawling like a snake towards his wife who is, in fact, washing his pants.

I go straight back into my room and shut my door. Is it bad that I kind of like the excuse that I should spend the day reading and studying in bed?

How many of my students have to deal with such behavior, can’t escape it because they share a room, and have to go tend to the animals for their parents’? all of them? Half of them? A quarter? There is no way to know.

17 Noviembre 2011 take two

Meche and Hirma and I have lunch together a few times a week. A couple days ago at Hirma’s house, she was venting about one of the other teachers that the two vent about often. I have to admit, I am not a fan of the teacher they talk about because she is so cut off from her students’ learning. She seems to be the only teacher in the primary school that is distant from the class as a whole. She is also distant from me, and doesn’t attend any of my teacher workshops. She considers herself more holy and above everyone in the community including myself. What she does have is her ways, and no one is going to change that, and what is more, no one is going to mess with her couple favorite students.

Dynamics are changing in the classroom. With the VALE program influence, many of the youth that used to be at the bottom of the rung are slowly but surely, and surprisingly rising in stature in their classes. Becoming more responsible and creative, they are getting better test scores. When one of the VALE youth beat out one of this teacher’s favorites in a math competition, she said it was a fluke and insisted to Hirma (The principal of the primary school) that her favorite continue in the competition, to which Hirma said, “no”.

I was kind of giggling about it until Meche said, “You know, the reason she doesn’t like your student, Luz, is because he has a single mom.” She explains that Teacher X is a Jehova’s Wittness. She thinks that single mom families are sinners, “She will do anything she can to make sure the sinner’s kid doesn’t get any attention.” Ok, now my friends complaints aren’t quite so funny, and Teacher X is now on my ‘watch your back’ list.

Elvis cam into my room the other night.

“Will there be VALE today?”

“Yes, sir. But it isn’t your day, you should have come yesterday. But if you want to you can come and play quietly.”

“Dani said that all you do in VALE is draw.”

I am a little confused. Elvis comes to VALE, he has seen with his own eyes that that isn’t all we do. But, awareness of his own low self esteem makes him trust some classmate over his own observation.

“Who is Dani? I don’t know who she is, so that means she never comes to the program. We do a lot more than drawing, you have seen, games and contests and masks and reading. And what is wrong with drawing?”

Then it clicks. Dani is Teacher X’s daughter. Out of no where, fumes burst out my ears.

It is hard enough to keep this program running and fighting the generational habits that contradict educational advancement. We don’t need TEACHERS making up lies and talking poorly of the program. Especially to their children and students.

Why would she be against me?

Is it because I said no when she asked me to buy her a computer last year?

Is it because she doesn’t want the poorest youth to learn and improve?

There are two windows to the library that overlook the street. Regularly there are faces peering in, but usually young ones or mothers. There was an ancient male face looking in last night. Then a few minutes later an equally ancient female face next to him. I waved for them to come in. He came around,

“What is this place called? I want to make sure my grand kids come here.”

The man I would excuse for not understanding the program values it, and the teacher who’s students the program is helping improve is fighting against it.

This world never ceases to amaze me. 

17 Noviembre 2011

Saint Agustin “Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage. Anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.”

This week’s theme in discrimination didn’t hit home nearly as much as I wanted it to. Even the older kids repeated to me what they thought I wanted to hear, I never actually saw that they demonstrated that they understood that discrimination is bad. Perhaps we will try again later.

Now, we have a solid group of about 20 primary school students that come everyday to the program. Gray and Meche both told me, “When it isn’t their day for the program, send them home. You can’t control a room of 40 kids.” I did turn them away for a while, but I just have so much trouble with it. The entire point of the program is to instill certain qualities in the youth while creating a habit of going to the library after school.  When 15 children sit outside the library until I open it then scream “Siñorita Luuuuuz!!! VALE!!!” how can I tell them to go home? This means the program is working, and I want to kindle that flame. So, we set it up so they can sit at one table and play games, read, and draw, while I teach the group of the day at the other table. The trick is they have to be quiet. If they aren’t quiet they have to leave, and I have kicked a couple out. It seems to work well.

But….

I can’t give the little ones my attention because I am trying to teach, and they come to me about every 2 minutes because they need more glue or ‘he is stealing my markers’ or whatever reason. It is beginning to make me crazy, and Gray and Meche were probably right. Yet still, I can’t turn them away. Yes, it is better, in my mind, that they be here practicing their creativity, playing in a group, and reading than anywhere else in this community. But, because I can’t keep a close eye on them, materials are disappearing. We have had materials stolen from the library, some art supplies and some games at this point.

What do I do in this community where parents will reward their kids for bringing home free supplies that the parents then don’t have to buy? And, the things they are taking only facilitate creativity, art, and literacy. Is it such a bad thing that they like it so much they want to take it home?

16 Noviembre 2011

Today, I might have gone a little crazy.

Some days, I just don’t want to get out of bed. I want to read or write and I have to drag myself to drink a cup of coffee and then go teach. Other days, I pop out of bed and I am ready to conquer the world.

Today, I was vanquishing the patio.

I haven’t really had time to do laundry in about a month and a half because of the program, working for the medical campaign, and because I started a TOEFL class that will certify me to teach English globally (excuses). I have been washing one pair of undies at a time and rewearing pants and tops (gross, I know). (get some cheese ready for my wine) it’s just that it literally takes an entire day only to do one week’s worth of clothing by hand, and I have just had better things to do.

So today, I had no options, no pants or tops passing the sniff test and an empty suitcase next to an overflowing hamper. I started my weekly spring cleaning, took the rug out and scrubbed away with a brush, washed the sheets and put them on the line; then, as I was taking the whites out to scrub with hot water I tripped over some trash on the patio. Last night, when I was kicking the soccerball with elvis, I had also tripped over a rock. I decided I was done. When Paul was here he said, “So the patio is like a garbage disposal, huh?”. He was completely right. Today, I had had enough. It collects with pastic bags, animal guts, animal bones, animal skins, rocks, plastic bottles, broken glass, etc. So I took out the rake and went at it. You would think that buying the family a large trash bin would be enough. But a lifetime of just tossing trash to your side trough motor memory apparently cannot be trumped by logic and utility.

Mila showed up around 10am and quickly picked up a shovel to help me carry away the three not-so-small mountains of trash I had raked up. Sometimes, I think about how if I didn’t have friends like her here, I could go entire days without saying a word to anyone but my students in the library.

I couldn’t bare the idea of her digging into my laundry with me, so we started cooking lunch together. Tacos. The teachers would be coming for lunch exactly an hour after Mila would catch the only bus that would take her back to Chivay.

I cranked some (a lot) of wheat grains through the family’s hand mill and made my very first whole wheat tortillas for tacos.

After laughing together for an hour I ran off to the program then collapsed over a glass of wine at 8:15.

Knock knock.

Of course. “Luz, un favor grande, grande…”

Roxana couldn’t figure out her math homework. Probabilities. Fortunately, one of my favorites. It is funny how teaching math is so challenging. You kind of have to let your hand just go, and work out the problem, then explain subsequently. But, then explaining in Spanish still gets me. I have never heard the math phrases and regularly screw up “divide it by” and “divide it into” still. As I had exhausted all the ways I could imagne to explain a few problems, I still didn’t trust her grasp. I wouldn’t let one of my tutees walk away with the confused face Roxana had on, but her eyes kept blanking over as I was explaining and I kept having to say, “are you listening” to which she would embarrassingly snap back. I told her to go to bed and look over them again in the morning, sometimes rest does the trick.

As I was laying in bed, I couldn’t help thinking, “I am amazed her teacher understands what I was just explaining to her.”

The following afternoon I asked if we got all her math problems right. She smiled broadly.

“Is that a yes? Did you get 100%”

“Well, I am not sure.”

“Did the teacher go over the homework?”

“We had to stand up in front of the class and I talked through it, but the teacher didn’t say anything. So, probably.”

Quickly I realize, the teacher probably doesn’t understand how to work out the problems, they just copy instructions from the government issued books. Immediately my insides begin to fume and I covered it up with a gentle smile.

Roxana, is not a stupid girl, but it was very obvious that the concepts I was explaining to her were completely foreign and she wasn’t ready for them. Even if I wasn’t explaining properly in spanish; problem after problem, if she is watching me work it out the same every time, she should get it eventually no matter how long and complicated the arithmetic if she has a healthy base in algebra. It appears that she doesn’t. But, she will continue in school never really understanding, memorizing problems from teachers that don’t understand themselves.

15 Noviembre 2011

This past weekend I met an amazing couple living right now, to travel around South America.

An extremely spiritual and educated pair, they spent time rafting in the jungle and 11/11/11 in the mystical mountains of Machu Picchu.

On a 4 hour bus ride they caught me up on American politics, to which I slobbered up every bite. But, what they probably don’t know, is that they got me back in touch with spirituality and Buddhism. He had lived in India at a few ashrams and is a medical masseur. They reinvigorated me to keep in touch with the asian philosophies that have nourished me in my past and planted the seed of moving to an ashram.

Joan Halifax spoke in TED talks last year on compassion and the true meaning of empathy. She has spent much of her life doing what I have been up to lately and bringing health access to remote populations of the world. With an obvious strong Buddhist history she mentions the architype avalokiteshvara of kuan yin (or padmapani or guanshiyin or guanyin)- ‘she who receives the prize of suffering in the world’. Joan explains, “she stands with 10 thousand arms and in every hand there is an instrument of liberation, and in the palm of every hand there are eyes, and these are the eyes of wisdom.” I can’t help but feel a connection with this archetype, and a longing to strengthen my relationship with her.

When Youth Development had a one-year training a few months ago, one of my best Peace Corps friends said to me, “You seem so angry.” To which I responded, “Right now, I am OK with being angry. I don’t want to pretend that the things I am seeing don’t rip at my core and infuriate me. Right now, I am in a period where I am feeling that sadness and anger and allowing it to give me fuel for my work.”. Which was true at the time, and as all loving friends do, she took that as an answer and supported me even though I don’t think she felt in complete agreement. (Thank you Libby)

They say that avalokiteshara was trying to solve the suffering in the world, and when he/she couldn’t and looked upon the sadness his/her head exploded into a thousand pieces that his/her guru pieced into 1000 arms. Kuan yin’s anger and frustration gave him/her more ability to help.

However, now, with the completion of my service on the distant horizon, I feel a softening. A longing to no longer be frustrated with this culture and how they don’t help themselves, but a reimposition of true compassion that I had more of a grasp on when I first moved here.

Equanimity. This is my goal. And not an artificial calm that is grinding your teeth through as smile, but, an understanding strong enough to not even allow the fire to be stoked.

Lost in the Trees

All Alone in an Empty House

For Leah and Chloe

“Pain’s made me who I am

but I want your pity please

I’ve learned more than I could share

I heal my heart on a walk in the dark

On a walk in the dark

Love’s made me who I am

Don’t be afraid you’d hurt me

I’m stronger than you think

I heal my heart

Let it glow in the dark

Let it glow in the dark

And through this life I’ve learned to love what I’ve become

I’ve learned to love what I’ve become

What I’ve become”

14 Noviembre 2011

This week’s theme for VALE is discrimination and specifically, “What is the role of a male? What is the role of a female?”

We opened with some general activities about discrimination, breaking the group into social classes and treating each class differently then reflecting. Then one about how it feels when you can’t communicate. Then transitioned into an activity about gender roles that are assigned at birth, and that men can knit and woman can build.

We finished with an activity that I particularly like. They took white plastic plates (only because I couldn’t find paper ones) and cut eye holes and tied a string around the back to make a mask. Then, we walked around the room in silence looking at one another’s white, boring faces. Then, they were given paints, construction paper, scissors, and glue and instructed to decorate their masks as individually as possible. Then, when they finished, they put on their masks and walked around the room in silence looking at each other again. You can imagine that there were many more giggles and much more enjoyment when everyone looked different and special.

The activity wasn’t as effective as I wanted it to be with the youngest group because they just loved the mask making and didn’t really get the point of the activity, but I am hoping that as usual, as we advance into the week it becomes more potent.

Some fantastic photos…

Did I mention we had 32 children attending the program today?

10 noviembre 2011

I keep having these moments where things work out perfectly and it only makes me continue to have faith in that this is where I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to be doing.

The week I had to cancel the program so I could translate for QB happened to be Dia de los Muertos and school was cancelled 2 of the 4 days, so I would have had to cancel the program anyways.

The substitute communication teacher is an ass, and I was scared to death to get permission to enter his class to do another letter exchange with some students in France. But, his contract is up this week and the new teacher won’t be back in time for classes Monday of next week so they would LOVE for me to step in!

Too good to be true!

10 Noviembre 2011 take two

Well I just spent the morning crunching numbers.

The monitoring for the VALE program consists of attendance numbers, ratings done by the students’ teachers, and grades.

Here is your 2 month report:

Attendance is huge. We have an average of 80 students a week (which is 11% of the total population and 40% of the youth population of Madrigal).

We are going to take a look at the grades of students with regular attendance (>3weeks a month). We will take their grades from last year before the program started, and compare it to their grades at the end of this year. Because this school year, nor the program has ended yet, we can’t look at that yet.

But, what we can look at are the statistics on the teachers’ objective observations of their students. They were given a monitoring scale asking about the programs’ holistic goals and how they have manifested in the youth.

We got some interesting results.

Here is a look at a couple graphs I made based on the improvement.

This graph depicts in what themes the group as a whole is showing the most improvement in:

Group scores

This graph depicts where the individuals show the most significant changes in the themes:

Mejoramiento

So, as a conclusion, so far, one could say the youth population of madrigal is becoming more interested in education and knowledge in general.

And, as individuals they are acting more responsible when it comes to their education and community.

I say, woot woot!

10 November 2011

“Yes, I felt closer to my fellow men, too, even in my solitude. For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the peoplee you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranger from others, too. If one is out of touch wit oneself, then one cannot touch others. How often in a large city, shaking hands with y friends, I have felt the wilderness stretching between us. Both of us were wandering in arid wastes, having lost the springs that nourished us- or having found them dry. Only when one is connected to one’s own core, is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude.”

Anne Morrow Lindebergh

9 Noviembre 2011 take four

This week’s theme was “What can I do with my friends, books?”

Lucia, the young woman who will be replacing me when I leave, shadowed me for the first couple days of the week. She is so excited about the job and the program she can’t really contain herself. It is beautiful.

Anyways, she had this idea for the beginning of the week, so I scrapped what I had written and we rolled with it. The idea was to make researching fun.

So, we had the little ones draw a circle in the center of their papers, then find what that circle could be in the books, and turn it into what they found (an eye, an egg in a nest, the Sun, etc). They did a great job, and it was fabulous to see Lucia with the kids, and I really know this week motivated her.

For the older group later in the week we did a scavenger hunt. I wrote out questions on themes that we didn’t get to touch in the program due to time constraints and they competed in groups to find the answers.

They learned how to use an encyclopedia…

Thank you Monica Kline!

Special Thank You to Monic Kline for becoming the Madrina of Mujeres Campesinas-Women Farmers of Madrigal. We sincerely thank you for your donation and making the soup kitchen functional and giving the women uniforms for the local soccer tournament.

9 Noviembre 2011 take three

My host mother and president of "Women Farmers"

I am looking for a microgrant.

This isn’t a micro lending situation, because it isn’t going to generate money. But, I thought someone might be interested in supporting an already successful club here in town.

Mujeres Campesinas (women farmers) is a group I work with often. It is pretty much just a club of women. They help each other when planting and harvesting, they dance in the festivals together, they volunteer in town even cleaning the streets from time to time. But, in my opinion, the most important thing that they do is run the soup kitchen. They receive food (rice, oil, and lentels) from the government, and they rotate 5 days a week cooking it in a little adobe hut they built. This food is sold at about 1.50 soles a plate (less than $1) and most often serves elderly, orphans, and the disabled. The money earned goes to buying potatoes, carrots, onions and other things the women grow to add flavor to the dishes.

The president of Mujeres Campesinas (my host mom) asked me if I could help find funding to buy the women uniforms because they want to play in a soccer tournament. “Then,” she said “we could use those same shirts to look official when we are working in the kitchen.”

As we were pricing the shirts we found where they could be made with their logo for only about $3 a piece. With 8 women, that is only a $24 donation.

“Is there anything else the club or soup kitchen needs?”

“plates, we lost some plates”

Having seen the women eating their rice with their fingers I asked, “What about spoons? Could you use some spoons?”

“Oh yes! And cups!”

“Ok, I will see if we can get those too. Are you ladies ok with pots?”

“We have two large ones, but we do need a medium one.”

So there we have it ladies and gentlemen. When crunching the numbers I found that we could get them more than what they need to get by for a few years for about $100.

Please let me know as soon as possible if you are interested in making a donation to Mujeres Campesinos. I am not going to go through all the PC hoops because it is such a small amount. I am going to throw in $25 to make sure they get their uniforms before the tournament in December, but would greatly appreciate help on the other $75.

Sorry for the plug.

9 November 2011 take two

This is just a general statement.

And what they call the “x-pat” in me coming out.

But, in general, Americans are embarrassing.

Our obsession with efficiency and perfection creates this self-righteousness that cuts at relationships.

It is easy to pick out a US tourist from European or Australian just based on the way they talk to people.

It is like they can’t understand why anyone would ever do anything that isn’t the best option. But every single culture in the world has things that they do, just because that is what they do. It doesn’t make sense, but it is part of the culture.

Yeah, not washing your hands is stupid and unhealthy, but so is eating fast food.

Driving close to other cars and people is dangerous, but so is smoking.

It all comes down to how you treat someone.

You might not agree with what they do, but that gives you no right to treat them badly for it.  We consider ourselves an advanced and modern society, but we treat people who don’t think like us as badly as this culture does with the LGBT community.

That is what I have always loved about America. That we are literally a melting pot of so much difference that lives together. We agree to disagree and have a constitution that allows for that. But, lately with the help of new medias, our differences are pulling us apart and we are fighting about disagreeing.

I beg you, my family and friends to fight it. In your daily life. Yes surround yourself with people you enjoy, but treat all kinds with respect and compassion. 

For my Christian family and friends, take seriously what jesus took seriously.

“ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together”.-Eugene Ionesco

9 Noviembre 2011

For the first time in my 2-year Peace Corps service I didn’t write for a week.

This past week I was working with the NGO Quechua Benefit in a medical campaign.

I was translating for an Australian team of eye doctors, general physicians, pediatricians, and surgeons. It was a week of everything and by far my favorite campaign I have ever worked.

Every single one of the doctors was inspiring. We worked every day of the week from 7am in the morning to 7pm at night, usually without a lunch break-just stuffing our faces with fruit and cookies on-the-go to get by. They wanted to see everyone they possibly could. I think the final numbers came out to 70ish a day with the 2 eye doctors, 30+ a day with the general physician, and 30+ a day with the pediatrician. There were +/- 10 cataract or trigium surgeries a day as well, and the surgeons followed up every morning with the patients from the day before. They were ruthlessly loving doctors committed to providing for the need. They bathed in cold showers and got no comfort from the food provided by the locals, every single one got sick with diarrhea or vomiting at some point, but they complained not. They smiled and were appreciative of the opportunity to help.

One of the doctors I became good friends with by the end of the week said, “This has been the hardest week of my life.” And, when I took a moment to reflect I realized the profoundness of his statement. Could I say the same? I don’t know. 

We had everything in the patient grab bag. The emotional push and pull is indescribable.

To put free glasses on a woman who couldn’t see more than three meters in front of her her entire life.

To remove the bandages from a man who had dense cataracts in both eyes and watch him observe color for the first time in twenty years.

To medicate a 5-year-old who’s eyes had been infected for more than 2 years and were so swollen they thought she might have downs syndrome… fixed, with a drop.

One man came every morning. Blind and half deaf with a limp he begged the doctors for anything. As the translator, it became my job every day as he walked in to half shout into his good ear that there was nothing that could be done.

“But, my daughter lives in Spain, she can buy any drop I need and send it to me.”

“I am so sorry sir, but the damage to your eyes has been untreated for so long, that now it is too late, there is no drop in the world that can bring back some of your vision.”

This patient brought tears do mine and the doctors’ eyes.

During one of the cataract surgeries one woman’s retina collapsed and the doctors had to get out as quickly as possible, unable to replace the lense in her eye. The woman will need another surgery, and will probably not be able to see much better than she could previously. I was not present for the surgery. Imagine for a minute, as the doctor is explaining the outcome to the family, they understand nothing. The have their intense listening ears on, but don’t understand the English as much as they want to. As the doctor speaks, and I begin to understand what happened, I can’t react. I wait for her to finish, take a deep breath, and translate to the family that that tiny risk factor before the surgery that we explained, happened. At no fault to anyone, the surgery was unsuccessful. Not fatal, but with the amount of cataracts this woman has in the other eye she will not be able to recognize anything but figures anytime soon, if ever. The renound surgeon then walks away to allow her self to tear and I stay nearto explain post op instructions to a silent crowd.

It was a beautiful week. I am proud to have been able to help and I send a sincere thank you to Quechua Benefit for how much I  learned in the process.