24 Junio 2012

The last four days were ALMA.
There isn’t a better way to describe it: ‘alma’-spirit.
Actividades de Lideres Mujeres Adolescentes

It was a 3-day leadership camp for select female adolescent leaders from all over the Department of Arequipa. There were 30 young women participants and 15 volunteers (Peruvian and American) running the camp.
After 6 months of planning, and thousands of dollars of donations from friends, family, strangers and NGOs (Quechua Benefit, Village de Andes, and more) it can’t be described as anything but a success.

The moto of the camp was “Know Your Potential”. We focused on two specific themes: vocational orientation, and health (this included a huge focus on creativity for both themes). Every talk was oriented around learning through play and interactive activities.

The girls arrived Thursday afternoon to be divided into teams with whom they would compete all weekend. They received points for participation, punctuality, answering questions correctly, as well as winning the sports challenges. After icebreakers and name games they had a two-hour obstacle course meant to just be pure fun and getting to know one another. It successfully exhausted them, and they were released to their rooms for monopoly, playing cards, and the movie Tin Tin projected in their dorms.

The first full day the girls were up bright and early after many of their first experience with a hot shower. This day’s theme was Vocational Orientation.
They had a field trip to visit the best university in Arequipa (and one of the best in Peru-UNSA), then received a series of workshops.
The first was given by Mario on professionalism where the girls took an aptitude test and discussed professions that interested them.
Then they got a talk from Chris and Mario about the steps one needs to take in Peru in order to enter University.
This was followed by money management and saving by Tim and Chris. It was the most fun finance talk I have ever seen in my life.
Then I had organized a panel of professional women to come and talk to the young ladies about where they came from, and how they became successful women.
After lunch America taught the girls how to build a resume,
Mila gave a talk on professionalism and communicating with you body (eye contact, hand shaking, etc) linked to a game of charades followed by mock interviews that Amber organized.
At the end of the day they received a workshop from Richard on Spanish-speaking artists, and how the lives of these famous artists influenced their work. The girls then spent a couple hours expressing their emotions through differing artistic mediums.
The day concluded with an egg-drop contest organized by Tim and Amber that lead to many-a-joyously-screaming adolescent.

Each night consisted of breaking off into teams and processing and reflecting on the day. The girls were in their rooms by 9:30pm but the volunteers stayed up until about 11pm or later to prep for the following day’s activities, dreading the 5:30am wake up call we were responsible for making the following morning.

Saturday was focused on Health (physical and mental).
It began with a sexual education talk given by a Peace Corps doctor that we flew down from Lima- Thank you Suni! Not only did the girls learn about the changes happening in their body from someone educated, but they learned about STDs and safe sexual practices.
This was followed by an activity given by Mario and Rocio about healthy relationships discussing family interactions, romantic relationships and male and female stereotypes.
After lunch they had a nutrition workshop given by Tim and myself then I gave the girls a yoga class that discussed the importance of physical and mental fitness as well as learning a new way to meditate.
They then moved on to mask making. With Kim, they talked about how some people are different on the outside than the inside and spent hours making masks to put on their ‘outside’ that expressed their inside, using the ideas of expression from the art talk the day before.
Amber wrapped up the day by talking about setting and meeting goals,
then after dinner Kim and I made a Jeopardy game that reviewed the weekend’s information. The “daily double” questions consisted of each team’s counselors competing against one another in physical challenges. More screaming adolescents. Somewhere in there the girls and all the volunteer counselors played flip cup. No worries, water, not beer.

Sunday morning Amber organized a closing ceremony involving a processing what to walk away from ALMA with (America), as well as a photo show of the camp (Lu and Tim), prizes for winning and non-winning teams(America and Tim), certificates (Mario and Amber), and cake (America and Rocio). Special thanks to Kim and Divya for feeding us all weekend!
Obviously, this was a HUGE team effort.





ALMA is one of the projects I am most proud of for helping organize in my Peace Corps service. Thank you to all of my friends and family who donated money to make this camp happen.

22 Junio 2012

Why do I feel like Lu does not work well with others?

Exhausted and impatient.

By the time I leave Peace Corps there are going to be huge teeth marks in my tongue.

I miss working with and for professionals

19 June 2012 take two

A question that I have been revisiting regularly for the past couple years is this:

What is it that flipped the switch in the parents of western cultures’ society? What is it that made an entire community of parents decide to sacrifice for their children? What was it that gave them the push to get their children out of workers’ clothes and into the classroom?

I keep coming back to WWII.

Something big. Upsetting. Makes it worth fighting when you lose your freedoms or security.

Now, being aware of this, I have begun to see a pattern.

When I read the book, The Help, the moment where the working class women decided to speak up in numbers was when a neighbor was murdered and a fellow maid was arrested.

When my ten-year-old student was raped, then the women started to think about their childrens’ safety and stimulation and begin to stand up for the after-school program.

Why do we have to wait for the terrible to happen for us to feel passionate? Why can’t we see what is right and good without having to experience horrendousness to be able to recognize it’s opposite?

Is change that scary? One would rather live in the wrong until something more frightening shows its face?

19 Junio 2012

The reality that I am leaving is sinking in for me as much as my host family and Peruvian friends.

It was the blanket.

Doña Juana and I were planning the weaving days, when we are going to do what, and we realized the slight race against the clock. It shocked us both.

Now, everyone is focusing on making every moment count.

I am spending less time on yoga and books and more time just sitting together. Tonight my host family was hanging out in my room eating their new favorite: sloppy joes, which I translated to ‘juanes cochinos’, big hit. I had no desire to get back to my book, and they just kind of hovered. I think I can count on one hand the number of times Don Juan has been in my room, tonight was one of the best.

My mother sent me a care package that was a s’more making kit (thank you, mom!). It was the first time I had eaten a graham cracker in 2years, and put together as a s’more… longer. I explained that ‘s’more’ means “quiero mas” and that is exactly how it hit. Making s’mores has this romanticism to it as is, but in this situation, where we are trying to pour the last of everything we know into each other, the excitement had its own satiation.

Right now the dog just came in the room to cuddle up in bed and I found myself saying, “No, ma’am, you finish chewing that dried goat leg on the floor. When you are done, you can come to bed.” To which I received a little wining temper tantrum.

When is that sentence ever going to come out of my mouth ever again in my life?

I attempted to make sharper cheese before I left for Lima. It involved what felt like an era of pressing, simmering, cooling, salting, and wrapping… after drying it turned out to be a better texture than the cheese we usually make, but actually more bland. I know, you cheese expert you, you are just thinking,
 ‘how can you attempt to make good quality cheese without a thermometer or refrigerator?! Silly girl!'
 I know, oh wise one. It was worth a shot… and perhaps two or three more. 

16 June 2012

this weekend were Close of Service med checks in Lima.
now that a bit of every liquid in my body has been extracted and processed I feel only mildly abused.

I did meet some incredible people.
Thank you Sarah (property of Libby) and Charlie (property of Jules) for being so flexible and pleasant even through the goopy peruvian food and carrying poop samples around in bags...


Charlie is the tallest man I have ever met, strong, kind, thoughtful, handsome, and one week out of the Marines. He finished his service in Afghanistan only to head to South America to visit his sister, and my good friend, Juliane before she finishes her Peace Corps service in Northern Peru.
What a family, I know.

Can you imagine a Military or a Peace Corps that works together? Instead of armed forces being brute strength and pressure, and instead of Peace Corps being this fluffy 'live the hard life get little development work done'... what if we put our differences aside and worked together?
Charlie expressed severe frustration with the situation in Afghanistan. Their corrupt government forces civilians to fight, we kill them when they attack us, the civilians hate us. We leave, their corrupt government continues to abuse their citizenry (especially women), and the whole world is angry at us for not stepping in to protect. He feels a strong pull to be there to help, but we are stuck in this conundrum of death. They try to build roads and bridges to send a message that Americans aren't bad people and there to kill, but our interests in controlling oil cannot be neglected.
We talked a lot about how the lack of literacy and general access to education for the population of the communities around where he was based affects their understanding of the war and why we are there.
We talked about how the military officials aren't trained in the local dialect, so there is a huge disconnect and inability to explain.
What if, when the military is sent out on a mission, it is paired with Peace Corps volunteers sent to educate and provide health access to civilians? What if Peace Corps became something more intense,  something dangerous and right in the heart of present politics and policies? Would that not carry so much more potential for real progress, change, and success stories?

I can say, I would join.

10 June 2012

I love Sundays.

Everyone was on the patio together, including Elvis’ father and brother who had come down from the alpaca ranch.

We did the week’s wash.

Jerkied and marinated meat Pablo brought down.

Milked and fed the cows.

Cut hair.

Bathed.

Played.

Now, I am looking at a cheese recipe to see if we can’t make our cheese a bit more sharp with the limited supplies we have.

I love this.

Also, Pablo is very interested in sending Elvis and Roni to Casa Chapi to get an education as well. I feel SO good about that. While he is a loving father, he and his wife are not a good influences with their drunkenness and domestic violence. I will feel MUCH more free to leave knowing these guys have a safe and stimulating home…

9 Junio 2012

There were quite a few wins this weekend.

The kids loved the astronomy trip and are begging to go back again next year.

Mrs. Quico’s husband thinks sending their kids to the Casa Chapi Orphanage to get an education is a good idea. They are going to view the space next week.

The women are thinking! They are coming up to me with ideas; On how to make the community more safe, how to create an environment that is more stimulating for their children, how to keep the library open and accessible, how to get the afterschool program running again. Just the fact that they are actually thinking, being creative, and coming to me with ideas has left me full of hope.

We are absorbing a couple of these women into the VALE committee and having a brainstorming session in one month.

My chest feels light.

7 June 2012 take two

Ironic. The morning that I am gently reprimanded by my host father for being un-lady like by yelling at a macho, lying, irresponsible councilman is the same day I am asked to speak to community parents about the child rape situation.

Who says I want to be lady-like? Who says these women and girls should be?

Why do I feel like I am fighting the suffragist movement on my own?

Miryum is a teacher in the elementary school. She is beautiful and patient and one of the kindest people I have ever met. Because of the rape incident this week, she asked me to come and speak at the monthly parents’ meeting at the primary school. 

“Can you tell the parents to be more aware of where their kids are, an not let them play in the streets? Maybe they will listen to you.”

No, I can’t.

 First of all, it is never the victim’s fault in rape cases, and the last thing I am going to do is hint at the fault belonging to the parents of the 10 year old walking home from school. Second, he was a neighbor, a friend, someone the family knew. He invited the kids into his house for a snack. Culturally, it would have been rude for the kids to say no to their neighbor offering them food. Especially when they are hungry, and people offer each other food here all the time.

I don’t have the answer. I don’t know what could have prevented something like this (except an after-school program….) other than education.

I agreed to speak, and decided to focus on awareness.

I informed the parents that something violent happened in the streets of madrigal to one of our young students and everyone involved in the situation was affected, including the teachers in the school, and that is why they asked me to come speak today. I asked them to think about what everyone can do to make Madrigal a more safe, stimulating environment for their kids. I asked them to think about what they can do, what the teachers can do, what the local nurse can do, and what the municipality can do.. Then, in July when we have Encuentros de Padres, we will not only discuss their ideas, but help put them into action.

Then, I quizzed them: So, when is Encuantros de padres? Hands go up “July”

What do I need you to do until then? Silence… then guesses

“watch our kids closer?”

 dammit, “no”

 “Be more conscientious and careful with our kids?”

 “yeah, kind of”

“I need you all to be aware of what is happening with your children for the next month, and think about what we all can do to make their lives better.”

Here is to hoping. 

7 Junio 2012

I had to send the Casa Chapi reps on house visits on their own today so I could travel to Chivay and find a new car for the field trip and I wanted to secure that Stefanie made it to the health post with her mother.

She did.

While the car was an hour late and broke down more times than I can count on my hand, it was a fantastic trip for the kids. We had about 40 total from the Primary and Secondary school. When the lights went off for the first time in the planetarium there was a unison “oooooooo”. 

prepping in the library

the elementary school group

a moment when the bus was moving

entering the planeterium

pretty sure that telescope is looking deep into robert's soul

learning about how greek constellations and andean constellations differ

the big guns

5 June 2012 a Peace Corps Day

I know this is a play-by-play entry, but that's the way its gonna roll my fine sirs and ladies... 

Today, there was this Venus thing happening, so I organized a trip to the planetarium in Chivay with the help of the astrological photographer David Something who runs the telescope there.

45 permission slips signed by parents and school directors.

3 Teachers/chaperones signed up and actually excited to participate.

I get a phone call from the driver of the combi I rented, "I am in Chivay at the mechanics. I will be an hour late, but I will be there."

Fortunately, I had scheduled 2 hours worth of wiggle room into the program, so we were good.

I spent the morning escorting Casa Chapi representatives to prospective families. Casa Chapi is a place for alpaca farmer's children to live so they can receive the education, food, and protection the high altitude ranch houses to not provide (kind of like how Elvis lives with me, kids typically live with an aunt or madrina. If the child does not have an aunt willing to care for them on a daily, they stay at the ranch). All of the children I was taking the representatives to are undernourished, dramatically behind in their education, and unhealthy. 

The mother that I felt was most important to see today is the mother of 8. Four of her children live with an Aunt in Madrigal and attend my after school program.  I do not believe that their aunt cares for them like a mother would. Mrs. Quico only came down from the ranch today to fulfill her spot in the rotation fixing lunch for the Primary School. We met in the kitchen while she was working; stoking the log and manure fire, chopping starch after starch, stirring the immense pot, all the while with a baby coughing on her back.  

While my friends answered her questions, I stepped back. I had de-briefed the mother on the program, de-briefed Casa Chapi on the mother's situation, brought them together and set up the quechua-spanish translator.  Now, I wait while my friends try to convince her to trust them with the lives of her kids.

Being useless at the moment, when the baby started to cry I went to the mother's back.  As my fingers delicately braised the chubby little arm she calmed. Hear head heavy with the exhaustion of sickness and not enough food, all I could think was, "give her to me".  I am in no way ready for a child, and this mother is nothing but loving, and yet...

The mother explained to the Casa Chapi reps that she had no authority to make this decision, and needed to go back to the ranch and talk to her husband about it. This leaves my friends and I with little hope. As Mrs. Quico has no cell phone it will be very hard for Casa Chapi to find her again, especially once I am gone and they have no connection to the local word on the street about when she is passing through town.  We leave a little defeated to go to the next two families who are also skeptical and equally impoverished.

I feel defeated.

Quechua Benefit had donated children's clothes and blankets to Madrigal through the program "Warming Wawas" a program where they pay locals to knit clothes then get the clothes to recently born babies, most in need. I rushed to the stash, pulled a few items for Mrs. Quico, filled out the paperwork for the donation, ran to the health post, got an extremely loving nurse who speaks Quechua to come with me with baby tylenol and anti-biotics, and we headed back to the school. Mrs. Quico was just cleaning up when we arrived. She glowed at the sight of the blankets I brought, and fingered the little knit hats with pleasure.  "One for each " she said in Quechua with a smile. I had brought matching hats of different sizes for each of her littlest children. Veronica, the daughter whom I was hoping to place in Casa Chapi wraps her arms around my legs, "Srta. Luuuuz!" then goes to her mother's back to play with the baby while mom is distracted with the nurse. They look so much alike. The baby, the child, the mother. It is all in the eyes. 

Back at my hut I boiled up some quinoa and tomatoes for Elvis and I to take in a tupper on the field trip. He is too academically young to go as part of my student program, but as my "sobrino" he is part of the venture. Everyone knows my family is his guardian and wouldn't question me bringing him. I also had Milady on my hip because there was no one else to watch her that night and the mother and sister requested I take her. 

The kids collected punctually; I occupied them with trivia on the planets and solar system while we waited for the delayed car.

Then, Officer Noa comes around the corner, faster than I have ever seen him walk. He plants the cultural kiss on my cheek, skips the formal introductions and says,

 “They said you are going to Chivay.”

“Yes, why, you need a ride?” I smile.

“Yes, well… there has been a small emergency… we need to take some people to Chivay.”

Noa and the other officers have helped me in the past. They helped me with the Elvis situation, taking it up with the neighbors for me when I couldn’t sleep due to their drunkenness, even humanly killing and burying the sickly cat that Elvis brought home for me to save one day. I owe and trust these officers, especially Noa.

Assuming they have arrested someone I want to be clear, “The car is for my students, but there is room. We leave in 5 minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is the roof, we have to get at least this one Señor to Chivay.” Says Noa.

 “Whatever I can do to help.” I say, but I am nervous.

The car arrives. The kids pick their travel buddies. We load the bus. Meche, my fellow chaperone, counts. All heads are seated. She keeps the kids occupied while I run to tell the officers it is time.  They tell me they need three more minutes. That’s fine.

I tend to not butt into other people’s business in town. Unfortunately, often, to them, it makes it look like I don’t care, but where I come from, being nosy is not to be respected.  Also, I often don’t want to know. I avidly, don’t want to know their drama. It generally is petty or extremely upsetting. But today, it wasn’t in my cards to play the ignorant gringa.

5 minutes go by. Then10.

Meche comes to the station to find out what is going on. I am chatting with one of my students and her mother about nothing. I am assuming that the man that won’t get on the bus is the man that caused some sort of domestic disturbance I my student’s house.  The mother’s face is red. I assumed it was a scuttle between her and her husband. The police officer is telling my student that she is a good girl, that she did everything right, that she is ok now. I figured my dear Stefanie got help when their parents were fighting. I am playing with her and her little brother, trying to distract them from the reality I created in  my head.

Meche isn’t afraid to be nosey. She walks in the door and the first thing out of her mouth to our student’s mother is, “What happened?”

I can’t understand a word that comes out of the mother’s mouth as she bursts into tears. Meche doesn’t either. She scuttles in closer to the mother. I actively distract the kids trying to pull their attention away from mom being upset. At this moment the officers come out dragging a man whose head and feet are hanging between them.

‘Really, Noa?’ I think ‘You want to put this man on my bus with my kids?’

Meche runs back to the car, moves the students far from a space she designates for the officers and their guy. The kids and mother trail me, and I get a vomit bag from the corner store for this stranger.  Everyone is seated. Meche’s face is white.

The car won’t start.

Meche pulls me off the combi for a second.

I heard some words around the word “violación”

I don’t get it. Meche is speaking jumbled in incomplete sentences.

“wait, what? Slow down.”

“That man raped Stefanie.”

It doesn’t register. I don’t understand the simple words spoken to me.

He vomits. Not in the bag.

He pees himself. He crawls onto the floor. The officers pick him back up.

The car won’t start.

It still hasn’t registered to me what happened. All I know is I despise this man.

Meche and I realize this car isn’t going anywhere, so the officers go to the health post with the guy as I run to search for the one man who owns a combi in Madrigal.  45 minutes later I find his car, parked, empty and the owner nowhere in site. I call Meche and tell her to send the kids home.  We will try again tomorrow.

Defeated.

I make an announcement to the community that the trip was cancelled and head straight to the health post. The nurse is alone with the drunk. “Have Stefanie and her mother left?”

“They just went back to the house”

“How is he?”

“Very bad, alcohol poisoning. We need to get him to the hospital in Chivay.”

Apparently the guy continues to stop breathing. She has him on oxygen and an IV.  There is no transport from my town at this hour.

Stefanie has gone home. There is no one attending to her needs at this moment.

The Sun has set by the time I have found out where Stephanie lives.

One neighbor, unaware of why I am looking for Stefanie says,  “It is too bad you guys had to cancel the kids’ astronomy trip. But, I say everything happens for a reason. What if something worse had happened on the way?”

I nod, start to feel better for a second, not going is better than an accident. Then I remember that I am looking for the house of my 10-year-old student who was raped today. Everything happens for a reason?

From pacing around town, it finally registers. What happened.

I don’t know how to feel.

“El ha violado Stefanie.

El ha violado Stefanie.

El ha violado mi Stefanie. Quien viene a la biblioteca todos los dias. Quien no ha venido hoy porque lo cerre por el viaje…

‘That guy raped Stefanie.

That guy RAPED Stefanie.

That guy raped MY Stefanie. Who comes to the library every day. Who didn’t come today because I closed the library for the field trip…’

I knock on her family’s door.

I explain that I am no substitute for a psychologist, but I am here, now, to talk. I explain the importance of not pretending this didn’t happen. I talk to the mother, the father, even the son for a while but the mother is nervous about bringing things up with Stefanie.

“She is calm, playing now.” She says.

I explain how Stefanie doesn’t understand what happened, and peer pressure the mother into taking Stefanie to Chivay tomorrow for counseling.  The mother starts to cry.

“Can I send her to your house later?”

“Of course, any time,  but I would love to talk to you too. I can help you with this.”

“We will come by later.”

They didn’t.

Third defeat in one day.

On my way back to the house I try to swing by the Elementary school to plan with Meche and Hirma how to make the trip happen for tomorrow.  Meche and I run into each other on the street outside the health post just as they are loading the guy, wrapped in blankets into the bed of a milk truck.

Meche is cursing, “Let the son-of-a-bitch die. I hope he dies. She is 10 years old….”

I slap her on the arm.

“Meche! He is one of your students in 50 years if things don’t change.”

She looks at me accusatorily. “I am affected by these things.  My friend had to calm me down on the phone when I heard.”

I look at her. Dry.

Funny, when I talked to Hirma later that night she reacted like myself. Dry. Unable, or unwilling to absorb the information provided. It seems that the people who have seen the worst, react in this way. Having seen it so many times, one can’t be affected or they would go crazy. One can only work every day to stop these things from happening, but that doesn’t prevent the headlines from coming our way in a very realistic manner… all the time.

How do I help them? Have I been sent out on an impossible mission?

31 Mayo 2012

My host father was drunk in the fields today, so milking, making cheese and wuacta-ing were particularly annoying and I had to stay later than expected.

I run back to the house, fix lunch for everyone, and by the time I am finishing cleaning up there are little ones at my door, “Srta. Luz, hay VALE?”

“Of course I will open the library, let me go get the key and we will go right now!”

“Yaaaaaay!”

Then Belen says something like, “But you don’t need a key, you just hit it really hard,” she motions with the shoulder, “and ploock!”

I find this kind of strange. I mean, the wall the municipality constructed to protect the books made me nervous at first, but we have never had a break in. Today, I was no more worried than any other.

Here I am, talking to a short mob of about 12 kids about lowering their voices and washing their hands while I unlock the door, I push it open, and half the wall collapses. Into the library, thank god, and not onto my kids.

Immediately I scan the books and appliances with my eyes. Everything is there.

Fury. My heart goes wild. What do I do? This is so dangerous.

“Belen, who did this?”

Silence

“It is ok, sweetheart, I just need to know who did this. Can you tell me?”

Then 11 other voices chime in, “The hostel manager.”

They tell me about how they were playing outside last night after I left, and he told them to leave, came in the hostel, and when he left the wall was bad.

Honestly, this sounds about right, a 13-year-old brain temper tantrum because I didn’t kiss his feet last night. He acted out of anger, then when the wall actually started to collapse he got scared and bulted.

I tell the kids to wash their hands outside while I get my head together. I call Hirma and Meche. No answer.

Do I close the library for the day? Do I report the vandalism to the local police? Do I insist we move the library somewhere more secure? Will the municipality ever fix this? How do I keep the books safe until they do? Why is this such a constant fight?

I struggle to keep the kids outside while I lift the wall and prop the door up with some of the broken wood. I let them in and build an imaginary wall with a bench and tell the kids they cannot enter it. I put one of my 10-year-olds in charge and duck out to Hirma’s quick once the kids are engrossed in their art projects. No answer. Sh**.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, in the middle of the street, I could have had a breakdown. I could have collapsed under the weight of the last straw being piled on my back. Honestly, I thought I would have.

 After pacing back to the library, back to Hirmas, back to the library about 5 times, it just left me. I breathed in some calm that had left me about a year ago, and went to my house and got the hammer and nails.

While the kids’ numbers tripled in the library, I hammered.

“Srta. Luz, can we help?”

“You sure can, I need all your strength to hold this in place while I hammer.”

Huge smiles, they jumped on it. They even wanted to do more once we were done. They paced the wall, looking for ways to make it stronger.

“How about we put a nail here so that part doesn’t bend.”

“Here is a hammer and a nail, my fine sir, have at it.” which was followed by a lesson in my novice knowledge of carpentry.

All I could think was, ‘…carrying the knots. You are learning to carry the knots.’

Today, in the library, outside of the usual book reading and artistic masterpieces there were two lovely marionettes built, and a diagram of the denominations of biology drawn. One little one skipped away with glee pulling the threads of her ballerina and watching the appendages twitch, and a shy adolescent learned how to look up a question, summarize, and create a diagram out of a paragraph.

I did my best to keep the kids out of the halls, but I did not have them clean the bathroom today, as planned. I placed the soap I brought to clean the bathroom next to the hammer and nails. They can start that next week, they rebuilt their wall today.

30 Mayo 2012

There is a Peruvian children’s tale.

A man and his son decide to go to town to sell their donkey.

They clean the donkey up so he is attractive for sale.

To not get the donkey dirty or tired the two are walking by the donkey’s side into town and they pass a farmer, he laughs at them for walking when they have a perfectly capable donkey to ride.

So, the man tells his son to hop on.

A few kilometers later they pass an elderly woman pasturing her sheep.

She scolds the boy for riding the donkey and making his older father walk.

So, the son hops off, and invites the father to ride.

The father rides for a while with the son walking along side.

They pass a young man irrigating his field. He scolds the father for having his boy walk, the boy will be tired and unable to work the fields tomorrow for walking so far today.

So the father invites the son onto the donkey with him.

It is too much weight for the donkey…

Sometimes the story ends with the donkey falling off a bridge due to the weight and being carried away by the river.

Sometimes, the donkey falls from the weight and gets too dirty to sell once they reach town.

The library and after school program space is in the back of the municipal hostel. When we first moved in there was never anyone in the hostel. So, we weren’t bothering anyone when we played games, and the mayor allowed us to use the hostel bathrooms, that was part of the charm of the space he gave us. Now, there are more guests in the hostel (teachers and project engineers rent a room for months at a time). And, the bathroom is pretty much never attended. It always smells like urine, has a disgusting overflowing trash bin, and is caked with dirt. However, it is better than what the kids have at home, and I always have toilet paper for them to use. Sometimes, I think some of the kids only come to the library to use the bathroom on a daily, which is fine with me.

Admittedly, they like to play in the halls. We have a rule that they can’t go upstairs to the bathroom without permission, and there is no playing in the halls, ever. However, with 30-40 kids in the library every day I can’t exactly be monitoring the halls outside the library. Usually, I can hear them, and I stand at the library door and give a polite holler, “There better not be any VALE kids playing upstairs ‘cause that is not allowed.” And they slink back down timidly.

Today, the kid who “manages” the hostel came in to the library, “You have to control the kids better, I had to clean up feces from the bathroom floor yesterday.”

“Wow, I am sorry, how do you know it was a VALE kid? It is a public space?”

“Because they are the only ones who go up there.” Not true.

“Honestly, I am dong everything I can. I put a sign up, I tell the kids to stay down here, what else can I do? I can’t leave all these kids in here by themselves.”

I was honestly asking for a recommendation. What else can I do?

Can you imagine, a parent sends their kid to the library. The kid vandalizes the library bathroom, and the neighbors say it is the librarian’s fault? Weird right?

He took my asking as a me saying, ‘no’, and stormed out.

It was then I came up with the idea that the kids clean the bathroom everyday like they clean the library, but he was long gone before that popped into my head to confirm with him.

So, this guy, wants me to be more strict with the kids.

One girl was being particularly rambunctious today. When the kids aren’t doing art, or reading nicely I send them home. I have probably had to send less than 5 kids home the entire year the library has been open. The library is a privilege, I can’t help kids learn if it is a mad playhouse.

Well, little Fatima came back.

I sent her home.

She came back.

I sent her home.

She came back.

I sent her home.

It was ridiculous. Meanwhile, each time she came back she is being loud and obnoxious. I try every method I know from sweet but firm to strict with deep voice. Finally, she comes back with her mother. You have got to be kidding me.

“You see, I have to go to the parent meeting,” the mother says, “and her sister is here doing her homework, and we can’t leave her home alone or she will cry.”

My mind:

1)    I am not a babysitter.

2)    What would you do if the library wasn’t here? I haven’t seen you at any of the sustainability meetings.

3)    How will she learn if she gets to stay here? She is safe in the house. Perhaps she needs to be home alone and cry. Or maybe you need to set it up for someone to watch her.

My words:

“What would you like me to do? I can’t have her here running around yelling and playing with dogs. People are trying to do homework.”

Her mother, “I will talk to her, but I need her to stay here.”

I can see the girl is a little startled with the situation, “Fatima, if you promise to sit quietly you can stay, but you have to be quiet or you will have to leave no matter your mom being home or not.”

She nods and repeats to me what she is going to do.

This woman, wants me to be more lenient with the kids.

PCVs literally exist to provide the community with what they want/need and cannot provide for themselves. How can one do that when the community doesn’t agree within themselves? Where does that leave the PCV?

A drowning donkey?

    

29 Mayo 2012

Blanket weaving has been put on hold because it is barley harvest.

Last year, my host father was fulfilling the job of the father and eldest son; He was bringing in the bushels that were cut this weekend, and whacking the heads off with a large, heavy eucalyptus trunk.

Then my host mother and I were breaking the heads apart with smaller, but thick branches of eucalyptus, and brushing the shells away with the perfect tool, a thorn bush branch, before winnowing.

This year, it was just the tree of us again, so my host mom asked a neighbor to come and help in exchange for a bushel of barley. I was proud to become “la hija macha” the daughter doing the eldest son’s work. Exhausting.

My host father carried over a bushel that weighed more than he does. Threw it in front of me. I kneel on it to press it more flat to the ground. Stand. Lift the trunk, throw it down to slap off the barley heads –wuacta, is the verb in quechua-. Rotate the bushel and hit –wuacta- repeatedly until all the heads are broken off. Carry the bushel to the women to do the detail work and catch what I miss and sort. I then whack the heads apart that survived, and receive my next bushel.

*please note the relationship that the sound of a verb has with the verb itself in quechua. what we would call onoponopeia, they just call a verb. whack-wuacta*

Because my throat is still a bit sore, and my cough haggard, my host mother insisted I wear a scarf all day and brought me boiled water with herbs to drink instead of chicha. “demasiado calor” my host father said whipping his sweaty brow, I pointed to my sweaty scarf and rolled my eyes. “like I said, so cold out today!” he joked, and we all laughed. While it gets down to below freezing at night, because of the altitude, it is toasty in the middle of the day, mid 70sF.

While my energy is low because my body is still fighting, my spirits are high. I have let go of the fight, passed it into able hands, and am living limpid.

My evenings at the library are more rewarding than ever because I can observe. The kids just come. The little ones know where their favorite art supply resides. The big ones know how to look up their homework questions in the books now.  I exist to smile, open the door and fix the stapler.