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?
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