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?