Reflections

In mid September I accepted the position as a third year volunteer and this seemed to coincide perfectly with the start of the construction phase my cocinas project, the realizing that I was in charge of a Field Based Training for new volunteers that would take place in my site, my teen peer educators project moving into its next phase, and the end of service. Of course it always works that way. In the end everything seems to happen.

It suddenly felt like the world was crushing me with responsibility. All the days I had spent time throwing rocks at other rocks both literally and metaphorically seemed to be coming to fruition into real things. I didn’t know if I was capable of handling it all and actually being successful. I suddenly felt like I had a million things in my hands, just waiting to tumble and fall apart…

My moms seemed suddenly disinterested in the cocinas or getting their materials together. I felt a rush of negativity and self-doubt. Nearly every other voulenteer around me was done with their projects, packing up to go home, and I was just buying chimneys?!?! How slowly time moves in Huancavelica.

Could I suddenly finish everything I had set out to do? Did I get in over my head? Would I epically fail at everything? And how the fuck did everything seem to be happening at once? Did my community even care about the project or did I just thrust it upon them? Ain’t that some luck.

I had seen changes in my mothers here, in the community organization of my annex, in the self-awareness of my teens. But somehow when I was entrusted with doing things like constructing cocinas for them, guiding the teens through their teaching sessions with their peers, I felt like I had accomplished absolutely nothing, what I had thought I had done was all in my head. I was simply hallucinating and the end would prove how much the beginning and middle were fallacies. I can’t quite put a pin on what it was but for some reason I just felt like I was going to crumble. Or at the very least I didn’t do enough. The fact the project was coming to a close so late in my service was evidence of my failure. The fact several of my moms lost interest in the actual construction of the cocinas was evidence of its unsustainability.

I began to feel like I had taken too much personal control over he project. I had chosen the cocina style. I had written the grant. How on earth was what I was doing actually sustainable? How was it not just another example of an American barreling in and telling a community what was best for them? I began to become overwhelmed with guilt, stress, and spiraling down a “would have, should have, could have drain.” Which is never a drain you want to be going down in Peace Corps. You could literally spend your entire service in that drain. I began to doubt how someone who did a project so riddled with errors was qualified to be a third year leading other voulenteers.

At this moment I called my friend and former Peace Corps Volunteer Coordinator and for lack of better words a mentor. During an almost hour conversation she told me that it was not uncommon for volunteers to get really emotional at the construction point of a project. It is the culmination and suddenly when everything should be coming together but sometimes life doesn’t work as perfectly as you think it should. And in Peace Corps it never works out as perfectly as you think it should.

It can be hard when some mothers who had expressed interest in a cocina suddenly don’t want one. Others who had no interest in your work are begging at your door for a cocina…If only they had given any importance while you were working. It becomes emotional and overly stressful but then there is a moment when you have to just realize the mothers you worked with have changed. Combined at a point in your service when you begin to look around and think of all of the never finished projects, grand ideas you had that never came to fruition and knowing that the restraints of time will be your enemy it becomes a bit much.

Andrea pleasantly reminded me that with or without a cocina the mothers who genuinely worked with you would always have the knowledge and basis for behavior change. It does not necessarily have to be a package deal with a cocina. And in the end of the day I learned a valuable lesson about community development and sustainability.

Community development and sustainability are two of the hardest concepts to work with. After two years I still cant really answer the question of what sustainable development is. I can answer the question of what it isn’t. Oh so so so so much of my service has been learning what it isn’t. The project I am currently finishing up has taught me about 50% of those lessons.

There are many elements of my project that are things I shouldn’t have done to genuinely follow the model of the sustainable development. I think that that is part of what caused me so much stress at its final stages. I felt like I had failed at integrating the community enough in the design of the project and then in the construction stage I just felt like I was doing something with no real purpose. It felt like I was doing something that would just be forgotten the moment I walked away.

But then I was reminded even though there were admittedly parts of my project that didn’t follow the sustainable development model, or didn’t include enough community involvement during the design phase of the project there are parts of it that will be sustainable. Often these are the things you can’t tangibly grasp. The things that exist but are not as easily to put in a few sentences, the things that will stay long beyond my service. The gradual tilting of the projection of a rocket I will never see launch.

A teacher once told me that you should never write in pencil because over time it will erase and your wont be able to see it anymore, you should always write in pen. I have come to the realization that that Peace Corps is a lot like this statement. Strangely the things that make us as Peace Corps Volunteers feel like we are accomplishing something, like the structure of a cocina, or a mural, are the things written in pencil. The things that will be unreadable in 5, 10, 20 years.

The things we cannot easily wrap our finger around, the behavior change, a rise in self esteem, a change in outlook, a friend, a new door opened that we never even knew existed, a simple conversation or exchange, these are the things that are written in pen.

In all likelihood the cocinas that I have built, as much good as they are at the moment, will not be there in 10 years, they will be a faded memory, maybe changed, maybe destroyed, maybe gradually maintained to still work. Although I can see them today, in the scale of history they are written in pencil. Doomed to the inevitable fate of degradation of most structures or murals in Peru. They will succumb to the element of nature, human folly and time. Evolution will inevitably erase them from my community’s landscape.

Although the physical vibrant changes are the things that make a volunteer feel like they have actually been there. The things that make we grasp to feel like we actually served a purpose our physical changes, unless they are a massive scale municipal wind turbine, will disappear from the landscapes of our towns.

But it is the things such as behavior change, opportunity, hope, a new idea; these are the things that will not fade with time. They will change, morph, maybe fade into the background, but at the end of the day they will be there. You can never unmet someone, you can never un-live an experience, you can never un-eat a meal or you can never un-have a conversation. You may forget, or the memory may get blurry at with the sands of time but it still happened.

I think this is part of what is so hard about Peace Corps. So much of what we do is intangible. So much is hard to explain to someone who didn’t live it. And inevitably we feel like we could have done more. Or wonder will things actually live on once we leave. We can all figure out ways to describe what we have done, but in the end words are not enough. I will never be able to fully explain what I did or the experience I have had. And since I have picked up a really bad Spanglish habit I really wont be able to do it only I one language.

Although I have to come to the acceptance that this part of my service is ending and a new chapter is beginning I can only hope that some part of my time here is written in pen for at least one person. Even if its not necessarily what I think it is.

Welcome to the Jungle

This Fourth of July I went to the jungle for vacation and I have to say that it was probably one of the best vacations I will ever take in my life. I went with three other girls from my region for a relaxing vacation filled with hot jungle air and delicious jungle foods.

To start off we flew into the city of Tarapoto. Well actually if I’m being honest to start off I thought I booked the flights in the wrong direction and I would be taking the jungle adventure on my own. We flew into Tarapoto and out of Iquitos but my flight time was different than the rest of my friends for the flight from Iquitos to Lima and I couldn’t remember for the life of me if we were doing TarapotoIquitos or the other way around. There was a solid 36 hours where I thought I had booked the flights in the opposite direction of my friends and would be spending my vacation solo. Thankfully I did not; I only booked the flight home waaaayyyy earlier in the morning (8am versus 9pm) than my friends. With that debacle sorted out I headed off to the merry land of the Peruvian Jungle.

When we got off the plane and walked down the steps onto the tarmac in Tarapoto we were greeted with mountains lush with forest and life, a sky tinged grey with clouds, a brilliantly hot sun and thick wet air. Lucky for me I was in leather boots and jeans which I promptly took off to not die of heat exhaustion. After collecting our bags from baggage claim we headed outside looking for a taxi to head to the hostel. Funny thing about Tarapoto is that there aren’t really taxis. Instead there are open air mototaxis. To give you a description it looks like someone covered a three wheel motorcycle with a plastic roof, put a seat for two in the back and luggage rack behind the seats next to the wheels.

At this point in our service all of us have a pretty healthy fear of getting robbed and what to do and not do. The idea of putting your luggage on the back of a luggage rack only tied on by string seemed like the ultimate no. that was just asking to get robbed. But after about 10 minutes of searching for a taxi, realizing mototaxis were our only option and we should just hope for the best. Luckily we made it to the hostel all items intact.

. Our first day there was pretty much filled with lounging around, exploring the city a bit and eating delicious foods. The jungle is unlike the rest of Peru. The markets and streets are more chaotic, the air is thicker and the rain more unpredictable. And the food is fucking delicious. The first night we had grilled plantains stuffed with peanut butter or bacon. Whoever invented that is a downright genius.

. The second day we woke up prepared to go on a hike to a remote waterfall, the jungle had other plans. The entire morning it heavily rained. And the idea of hiking in pouring down rain was appealing to roughly none of us. Instead we decided to go to the market to buy hammocks for the boat ride to Iquitos. When the rain finally let up we decided to make an adventure out to a waterfalls, but since it was already 1pm it was far too late to go on an 8 hour hike and expect to come out alive so we chose to go to the closer waterfall that is only a 30 minute drive outside of town.

On the trip out to the waterfall we passed through mountains dense with massive trees and coated with thick green vegetation. The waterfall was off in the distance majestically cascading down an impressive landscape. When we finally arrived to the entrance at the base of the waterfall we realized that coming on a rainy day was the ideal time to come. A place normally full of tourists was nearly deserted. The only other people we ran into on our waterfall adventure were a family of tourists coming down from the waterfall soaking wet.

. When we finally reached the base of the waterfall it became glaringly apparent why the family that was coming down was soaking wet. The waterfall was at least 30 km tall and had a splash zone of about 20 feet in either direction. It was falling with bone crushing speed and power. This was obviously the moment to get as close to the waterfall as possible while documenting everything with a waterproof camera.

. After getting thoroughly soaked by the waterfall we decided that it was time to meander back towards town and indulging in a decadent dinner of fish cooked in a banana leave and a sauce I would not be opposed to bathing in. In case it is not already incredibly obvious I fucking loved the food in the jungle.

. The next day we had to head to a port city about 2 hours away from Tarapoto called Urimaguas to get a boat to Iquitos. Iquitos is the only city in Peru that you can only access by boat or plane because it is surrounded on all sides by the Amazon. The boat was a cargo ship that you can buy space to hang your hammock to sleep or a cabin with a metal bare bones bunk bed to travel down the Amazon and arrive to Iquitos by boat. We got a space for the hammocks and a cabin for our stuff and just in case someone couldn’t sleep hammock style. And yes there are showers and food served on the boat. Granted you are straight bathing in river water but dirty water is better than no water.

. The boat trip is hypothetically a 3 day trip. I say hypothetically because the actual travel takes 3 days but there is the pretty high potential hat you will spend at least one day sleeping in the boat on the dock. Of course when we arrived they said we were leaving at 6pm sharp that night. That was just a bold faced lie. We did leave the dock at 6pm but not to head to Iquitos, to head to another part of the dock where they were building a new ship. We spent a solid two hours trying to pull one giant flatbed cargo boat propped up on logs off of land with another giant flatbed cargo boat in the water attached by one side with a thick metal string. As you can imagine this plan did not turn out as planned. After about two hours of strain on the metal rope it snapped in half like a twig with a loud snap and flying sparks. The wonders of construction projects in the developing world.

. The next day roughly every 2 hours we were going to leave in 2 hours from that moment. I have become accustomed to “hora Peruwana” but even the best of us begins to get frustrated when hora Peruwana turns into hora you have been on a docked boat for 24 hours with no end in sight. Thankfully at 6pm we left and after another hour of pulling, successfully this time, the boat off land into water we headed out towards Iquitos. And it was defiantly worth the wait.

The boat has an eclectic mix of people. The first floor of travelers is mostly Peruvian locals traveling for whatever reason. The second floor was mostly filled with backpackers, foreign travelers and a handful of Peruvians. On our boat there was a large group of young Haitians making their way to Brazil in search of a job. Every evening a young woman with a crystal clear voice would sing Creole hymns full of hope and sorrow. There were also backpackers from all over the world, mostly European and South American, traveling anywhere from 2 weeks to 2 years. There was also a Peruvian hair dresser who used to work in one of the nicest Peruvian salons but was moving to live with his brother in Iquitos, but we will get to him later.

The first day I suffered from bouts of narcolepsy. It’s hard to maintain consciousness when you are sitting in a hammock all day. Thankfully I was able to take in the view the next two days and not fall asleep in the middle of sentences. The first two days we were traveling on a tributary of the Amazon. The water was a grayish color and about footballs field length wide. On either side there was grass up to 5 feet tall, twisted trees lining the shore line and the occasional small village dotting the landscape. Since it was dry season the river was low and there was a clear white marking on all the vegetation about 3-5 feet above the water marking the peaks of the river during rainy season.

. The first day and a half of travel the houses were few and far between. Every so often you would pass a single house made of banana would and propped up on stilts. Normally not too long (under an hour) after spotting the first house there would be a small cluster of 5-10 houses, each made of banana wood and only one or two rooms. Sometimes the houses only had one or two walls, since it’s unnecessary to enclose yourself against the cold. These small villages often included a small school house and a cleared off area with something resembling goal posts that served as a futbol field. These villages were small and isolated. Often there were paths leading from the river into dense dark, tall, thick jungle. I always wondered where the paths lead and how on earth people didn’t just get lost and eaten by snakes when they took these dark and mysterious paths.

. There are parts of the Peruvian jungle where there are still un-contacted tribes. People living in the heart of the jungle the same way they have for thousands of years with no idea what else is out there. Obviously the villages that were right on the shore line have been contacted but I got a sense that their contact was limited. There were rarely ever power lines in the villages, no cell phone towers and a sense that although they had been contact they still lived a very traditional jungle life. When we would pass thick uninterrupted jungle or see a path leading deep into the jungle I always wondered where the un-contacted tribes are. What must it be like to live in a community and have the people you have known your whole life and nature be all that you know.

These are people who live I harmony in nature and have no concept of the information age which we live in. They are free to live regardless of the rest of the world. Their survival is dependent on a deep understanding of nature and skills honed over thousands of years. Something most other members of humanity have forgotten and replaced with dependency on technology and machinery. Even those who still use the tools of the past or understand nature in a way most Americans never will are getting pushed aggressively into the modern age.

It was hard on the boat not to get overwhelmed by the vastness, majesty and spirit of the jungle. This is going to sound incredibly corny but I’ll say it anyways. The jungle is a very spiritual place. While on the boat you could feel the spirit of the jungle all around you. It was teeming with life in so many ways and yet so fragile. I think it is the ultimate representation of the power of nature, its fragility and our dependence on it. I’m the first to admit that I got really reflective about my life while sitting on the roof of the boat staring out at the sunset over the water and watching us gracefully move through space. It was so happy and peaceful, something unlike anything else I have experienced in my life.

As we got closer to Iquitos we began to see larger villages and stop to drop off the cargo. These villages were by no means large; they were just larger than microscopic. In these small villages of 20-40 houses we would drop off everything from eggs to beer to laundry detergent. It was obvious that the way that these villages got basic necessities and food stuffs was from the cargo ships. Every time we would dock to deliver something at least 10 women 15 children would rush on to the boat to sell food and beverages to the people on board. In the process of selling their goods at least 1 woman would get stranded on the boat, caught up in a sale the moment the bell rang and the boat left the port. To return home either a small wooden boat that looked like a canoe with a motor attached would come speeding after us from her village to get her or the small attached to the cargo ship would escort the stranded women home. Obviously these women could move from moving boat to moving boast as if they were walking on pavement. I imagined myself trying to do the same thing and just face planting into the water.

The closer we got to Iquitos the larger the villages got and the more chaotic each stop became. People would be rushing on and off bustling in either direction, passing on precariously placed wooden planks with a grace I could never even dream of.

Some time half way through the second day of travel we started traveling on the Amazon. Let me tell you it is a fucking huge river. That may seem like the world’s most obvious statement considering it is visible from space but it is a statement worth saying. It is about 3 football fields wide and there are huge tributaries or forks in the river that completely distort any sense of direction. Suddenly shorelines where you could once see clear detail seemed far off. The water was brown instead of gray and it was hard to orient yourself as to which way the current was going. We seemed to be engulfed by river and every so often the snout and fin of a pink dolphin would pop up. And yes in case you were wondering they are in fact pink.

Our original plan was to get off in a port city called Nauta and take a car into Iquitos. Now I know I said Iquitos was only accessible by boat, but from within the department you can reach it by car. Getting off in Nauta would have turned 8 hours of boat travel into an hour and a half of car travel. Violent protests about a newly passes accountably law prevented us, so we spent another day on the boat.

Naturally it was at this point that my friend sweet talked her way into a free haircut on the boat from the award-winning hairdresser. He completed her hair with a cute cut and then proceeded to do my other friends hair. It was at this point I decided it would be an awesome idea to also get my hair cut on the boat. Because how could getting a free hair cut while floating down the Amazon be a bad idea?

Before starting the hair cut I was very animate about how I wanted to maintain the length of my hair. Past horrible haircuts had scared me and I did not want a repeat. I will say that it was not the worst hair cut I have ever received but it was the most shocking. As he flipped my hair upside down and twisted it I wondered where he was going with it. He then promptly proceeded to lop off three inches of admittedly mostly dead and uneven hair. But even still I was not prepared for such a thing. I made what can only be described as the world’s largest gasp and stood up in horror. Nearly the entire boat heard my shock. After about 2 minutes of freaking out I realized that I had dug my grave and now the only thing to let him do was continue with the hair cut. In retrospect not my most well thought out plan but now I can say I got a haircut while floating down the Amazon so at least there’s that.

When we finally made it into Iquitos it was the afternoon of the final day of programmed protests. Even though there was no protesting still going there were still signs of the previous days protests littered on the streets. Literally.

When we got off the boat we had to hunt for a mototaxi to take us into the city center because none of them wanted to due to roads being closed from the protest. When we finally came about 2 mototaxis willing to take us I understood what they were talking about. Right at the entrance to the street from the port there was a huge pile of burning trash. The roads leading out were blocked with a hodgepodge of people playing futbol in the street, trash, small bon fires of god knows what and turned over mototaxis. We had to weave our way in and out of obstacles to find a clear path. All of the stores along the road and in the plaza had their doors half shut, shut or with a person standing guard. There were about 20 riot police standing and chatting in the plaza de armas. All around there was a creepy aura that something was about to happen. Fortunately for us it had already happened and we were just on the tail end.

Iquitos is a chaotic, hot, clustered, vibrant and fascinating city. You could spend an entire week there and not do everything there is to do. The markets are filled with monkey skulls and real tiger skin belts, countless isles every kind of fruit, nut and aji imaginable, and exotic foods. I indulged in eating grilled slugs, piranha, crocodile and a juice made of agroboina, honey, dark sweet beer and other random things I can no longer remember.

Since it is surrounded by water most of the travel involves taking a boat combi. Which is amazing. These boasts are small canoe looking boats, with a wooden roof over the majority of the boat and can fit up to let’s say 15 people. Naturally everyone from the selva can get in and out of these small boats as if they are casually walking off a subway platform. I on the other hand look like an elephant trying to cross a balance beam. Not so smooth.

Most of our adventures in Iquitos involved seeing animals in one way or another. The two notable trips were one trip to a very depressing zoo that was also accompanied by a swimming hole formed by the Amazon and jungle animals that looked like a giant guinea pig (roughly the size of a small dog). The entire time I saw them I just kept thinking of the South Park episode about the Peruvian Pan Flute. The other was a trip to a significantly less depressing animal rescue that saved animals that were abused, abandoned or on the black market. Since I have seemed to talk forever I will give you only one highlight from each place.

In the animal rescue I saw a fight go down between a cockatoo and a monkey. Please note the cockatoo won. Birds are scary as shit. The monkey accepted his defeat stole as many lichi fruits as he could hold and scampered off. In the zoo with severely inadequately sized cages a group of Peruvian teens were poking their fingers through a monkey cage and taking photos as close to the monkey as possible. As, what I can only think was a form of retaliation for pissing him off, the monkey quickly stole one of the girls scrunchies and no matter how much she begged he would not return it. I think it´s a fruitless effort to beg a pissed off monkey for your things back.

Well here is will I come to a stopping point. If you made it this far I applaud you.

Small Successes

Throughout Peace Corps service nearly every volunteer suffers from the seemingly perpetual feeling that they are floating upstream without a paddle. So much of your first year and a half is filled with frustration, disappointment and confusion it can seem hard to imagine a day that everything will seem to come together. The day that suddenly you will have too much work to fill in a day rather than too much Game of Thrones. The day where you have to stick to a strict schedule in order to get everything done in a month, instead of having a schedule filled with things like: get out of bed, leave your room, talk to someone and smile. I’m not joking that that was actually my to do list for the first 3 months of my service.

The long months of seemingly accomplishing nothing and going nowhere can get extremely disheartening. Unless you are one of the super lucky volunteers in an awesome site around year one you begin to feel like you have been banging your head at a wall for the last 15 months. It was around this point in my service I started to throw clothes pins against the wall of my room in frustration. I didn’t want to throw anything publically and couldn’t afford to actually purchase something new if I broke it so clothespins became my throwing object of choice.

But somehow in spite of all of this around the last 6 months of your service things seem to suddenly start working. Well start working is a loose term. It is not as if suddenly you are not producing magical things day and night…unless you are constructing things, thin that case you are magically producing things on a daily basis. It is the moment where you realized that someone actually paid attention in the educational sessions. The moment you realize that you have more respect from your community than you initially thought possible. The moment people actually hold you accountable because you are facilitating a project they want to see finished.

This moment I realized I was not just running around like a chicken with my head cut off came for me when I was doing a house visit with a mother who at the start of my service I would have left for a lost cause.

When I arrived the health post had almost entirely given up on this mother. Her youngest daughter was a little over a year when I first got to site. She was a quiet child who only used tear to express herself and had a wanting and dead look in her eyes. Appointment after appointment the nurses had talked to her about the importance of early childhood stimulation and better nutritional habits. Time and time again she came in with her child malnourished and behind on the developmental chart. They seemed to be running up against a brick wall of resistance.

This was a mother of 3 who lived in an abusive household. The abuse created a strained environment of hostility. Father abusing mother, mother yelling at her teen child while feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, her teen child mistreating her younger sister when she was left to babysit her. There were rampant self-esteem issues and a seemingly endless cycle of risky health behaviors. The baby was constantly playing near cow corrals and drinking crude cows milk. For those of you that don’t know crude cows milk although it comes out like body temperature cappuccino milk it is filled with bacteria dangerous to humans. This was a family that from first glance seemed like a worst-case scenario.

Throughout my months of service I began to work with the mother, and with her teenage girl. One I worked with in a healthy homes project and the other in a teen health promoters program. As I began to work with them the seeming dysfunction that shrouded the family began to become clearer.

With every house visit the mother became more honest with me. Eventually she started to ask me questions about what she could do better and proudly tout around her increasingly better nourished and developed child. Although when she attended meetings she looked tired from a long day and as if she was only ½ paying attention, with every house visit she seemed to listen. All of the things she had heard for years about child rearing finally seemed to sink in when someone was willing to sit one on one with her for an hour. Month after month her child began to become better nourished, attentive and observant. What was once a colloquy, disinterested child soon became a curious and chatty child.

In a house visit a little over a month ago the mother commented that her 2 ½ year old was much more awake and attentive than her other children. Her youngest could tell when her mother was sad and comfort her. She could express her emotions and have as intelligent of a dialogue as a three year old can have with anyone. She constantly asked what things were and wanted a through explanation. This mother could see a visible difference in the mental, emotional and physical capacity of this child and her older children.

With her child came a rise in her own self-esteem. She beamed with pride as her child surpassed older, under stimulated and malnourished children. She found the strength within herself to begin to stand up to her husband. She also began to try to open a healthy line of communication between her and her teenage daughter, creating a dialogue and resolving the issues that were bubbling under the circle. During the months of working with her she began to have more confidence in the health post and trust them. Instead of hiding from them she began to use them as a resource to discover how she could create stronger family relationships in order to create a healthy home. She began to trust in herself and believe she was a good mother. She began to hug her children and say I love you every day and expecting a hug in return.

From this mother I realized that the smallest things could have a snowball effect. A mother who I wasn’t even sure was listening to anything we said has began to take steps to transform her life. I cannot take the credit for this because at the end of the day all I think I did was give her a route to find the confidence in herself she had lost. Once she saw that she was a good mother and could raise an intelligent well-nourished child she began to want more. She began to believe in herself and her family. She has hope.

Small Successes

Throughout Peace Corps service nearly every volunteer suffers from the seemingly perpetual feeling that they are floating upstream without a paddle. So much of your first year and a half is filled with frustration, disappointment and confusion it can seem hard to imagine a day that everything will seem to come together. The day that suddenly you will have too much work to fill in a day rather than too much Game of Thrones. The day where you have to stick to a strict schedule in order to get everything done in a month, instead of having a schedule filled with things like: get out of bed, leave your room, talk to someone and smile. I’m not joking that that was actually my to do list for the first 3 months of my service.

The long months of seemingly accomplishing nothing and going nowhere can get extremely disheartening. Unless you are one of the super lucky volunteers in an awesome site around year one you begin to feel like you have been banging your head at a wall for the last 15 months. It was around this point in my service I started to throw clothes pins against the wall of my room in frustration. I didn’t want to throw anything publically and couldn’t afford to actually purchase something new if I broke it so clothespins became my throwing object of choice.

But somehow in spite of all of this around the last 6 months of your service things seem to suddenly start working. Well start working is a loose term. It is not as if suddenly you are not producing magical things day and night…unless you are constructing things, thin that case you are magically producing things on a daily basis. It is the moment where you realized that someone actually paid attention in the educational sessions. The moment you realize that you have more respect from your community than you initially thought possible. The moment people actually hold you accountable because you are facilitating a project they want to see finished.

This moment I realized I was not just running around like a chicken with my head cut off came for me when I was doing a house visit with a mother who at the start of my service I would have left for a lost cause.

When I arrived the health post had almost entirely given up on this mother. Her youngest daughter was a little over a year when I first got to site. She was a quiet child who only used tear to express herself and had a wanting and dead look in her eyes. Appointment after appointment the nurses had talked to her about the importance of early childhood stimulation and better nutritional habits. Time and time again she came in with her child malnourished and behind on the developmental chart. They seemed to be running up against a brick wall of resistance.

This was a mother of 3 who lived in an abusive household. The abuse created a strained environment of hostility. Father abusing mother, mother yelling at her teen child while feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, her teen child mistreating her younger sister when she was left to babysit her. There were rampant self-esteem issues and a seemingly endless cycle of risky health behaviors. The baby was constantly playing near cow corrals and drinking crude cows milk. For those of you that don’t know crude cows milk although it comes out like body temperature cappuccino milk it is filled with bacteria dangerous to humans. This was a family that from first glance seemed like a worst-case scenario.

Throughout my months of service I began to work with the mother, and with her teenage girl. One I worked with in a healthy homes project and the other in a teen health promoters program. As I began to work with them the seeming dysfunction that shrouded the family began to become clearer.

With every house visit the mother became more honest with me. Eventually she started to ask me questions about what she could do better and proudly tout around her increasingly better nourished and developed child. Although when she attended meetings she looked tired from a long day and as if she was only ½ paying attention, with every house visit she seemed to listen. All of the things she had heard for years about child rearing finally seemed to sink in when someone was willing to sit one on one with her for an hour. Month after month her child began to become better nourished, attentive and observant. What was once a colloquy, disinterested child soon became a curious and chatty child.

In a house visit a little over a month ago the mother commented that her 2 ½ year old was much more awake and attentive than her other children. Her youngest could tell when her mother was sad and comfort her. She could express her emotions and have as intelligent of a dialogue as a three year old can have with anyone. She constantly asked what things were and wanted a through explanation. This mother could see a visible difference in the mental, emotional and physical capacity of this child and her older children.

With her child came a rise in her own self-esteem. She beamed with pride as her child surpassed older, under stimulated and malnourished children. She found the strength within herself to begin to stand up to her husband. She also began to try to open a healthy line of communication between her and her teenage daughter, creating a dialogue and resolving the issues that were bubbling under the circle. During the months of working with her she began to have more confidence in the health post and trust them. Instead of hiding from them she began to use them as a resource to discover how she could create stronger family relationships in order to create a healthy home. She began to trust in herself and believe she was a good mother. She began to hug her children and say I love you every day and expecting a hug in return.

From this mother I realized that the smallest things could have a snowball effect. A mother who I wasn’t even sure was listening to anything we said has began to take steps to transform her life. I cannot take the credit for this because at the end of the day all I think I did was give her a route to find the confidence in herself she had lost. Once she saw that she was a good mother and could raise an intelligent well-nourished child she began to want more. She began to believe in herself and her family. She has hope.

A Tale Of Cuban Adventure.

Walking around the streets of old Habana is like entering into a time capsule. All around you are restored, or beaten up cars from the 1950s and 1960s painted wild and vibrant colors. The colors and conditions of the cars seem to blend perfectly with the Caribbean background, luscious trees and brightly colored flowers that litter the scenery. On Obisbo Street there is store after store selling everything from pizza, to art, to memorabilia. The art galleries are filled floor to ceiling with paintings so vibrant that their color palate seems to come from the scenery itself. You can buy a half shell of coconut filled with coconut ice cream while milling about and taking in the life around you.

Nearly all the buildings and houses all have a flare of Spanish architecture and give you a feeling that you are wondering through history. Some of the buildings have been rejuvenated in downtown Habana with a government recuperation project, but the majority of the others stand in different states of disrepair. Paint chipping off the walls, iron balcony’s rusting and filled with drying laundry. The once stately manors have been turned into multiple family homes or government buildings. When driving on what used to be Park Avenue of Habana you can sense the forgotten glory of the estates of the sugar kings. One particularly ostentatious estate now houses an ATM at what used to be a grand front door.

The grand houses still stand, but their glory has faded, they no longer represent wealth and success. Many of the houses have been slowly restored, but instead of a massive overhaul the restoration takes place over time. A house may have a beautiful coat of paint, yet shutters that are still crumbling. Some of the former one family homes now look more like apartment buildings than grandiose estates.

The majority of the people live simply. A doctor’s house is similar to what many late 20 year olds would have as an apartment. A full bath, living/dining room, kitchen, several bedrooms and closets, no rooms left unoccupied or infrequently used. Even the most pristine houses near the pristine Varadero beaches are houses that by US standards would be a starter home or a middle class home. Living room with separate dining room, kitchen, patio, several bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and clean-cut floors, furniture and light fixtures maybe even a back or front yard. These houses are nice, well kept and grand on a Cuban scale, but nothing compared to the sprawling manors of the US.

Driving along the coast to get to Varadero beach you can see miles of untouched forests, full and vibrant with life, densely covering the mountains. The coastline varies from rocky to sandy. Although you pass some factories and oil refineries for large stretches there is pure, untouched land. The beaches of Varadero beach are white sand beaches with calm crystal blue water. Although this is the most trafficked tourist beach in Cuba the sand remains largely free of liter and it is possible to find a spot where you can sit down and no one is within 50 years of you. There are a few resorts that line the beach front, nothing more than 7 stories high, but for the most part there is foliage with houses tucked in.

Throughout the day and night the streets are filled with vibrant life and lively people. Only occasionally will you get asked by a panhandler for money or overly pressured to enter a store, but never so much you start to feel uncomfortable for your safety. There is not a single child working on the street selling gum or food. It is rare to stumble across a disheveled homeless person, although it happens.

At night young people gather on the Malercon, the “couch of Habana.” A long, low wall that stretches along the waterfront where you can gather to sit, dance, drink, and waste the night away with friends. There are also dance clubs that play vivacious music and lead to sensual and sensational dancing.

This is the image I leave you with of Cuba. A land shrouded in mystery that houses friendly, vibrant people largely unknown to the American people. A land full of colors and life in every sense of the word that is untouched. A small island nation that is presented as America’s enemy and filled with so many questions it is hard to unravel.

Recently I was fortunate enough to go to Cuba with my grandmother, mother and several family friends. We went as part of a religious delegation. Under current US law religious delegations are allowed to obtain visas to go to Cuba to strengthen the relationships between the Cuban and American religious organizations. I would like to preface this part of my story by saying that this was not exactly your typical vacation. A part of me would not consider it a vacation at all due to the amount of meetings and events we attended. This was a bizare trip partly because it wasthe first trip that I took with real people that were not peace corps volunteers. I throught it was totally normal to say things like !”thats some fucked up shit” and eat with my hands when knives seemed inconvient. I realized I will have a lot to adjust to wjen I return stateside. Anyways back to cuba...

When I was 13 we went to Cuba, but I think I was too young to really appreciate what I was seeing. What I can really remember from that trip was being exposed to papaya for the first time and initially thinking it tasted like poop, although I have since come around to the fruit. Having a celebration with Elian Gonzalez and his entire family and being overwhelmed by how quickly everyone was speaking Spanish. In one conversation the only word I understood was “tierra” (earth). Going to the tobacco factory and later smuggling cigars into the country because my parents felt my suitcase would be less likely to be searched.

Clearly.

And finally I remember falling asleep at the dining room table after eating dinner with Fidel Castro. Castro is notorious for long conversations and being a master of communication. I would agree with the fact that he is a brilliant orator but my 13-year-old self became overwhelmed with exhaustion at 1:00 am when he and my parents go lost in an intricate conversation about municipal development. You would think one of the most vilified political figures in the 20th century would be bothered, or at least notice, that someone from the country that actively presents itself as Cuba’s enemy, fell asleep in the middle of one of his sentences. In fact he simply told my mom to move me to the couch outside and kept weaving in and out of conversations with my family for another hour. He did not seem remotely phased that I could not keep up with his marathon conversation. Maybe I wasn’t the first.

It is always a slightly odd experience going to Cuba because Fidel is one of the most polarizing political figures in modern political history. As a result it is hard to get a clear picture of what the country is actually like. What the lives of the average citizens are like and what are their feelings towards their situation, livelihood and government. It’s hard to actually look at the country without being shrouded in stereotypes, mystery and unbearable curiosity. I am not saying that I got a clear and balanced picture of Cuban life but I made my best effort to ask questions, explore and find out some answers that always prodded my mind.

This trip to Cuba was very different, not only because I am now 23, but also because I can speak Spanish. When you speak the language you can gain a clearer picture of the reality at hand. I am not going to pretend that I got a completely even-handed picture of everyone’s perception of the Revolution or life in Cuba. The majority of the people I spent substantial time with were members of the government or members of the Cuban Council of Churches, and a handful of artisans, street vendors and families of political prisoners. So there are shades of grey.

When we went to Elian Gonzalez’s house we saw how he has turned into a healthy young man, regardless of the political battle he was the center of when he was 7. He lives in a nice house not far from the Varadero beaches. Once one of the most notorious children in the US, who got caught in political warfare between the US and Cuba is now a happy and healthy 20 year old boy. He lives with his family and is in a serious relationship with a girl from University where he is studying Business Administration. This child who became the center of every news cycle, entangled in legal battles, and almost unable to return to live with his father, stepmother, brothers, and grandmothers because his uncles wanted to prove a point about the US and the evilness of Castro, is now a humble young man. He has been able to mature outside of the spotlight of prying eyes and live with a family that loves him. This served to prove the point my grandmother, who was heavily involved in his rescue, always said, “governments don’t raise kids. Families raise kids.” Sometimes you have to look beyond the problems of government to the people that lay underneath.

One of the most interesting things said to me during my visit was from the President of the Cuban Council of Churches. He said (paraphrase from memory) we recognize that Fidel is not a perfect man. We know that he made mistakes, especially at the beginning of the revolution, when he was a young revolutionary heavily influenced by the policies of the Soviet Union. But as the churches of Cuba we choose to forgive, we choose to look towards the positive and remember the things that we have gained from the revolution as a way of moving towards an untied future.

If we think about it what political figure hasn’t made mistakes? I feel like the 24-hours news cycle survives pointing out the mistakes of American political figures. And if anyone says our politicians are perfect to that I say George W. Bush. No government is perfect. But I think it is telling that the churches are willing to recognize the mistakes of the past, forgive but not forget. They support and remember the good; the benefits such as free mandatory education, food stipends and world-class medical care for free, instead of engraining themselves in blame of past mistakes. They work to create a culture of forgiveness, not forgetting the mistakes of the past but working to create a better future through unity.

Every person that we met was not as Zen about the government. One member of the parliament we met during our trip was the opposite of what the American image of Cuba would lead you to believe was in parliament. One shocking fact, to me at least, the parliament is elected. And since it is a socialist society there is only a brief biography about each candidate, which do not all necessarily share the exact same views. In my opinion, voting seems much simpler because there aren’t millions of dollars funneled into campaigns. This allows janitors, farmers and teachers to become members of parliament instead of relegating politics to the elite class.

But back to Mr. Parliament man. He was the definition of a showman and a chatty Cathy. Perpetually pulling the spotlight to himself. Sometimes saying outlandish or controversial things. He told us his wife once asked him if he was scared about being so outspoken, to wit he responded let them come after me if they want pretty much, criticism is the only way to get the government to do what the people want and need. To this point no one has arrested him, although I came close to throwing something at him. There is a level of freedom, political discourse and public awareness of the power of the people that is not presented in the American dialogue of Cuba. I’m not saying that it is a perfect system but there was a level of trust and respect, namely born from the access to education and health care. There are problems but there are certain things, namely the education and health care, which Cubans are passionate about never loosing. Just like any other society there are people that stand in opposition to the government. Those that fear it, or have problems with their situation or think it is not doing enough. One man we met, Ariel, was a one legged street vendor who was very frank with us about his dislike of the Cuban government. He told us that people are not paid enough for what they need to buy, and the only really good jobs are in the hotels, restaurants and taxis where tips serve to supplement incomes. He had tried to escape by boat 3 times to join his father in the US, but according to him there are sharks that surround the boat waiting for it to sink and eat you. None of us had the courage to ask if he in fact lost his leg to one of these hungry sharks. He saw the US as a land of opportunity and freedom but now he has given up his quest to venture there. He has bitterly accepted the opportunities available to him and works hard selling his music to earn an income.

Ariel represents a rising number of independent businessmen who pay for a government license and then are able to open art studios, restaurants, street food stands, or sell music and memorabilia on the street. His main complaint was the lack of strong economic opportunities versus the cost of living on the island. It is difficult to find a balance when you have an embargo with the one of the most powerful nations in the world and have to ship nearly everything from Japan, China, Brazil or other countries thousands of miles away. There is also a special “Cuba tax” implemented by most companies that protects them if the US decides to invoke economic penalties for dealing with a country they have an embargo against. So buy the time an average Cuban goes to the store the products are 3 to 5 times their original price.

The one thing that I do have to give the Cuban government credit for is its adaptability in the last 10 years. I am making this point based on the increased amount of small business ownership present in Havana. I have seen many changes since the last time I was there and although I am hardly saying that Cuba is a perfect government at least it has come adaptability, which in the face of growing bipartisan rigidness in the US Senate I think we could use some adaptability.

But even as I say this, I remember there was also one man that came up to us in church looking like the CIA was chancing him. He said that we had to help him because we speak English. People are scared of the government and we had to help his cause because we could communicate in English to everyone else. I cannot say where this fear grew from but unless he is paranoid it grew from somewhere.

Their voices served to show us that things are not a utopia socialism, there are problems with unemployment, dissatisfaction and frustration even fear. I think that these are the things that the US dialogue focus on when they are talking about Cuban society. But at the same time don’t these problems exist in a capitalist society? I don’t think a single American can say at this point in our history that they haven’t felt the pangs of unemployment or underemployment or dissatisfaction and frustration with the government. In my opinion that is how we have to change the dialogue between the US and Cuba; instead of looking to them and saying “prove it,” show me why your system is so awesome there should be an open dialogue. Because isn’t the fear of drowning under medical bills or college debt something that plagues millions of Americans? Neither society is perfect, neither is imperfect, that is what we have to accept. Throughout my trip I was exposed to what has to be one of the most under told stories in US history, the Cuban 5. The Cuban 5 are Cuban political prisoners that have been held in US jails for 15 years. Naturally since I was with my family I ended up in a press conference discussing the Cuban 5 in Spanish. Just your average family vacation. Since this entry is already pretty long I don’t want to go into the whole story right now and overwhelm this entry. All I want to say is that it was heartbreaking to listen to the stories from their families and really makes you question the integrity of the US government with regards to Cuba and the influence of the Miami anti-Castro Cubans.

The things that never enter into the American dialogue are the effects of the embargo on medical care, on both sides of the embargo. For instance since the Cubans have to ship things from thousands of miles away they sometimes run out of things or simply cannot purchase it. One such item that they frequently have a shortage of is batteries for cochlear implants. So you can get the implant but it may run out of batteries and you could have to wait far too long to replace it. They also frequently run short chemotherapy treatments for children. The most innocent members of society, who had nothing to do with Castro’s Revolution, can be sentenced to death due to lack of medicine.

But this is a two way street. After Hurricane Katrina Cuba offered the US 100 doctors to New Orleans. These are world-class doctors that come from one of the strongest health systems in the world. They each had a backpack packed with their personal food and water supplies and medical supplies to help the US citizens, but President Bush refused to let them enter the country. Even though it would have cost absolutely nothing to the American people and there were American citizens living in a life-threatening and parlous situation. We also can’t have access to the Meningitis vaccine that has been developed in Cuba because that would violate the terms of the embargo.

These are the stories that we never get to hear. The dialogue that is largely inexistent. The reason I am going so in-depth into some political opinions is because these are some of the things I was exposed to on my trip. I think that these are the things that we never get to learn and it is what I personally chose to investigate. This is the image of Cuba that was formed throughout my trip. I had my eyes opened to many things. Some doors opened as many questions as answers. But for the most part I found that the Cuban people were vivacious people who did not hate the US, much as we would are to believe. It is a place I hope you all can be exposed to and form your won opinions.

Semana Santa

So this is long over due but this is the story of semana santa…. In Peru the holy week leading up to Easter is quite a festival, equip with countless parades and what I believe to be the worlds largest tower with a Jesus on top to celebrate his resurrection. This year I decided to actually go to a place where they celebrate semana santa instead of the alternate party world of Peru’s beaches which I did last year. So I went up to Ayacucho, a sierra city about 6 hours away from my site to. Ayacucho is the biggest Semana Santa celebration in all of Peru. Literally there are walls of people around every turn making it suffocating to breathe sometimes and can get extremely claustrophobic when you are used to a mere 150 people in your site.

Getting to Ayacucho was no easy feet. Although it is only 6 hours from my site, the same amount of time it takes me to get to my regional capital, the trip was far more perilous. For starters the road going down to the coast is windy for about 2 hours but then it becomes a straight highway. The road to Ayacucho on the other hand is a wildly curvy road that goes up to almost 5,000 meters. On the way up we went in a car that went slowly around the crazy curves, but also exposed us to another part of the travel. When you are driving to Ayacucho you drive through some of the most impoverished countryside in Peru. Normally isn’t a lot of tourist traffic throughout the year, the people of this area aprovechar any moment that there is heavy tourist traffic. It’s hard to not see an easy buck when there are Range Rovers and Beamers ripping through a largely commercial highway.

In order to trap cars and get some money people would stand on either side of the road holding a make shift rope up in the hopes that the car would stop rather than going through the rope. Luckily the rope would break if you drove through it or I think we would have been in some serious trouble. It was a really startling image to see kids trying to rope a car in or running alongside a car in order to make a sol. As interesting the trip up in a car was the bus trip down really tested your ability to not throw up all over everyone and have a panic attack. The bus would whip around the sharp curves with excessive speed and make you pray for your life. In short the trip to Ayacucho is not the world’s easiest trip.

I am happy to report that I made it too and from all in one piece and was able to enjoy my vacation. Normally there are very few tourists that go to Ayacucho so the sudden massive increase of people makes it glaringly obvious how little the city is prepared for crowd control. There are lines of people walking too and from, participating in what seems to be perpetual parades. Packing into 7 churches at 7pm on Good Friday. Milling in the artisan markets that have some of the most beautiful handcrafts in all of Peru. Overwhelming the Pampa de Quiona, a beautiful hilltop with an obelisk statue that was one of the main battlegrounds in the Peruvian fight for freedom. Cramming the plaza during the running of the bulls, creating what Americans would consider a public health hazard.

There were several moments where death seemed like a likely option. The main one being de running of the bulls when angry bulls were running through a crowded plaza. Naturally. Apparently the bulls were much more controlled than in previous years but that still didn’t mean that they didn’t try to kill a bitch. Once I got knocked over when I tripped on a curb while masses of people were pushing back to get out of the way. Another we made a game time decision to switch to the other side of the street. Turns out that this was a good game time decision because right after we moved a bull went barreling into the crowd nearly spearing a guy we were standing next to. And finally one time we were far away from where the bulls were let out to run and thought we were relatively safe. Unfortunately it was just at this point that the bull got loose and started bucking around like a Wildman uncomfortably close to us.

But in light of all the masses of people and the occasional brush with death it is a beautiful celebration. The city even goes so far as to print up banners that say Ayacucho Es Semana Santa. This means Ayacucho is the holy week. An aggressive claim if you ask me. But they do a good job of living up to their own hype. There is a reason that this is one of the biggest tourist events in Peru.

During the week there are different events in the city throughout the week. Random processions or reenactments of parts of Christ’s life are a just a typical day. At first I thought it was weird, but after a while it just became standard. Every day the processions reenact a new moment of Christ’s life, culminating in his resurrection. The processions start from the crucifixion, with the entire roman squad filing through the street whipping Jesus with a cross. The following day there is a procession mourning his death. There is an ever-classy plastic body in a casket and a giant mourning Virgin Mary. I have to admit it was a bit strange seeing a replica Christ be carried through the plaza in a light glass casket. Even though I knew he was fake there was just something eerie about it.

The last day of Semana Santa, or really dawn, 6am, there is a procession representing the resurrection of Jesus. This is no ordinary procession. Every parade up until this point seems to be growing is size and ostentatiousness. On Easter Eve leading into Easter morning there is a party in the plaza. This is an all night party with fireworks going off every few hours and castillas lining the streets. The castillas are basically bamboo structures that have fireworks and sparklers attached. Normally when something comes fling off a castilla it goes up into the air, but for some reason this year there was an abnormal number of defects in the castillas. So instead of red sparkler shooting hearts flying up into the air they were shooting unto buildings while the occasional sparking circle came crashing into the crowd. Safety-first children. Safety first.

When I managed to not get burned alive by flying sparks, or the bon fires they were forming in the streets. Oh, I forgot to mention there were bonfires being constructed in the streets with drunk men getting far far too close to the flames. I stayed up dancing and chatting in the street. My friend John and I were drinking with some Peruvian friends and as a side not Peruvians really know how to drink. I was trying to pace myself and not become a drunken hot mess before the resurrection of Jesus. In my effort to maintain sobriety I was constantly ridiculed for my inability to drink. But what ya gonna do. Of course the only moment of the night that I felt inebriated was the moment that Jesus came out of the church resurrected. I have to admit I felt very sacrilegious. Jesus appeared in full glory with the rising of the sun. Around 6 am a giant ass Jesus came out of the main church on the plaza. This structure must have been 10 feet tall and at least 6 feet wide. The base of it was a pyramid covered in what looked like white crystal candles, with a Jesus regally standing on top. It took about 15 men to carry the structure and every 20 feet or so they had to take a rest and change shoulders.

As the giant Jesus made his way through the plaza people sang hymns and celebrated his resurrection. I have to say it was one of the most interesting ways I have ever seen in to celebrate the holy week. You know running of the bulls followed by building human pyramids in the plaza and getting hosed down by drunken firemen. Obviously.

A Fundraising Post

Dear All,

My name is Katie Campbell-Morrison. I am a 23 year old Peace Corps volunteer serving as a Community Health Volunteer in a small community of about 200 people named San Antonio de Cusicancha in Huancavelica, Peru. In the past year I have been working with 32 mothers in my community in a Healthy Homes Project. A Healthy Homes Project is a project to promote better nutrition, hygiene, disease prevention, childhood development and self-esteem in the rural households. The project is designed with 6 meeting and accompanying house visits. The meetings include PowerPoint’s and dinámicas (interactive activities), usually with an incredibly organized and passionate nurse from my health post coordinating the formal information part and while I coordinate non- formal education activities.

During the meetings we discuss topics from Peace Corps program goals, the project goals, my health post goals and necessities of the community. The topics that we have covered are: preventing childhood diseases, early childhood development, a healthy community, nutrition and hygiene. In the upcoming sessions we will cover early childhood development again, how to use and maintain an improved cook stove, self-esteem and domestic violence. In the house visits each month the mothers demonstrate what they have learned from the previous meeting and implement small changes in their household. Often during the house visits the mothers realize how much they know more and become excited when they can answer a question correctly, slowly increasing their self-esteem.

At the culmination of the project the mothers who have attended enough meetings and implemented changes will build an improved cook stove. The improved cook stoves help to improve quality of life of the mother and child by reducing smoke in the kitchen and risk of respiratory infections, reducing environmental contamination and reducing the amount of wood needed to cook. In the mountains of Peru it is customary to carry young children on a mother’s backs about 75% of the time. As a result the young children are exposed to the same smoke as their mothers, which reeks havoc on developing lungs.

The mothers that I have been working with in my site are phenomenal. Their support is one of the reasons I found the inspiration to stay in my site when things seemed difficult. Their kindness and willingness to learn and work through the ups and downs may come our way has helped to make the project a reality. I truly believe that I have learned more from them than they will ever learn from me and their thirst for knowledge has sustained and guided the project.

The mothers of my annex are equally incredible women. Tambo de San Antonio de Cusicancha has the highest rate of malnutrition and pregnancies in women under-25 of all the places that my health post cares for. It is located about 2.5 hours (hiking) from my town center, a hike that makes you it feel like you are walking into the sky. Many of the mothers have faces obstacles such as: graduating primary school still unable to read, social unrest, and a struggle to access protein. In the face of there there is still a desire to grow and a support from the community leaders that is non-existent in some other communities. The community knows that they have the strength within themselves to improve the life for the next generation.

Together with the mothers in Cusicancha we worked on a project plan and grant application to get funding from outside of Peru for the improved cook stoves. Currently we are in the process of raising money for the project and short $1253.62.

Any small donation would go to a wonderful cause and help exponentially in advancing our project. It is very easy to donate at: https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=13-527-021 . Thank you so much for your time!

Eye Contact

Eye Contact is such a seemingly simple concept. Well it used to seem that way in the United States. Here in Peru it has become far more complicated. When I was young and living in Cleveland I got used to making eye contact with most people and giving a pleasant smile, unless it was -10* and I wanted to run into the nearest building. When I went off to California for college I realized that eye contact with everyone and a nice smile was a distinctly Midwestern concept. Although it was strange to make eye contact with everyone I still found myself consistently doing it. Or at least looking around to see if there was someone I knew. The only time I actively didn’t make eye contact was when I was listening to music and was in my own music far far away from the real world. Once I came to Peru I realized just how complex the concept of eye contact could mean.

In America an innocent smile and some eye contact usually means “hello,” “nice to see you, “or some other form of casual greeting. Here in Peru on the other hand a girl making eye contact with a guy and giving an innocent saluting smile usually means “ I want to fuck you.” In the states it took slightly more work than an awkward half smile to convey that message.

This confusion over a simple glance saluting hello has caused many of the female Peace Corps females to adopt a habit of walking in the street with a “bitch face” to fend off suitors or so focused on where they are going that they loose sense of the actual faces around them. Don’t get me wrong in the states there was many a time I would be walking around completely unaware of my surroundings and people calling my name, but this was by accident never by design.

My lack of acknowledging my surrounding has cumulated to a ridiculous point. When I am walking around somewhere and getting harassed I purposefully don’t pay attention to the harassers or make any eye contact. Any form of communication will generally exacerbate the situation. In fact last weekend when I was in the capital city there was a group of fabulous men that worked outside of our hotel. They felt the compelling urge to aggressively catcall any time a girl walked by solita and generally make life quite uncomfortable. I got so used to ignoring the catcalls and not paying attention to any of my surroundings until I got into the hotel that when my friend threw a cracker at my head as a joke I didn’t even respond. I partially didn’t respond because I didn’t notice, partially because he was fake catcalling me in an effort to get me to notice he was throwing crackers at my head.

Luckily in my site I can get away with eye contact or an accidental smile without it meaning too much, although I do find that when I am talking to a man who is magically in love with me I have to look at the ground rather than his face. In fact, I have to actively pay attention to those around me when I am in site because heaven forbid I forget to say hello to someone. It can get aggressive having to say hello to everyone all the time. I have to admit shaking hands or a kiss on the cheek while trying to continue to go running is one of the more complicated experiences I have had greeting people.

I have this fear that when I return to the states my general confusion about the timing and action of eye contact will pose a minor problem. As in I will no longer be able to convey the correct moment with my eyes and on the streets everyone may think I want to kill them. When I was home for Christmas I found myself constantly misinterpreting eye contact, which created a communication uphill battle. But you never know maybe my complete inability to correctly interpret eye contact will somehow come in handy in the US, although I am not holding out much hope of that.

Healthy Homes Project

https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=13-527-021

In the past year i have been working with mothers in my community and in the annex above me in a healthy homes project. Basically what a healthy homes project is is a project to promote better nutrition, hygine, disease prevention, early childhood stimulation and self-esteem in the household. I am working with mothers from two communities- one San Antonio de Cusicanca which is the community i call home and another annex Tambo de San Antonio de Cusicancha.

The project is designed with 6 meeting that each mother has to attend and accompaning house visits. During the meetings we talk about how to prevent childhood diseases such as the flu, parasites and diarrea. Ironically when I was giving the parasite charla I my self was trying to not poop in my pants from a parasite. The charlas include powerpoints and dinamicas (or acivities), usually with my nurse coordinating the informative part and me coordinating the activities for non- formal education. During the house visits each month the mothers have to demostrate what they have learned from the charla and implement small changes in their household. Often during the house visits the mothers realize that they actually know more than they thought and become aggressively excited when they can answer a question correctly. At the finish of the project the mothers who have completed the project with recieve an improved cook stove, which will help to improve their quality of life and their children by reducing smoke in the kitchen, reducing risk of respiratory infections and reduce the amount of wood needed to cook. Here in the mountians of Peru it is customary to carry a young child on your back nearly 75% of the time and as a result the young children are exposed to the same smoke as their mothers reaking havoc on their lungs.

The mothers that I have been working with in my site are great and their support is one of the reasons I found the inspiration to stay in my site when things seemed difficult. They are very receptive to nearly everything I say- although I´m pretty sure in the first few months they had not a clue what I was saying. But their kindness and willingness ot work with me thorugh some fumbling and a lot of help from the nurse in my health post helped to make the project seem to be a reality. Everytime I got scared that I made an irrevocbale mistake they helped to guide me in the right direction and get back on track. I truly believe that I have learned more from them than they will ever learn from me.

The mothers of my annex are also incredibly supportive women. The annex of Tambo de San Antonio de Cusicancha has the highest rate of malnutrition and young mother pregenancies of all the annexes that my health post are in charge of. It is an annex that at times can seem like its at the end of the earth. Well really only the last 45 min of the 2.5 hour hike up there where it feels like you must be walking into the sky. Many of the mothers have had obstacles that I could never imagine such as: graduating primary school still unable to read, social unrest, and a struggle to access protien. Although there are some steep obstacles such there is a desire to change and a pull from the community leaders that is non-existant in some other communities. For instance, when I held a meeting and some of the mothers missed the meeting the community president scrutiznized my attendance list and said he was going to put the falting mothers under "observation" because they should be taking advantage of every opportunity to improve hte livelihood of their children. This community clearly knows that they have the strength within themselves to improve the life for the next generation.

Together with the mothers in Cusicancha we worked on a project plan and grant application to get funding from the outside for the improved cookstoves. Although I would have loved to get the money from within my municipality they are less than organized so the president of my goup of mothers recommended against it and the community knows better than I do. Currently we are in the process of raising money for the project and anything you can donate would be much appreciated and go to a very good cause!

https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=13-527-021

A Week

I was thinking of how to write this blog entry for about two weeks now but each time it seemed an impossible task because it was hard to write. Sometimes in Peace Corps it’s very easy to loose your voice. Finally I think I have found it. This is the story of the week that exemplifies the roller coaster that is Peace Corps. This is the story of worst week ever and the moments of accomplishment and joy that brought it to a close.

The week, well really lets extend it into a 10-day week, started off on a seemingly good note. After Carnaval I made it back up the mountain and powered through finishing a grant application. The energy I was running on was sheer deadline and adrenaline. Now to give you some perspective, I can barely add 2+2 so having to make sure the math was correct in a grant was something that made me want to shoot myself.

Thankfully I found a way to finish foraged my way back to site.

When I got back to site I knew I was going to crash from traveling. I could never have predicted just how hard I would crash. My immune system decided to all but commit suicide. Really, I had it coming so I couldn’t be angry. What started as an innocent travel cold quickly turned into something resembling pneumonia. After a week of struggling in bed and watching far too much Boy Meets World (which h by the way is filled with life lessons, some of which just did not sink in and chock full of parenting advice, super relevant to 7 year old KCM) there came the day I The day I accidently got drunk on robatissin and thought my body was inflating like a beach ball and floating away, I decided it was probably time to call the doctors. Sounding like a drowning sea lion was not my most attractive look.

After the antibiotics started to kick in I decided to head to the coast to experience warmth. I was sick of 1 hour of sunshine and perpetually being damp and cold. I wanted a relaxing weekend where I could just enjoy the sun. Of course I had no such luck. I fully learned the truth behind the phrase “nothing good happens after 2am.”

The beginning of the weekend was calm, filled with pizza, an attempt at working out, and moving at the pace of an animal slightly faster than a turtle. Friday night we went to a friend’s birthday party. It was a low key and entertaining affair filled with far too much food. After making the world’s most awkward exit from the party, its hard to escape when you are ½ the party, we went to grab a drink at a bar. Around 3am we decided we were hungry and tired, and headed off on a mission. For some reason that I will probably never fully understand we decided to go out to get food rather than cook it in his nice swelteringly hot kitchen. Instead we made the ever-logical decision to go to a random restaurant to get some moderately tolerable food…

When we got to the restaurant we decided to go for the worse of two options. Naturally. We got something resembling fried chicken soggy fries. After we paid we patiently sat and waited for our food. Around this time 2 guys casually strolled in asking for some pop. Yes it’s pop not soda. This seemed to be a totally normal request, until one of them whipped out a gun. Now this may sound scary, and don’t get me wrong it was and it was the closest I have ever been to a gun, but on a scale of one to shot, this was pretty tame. The gun was a solid 3 feet away from my face and in perspective it was the politest armed robbery possible.

3 am is time you can’t really get all that mad about getting robbed. Nothing good happens after 2 am. To boot we were in a part of town that we really should have expected to get robbed. Finally since they were robbing a restaurant we just happened to be there the aggression was never directed at us. Besides the moment they ripped off my little purse, which I would like to add I was trying to take off to politely hand to them, there was no time the hooligans were within 3 feet of me. So at the end of the day a polite armed robbery, or really a robbery we could have prevented by simply pretending we were intelligent and not wandering to a random restaurant at 3 a. But you’re only young once and I find most things you have to learn the hard way.

I also now know that I would be the worst witness ever. The whole hullabaloo I was really just focused on the gun because in my head that was the most interesting part of the situation. The guys themselves were just blurs flurrying around. The next day when we had to give a police report all I could say was one had a red hoodie, the other one existed. Not the most helpful information.

The most awkward part of the entire ordeal was after the robber left the building. In the USA if a restaurant were robbed the first reaction would be to call the police, or get the hell out. In Peru on the other hand the first reaction is for the restaurant owners to run after the robbers with some knives while we sat there dumbstruck. After about a minute and some confused eye contact we wondered if we should call the cops. It seemed like an effort no one was willing to exert so we went with the Peruvians and didn’t call the police.

Around this time we also realized we had already paid for our food and since we had no other money at the moment we made the executive decision to wait for our food. An awkward 10 minutes passed while we sat patiently waiting for our food and the restaurant owners were still flittering around in a tizzy. It was one of those strange moments that could only happen in Peace Corps. This is probably the only job where the fact you had already paid S/. 10, a chunk of change on a Peace Corps salary, for some crappy food would lead you to the decision to sit and wait for your food after an armed robbery. But it wasn’t like we were very well going to get our money back if we left without the food so we might as well get something out of the excursion.

The next day after spending far too long in the police station doing what can only be described as the world’s most pointless police report (no real details about the man, no real investigation to follow, The restaurant owners didn’t even bother filing a report) I went to the beach for the regional meeting. The beach was nice, relaxed and chilled. A good remedy to the night before…. that is until 2am. At 2am, almost on the dot, I wandered off on the beach to pee. Let me remind you nothing good happens after 2 am. On the way back, in a perpetual competition to trump my own clumsiness, I jammed my toe into a piece of rebar hidden in the sand. By far the most comfortable injury I have ever sustained. Basically I stubbed my toe so hard the nail bed just filled with sand. Delectable. It has currently left me down one big toe nail. The best toe nail to lose during the summer months.

Of course, as life works I had to go bad to site at an absurd hour the next day. So at at 5 am I headed back up to site to participate in a “yunsa” to celebrate my health post anniversary. For those of you unfamiliar with the term “yunsa” it’s a party where you decorate a tree with gifts, dance around it in a circle while slowly chopping down the tree with an axe. When the tree falls it is a free-for-all for the gifts and whoever chops down the tree is in charge of paying for the decorations the next year. Also while the chopping and circling is going on there is a war of boys vs. girls with baby powder, lipstick, flour and powdered baby food, where you want to cover the opposite gender in any and every of these products. The yunsa was where the world’s worst 10 days seemed to turn around. I’ll admit it was a bit awkward to dance with a screwed up big toe, so I became the beer girl rather than try to dance in the circle. Right after the yunsa I got the news that my grant had been approved and my boss was happy with my work and growth demonstrated through the grant. That was the real turning point. That same day we played carnavales (throwing water at each other, of course only the opposite gender) while washing the pots and pans from the yunsa.

The 10 days show to me how much can happen, not happen and change in one week in Peace Corps. You can have what is seemingly the worst week ever but it can end almost as abruptly as it began. There are no predictable moments in Peace Corps. There is no such thing as a typical week or even a typical day. Whenever people ask me what I do in a day I become stumped and speechless. I can tell you about my projects, my site, yesterday. But to tell you about a typical day. well there aren’t any. You never know what can happen in a week. All you can really know is that nothing good happens after 2am and it is not wise to go on excursions at this hour.

Carnavales Round 2

Carnavales has struck again in Peru. Its that magical time of year before Lent where everything in Peru seems to be filled with dancing, parties and celebration. This year not only did I have the ever glorious chance to give birth to a baby in front of my entire district, it was also a bigger and more elaborate event. Unlike last year when the dance routine was so impromptu that we practiced the day of and there was discussion of not even participating, this year we came prepared. Nothing like 4 nights of practice until 11 with perpetually changing choreography to make you moderately want to kill yourself.

Luckily there was no rain this year so we got to hold the district wide dance competition on the giant soccer field rather than on the small basketball court. The stadium filled with people from my district to watch a dance competition between my town, one districto publado and two annexes. Once again I was a sort of clown, too tall to dance in formation with the other women. I had the pleasure of wandering around pregnant, and at the finale give birth to a black baby. And when I say black baby I mean the color black. A baby doll that would not be sold in the US under the threat of lawsuit. Let me tell you the comments that you get when you are wandering around with balloons under your skirt pretending to be pregnant are priceless. And then if your baby dies during the dance routine, you then have to talk about your dead baby for roughly the next week and a half.

During our the first round of our dance routine I just had the balloons tied under my skirt, and then in the second round I had to have an actual 3-pound baby doll hitched up under my skirt. Not the easiest task I have ever accomplished, especially when it is tied with one plastic string. At any given moment it felt like the doll could come flying out of my skirt and completely ruin the moment I was supposed to give birth. Fortunately I made it through the dance and had the chance to give a dramatic, although quite embarrassing, birth and then watch my baby die and break into melodramatic overwrought tears. You know all in a days work in the Peace Corps.

Unfortunately my community lost to the districto publado, but we did not go down without a fight. In fact their win caused quite the hullabaloo. My town thought they were robbed of victory by untrained and bribed judges. I would agree that in fact we did do a better job during the competition, but the prospect of having to give birth in front of my whole province the next weekend was enough to make me slightly indifferent to the loss.

After extensive investigation, some of the most vigilant members of my community figured out that the judge culpable for us losing was a new biologist in the health post. He had been in the town for officially 24 hours when he was charged to be one of the judges to the most important and high stakes competition in my site. The poor man didn’t have food for a day because the woman who does pension in my site was one of the leaders of the “we were robbed of victory” campaign and was simply too angry to give him food. Naturally what you want to happen in your first 48 hours in a new community. Even after that entire struggle, there was nothing we could do at the end of the day but accept our loss and secretly talk about how it should have been us dancing the next week at the provincial competition. An ever so small part of me was glad that I would not have to scream a fake birth to a large dead black baby in front of actually everyone I had ever seen in Huancavelica.

The next week my community made the trek down to the provincial capital in order to see the unjust winners dance, get covered in baby powder and enjoy the yunsa that took place late into the night. For those of you that don’t know, a yunsa is a tree that they chop down and then put back up in a hole into the plaza. Yes, they intentionally put a hole in the concrete of the plaza de armas for just the purpose of putting a tree into it. The tree is decorated with free gifts such as buckets, blankets, cups and fly swatters. Throughout the night dancers gradually cut down the tree, and the moment it falls it is a free for all for the prizes.

In Huancavelica during carnavales the yunsa tradition takes place at least once a week, always to the exact same song. One singular 15 minute song song that sounds like “dadadadadodo carnavales” over and over again for hours, as you can tell clearly my favorite song. The band will play about 2 round of the song, take a 10 minute break and start right back up again. Who doesn’t love listening to a repetitive song played by a band for a solid 5 hours? The way it gets stuck in your head is so indelible at points you think about removing your auditory function.

When all the festivities in Huancavelica were said and done, I thought, I headed up to Cajamarca for one of the biggest carnaval celebrations in Peru. The Cajamarca carnaval is equip with giant parades, a constant stream of water fights, dancing and bands (playing the same song, but a different rendition of the Huancavelica version) each night in the plaza de armas, and one day filled with a giant paint fight. Since it is warmer in Cajamarca than Huancavelica there is unfettered use of buckets of water and super soakers, all day, every day. Any 10 year olds wildest dreams come true. Thankfully, there was a social norm to stop when the sun went down otherwise we would all have pneumonia. The water proved to be quite problematic at times, even killing one of my phones, which I have placed in my boob for “protection.”

Logical when water is literally being chucked at your face.

Generally walking around could be hazardous. Being white made things even worse. And if you ever happened to be in a group larger than 3 people you were just asking to drown. Throwing buckets on your head was entirely acceptable, and walking through the plaza was basically not an option unless you wanted to swim standing up. By the end of my 4 days in Cajamarca a bird swooping down caused me to duck and brace to get hit with a water balloon.

The paint fight put the water fights and any form of nightly dancing to shame. It is hands down one of the most epic experiences I have had in Peru. It is literally a war with music, dancing and a shit ton of paint. Everyone is running around dancing holding buckets of paint, squirt guns of paint and water and generally going to town on each other. There were certain parts of town where people simply posted up with hoses to douse passersby. The second we left our door we got approached by 3 women who put paint on us “de carino,” so we wouldn’t get pelted for being clean. That plan did not work. About 7 seconds later a heard of boys soaked us through and through with every color of paint.

I myself am allergic to latex, a thing I did not take into account until after I was already hit with the first round of paint. Let me tell you being covered with latex paint when you are allergic to latex is not necessarily the most comfortable experience, there was lots of Benadryl running through my system. Even in the face of this the fight was beyond entertaining. The best part, besides the general frolicking, dancing and all our squirt gun war was the ability to squirt people whenever you wanted. If a guy whistled at you, you could simply shoot water at him, or if someone really nasty tried to hit on you it was socially acceptable to throw paint in his face. Made me wish we were always permitted to run around with squirt guns full of paint.

The night was filled with huayno dancing in the plaza and bets placed on how many a drunkard were going to sleep in the plaza. I guarantee you every night there were at least 20, minimum. Cajamarca combined with carnaval in Huancavelica created what seemed like an endless stream of carnavales bands and dancing, the kind of jovial environment that should exist before 40 days of sacrificing something. America should take a hint.

When I got back home I was ready to sit down, be calm, and work. I thought it was close enough to Ash Wednesday that the festivities would have ended. I had no such luck. There were still bands a blaring. People running around with talc on their cheeks reveling in the joy of carnaval. There is a limit to how much you can revel. I believe it should be a three-week limit. At this point you should surrender to the realities of life. Or just play another song. Any other song really. Even though it seemed like the music, well the 2 songs would never end, the entertainment of carnavales makes February seem like a remarkably entertaining month, rather than one covered in rain and short depressing days.

AMERICAA

This Christmas I went to America for the holidays. It was one of the stranger experiences of my life, although I have to say that I am very glad I did it.

Going to America for a brief moment reminded me of all the things I loved and hated about the place. And generally just confused the fuck out of me. To start with when I got to America the sim card on my cell phone was broken, probably due to being turned off for the past 15 months. This left me entirely unable to communicate, except for the bountiful amount of Wi-Fi available seemingly everywhere in America. when I landed in the Houston airport I b-lined for an Einstein’s bagel, I hadn’t seen a bagel that didn’t oddly resemble a cracker in month. I ordered your standard blueberry bagel with cream cheese. And here’s the ringer. The woman then asked me what kind of cream cheese I wanted. I totally forgot there were more kinds of cream cheese than plain. I replied in one of the worlds creepiest voices “….what kinds of cream cheese arrree there?” She stared at me as if I was a crazy person; since I sounded like one I cant blame her. After an intense stare she then pointed non –chelantly at the list of cream cheeses and said those on the list there. To wit I instantly replied, “America is awesome.” Naturally.

Then I boarded the plane to LA. I was shocked by one thing on the plane- and this is going to sound ridiculous, which it absolutely is- I was surprised by the number of African Americans on the plane. I actually had to refrain myself from shouting out “there are so many black people on this plane!” When I got caught staring at a man for far far too long I realized shouting this out on a crowded plane may not be the world best idea. When I finally made it into LA I then realized I had no cell phone to call my friend to tell me that I made it in. I also realized I had no American money…so off to the ATM.

ATMs in Peru always suck the card in, ATMs in America not so much. So it took me about 15 minutes how to get money out of the ATM. You have to put the debit card into the machine and pull it back out with lightning speed that I am not quite used to. Then I also came to another unfortunate realization- you only get 20s out of an ATM machine in America, you don’t get quarters. To be fair coins don’t come magically popping out of a Peruvian ATM either, that was really just a lack of thought process. So completely forgetting to get my 20 broken I then was left with one option, to pay for a pay phone with a credit card. Who on earth even knew that was a possibility.

When I finally made into western civilization I went out to dinner, of course entirely forgetting my id. The concept of needing to have an id to order a drink was not something I had even thought of. This train of acting like a whack job at nearly restaurant was a continuing trend. Nearly every time I saw a menu I ended up blurting out at nearly every restaurant “I can’t believe they have ____ on the menu!” Also the first time I ate with a large group of people and my food came significantly later than everyone else’s I noticed something odd. They were all sitting around uncomfortably eating one or two French fries. Not diving in, just picking at what looked like the most delicious French fries. I though initially´that maybe they were all trying to lose weight and eat really slowly. But then it occurred to me that that would be far too much of a coincidence for 8 people to be simultaneously trying to lose weight by eating French fires slowly. Because lets get serious that would not be the best tactic to go about losing weight. After an awkwardly long time I told everyone they could eat without me. At this point is seemed like a wave of relief splashed over everyone as they dug into their food. Oh the subtleties of American dining behavior.

Nearly all of America can be compiled as a blur surrounded by food and family. My father was impressed by how I was keeping it together…that was until I had a complete breakdown about cereal. One day he drove me home, after let’s say more than one drink, and I discovered just how much cereal was in my grandmother’s house. This lead to a tirade about the glory of cereal and just how much cereal there was in the United States of America. I nearly got so caught up in the magic of cereal and its availability in every grocery store that I feel asleep on a granite countertop. Obviously the most comfortable place to go to sleep.

Although America was pretty much a blur of food, family and sensory overload I did realize one thing. I left America with more questions than I arrived. I still have little to no clue what I plan on doing after these two years. At this point I feel like flying to the moon would be a logical option, except for the fact I’m pretty sure we no longer have people flying up to space, that and I am afraid of heights. America, although it is home and I will return there eventually, is one strange ass place. I can wholeheartedly admit that I don’t know if I am ready for a job where I will sit indoors and be bound by the clock. This is probably the only time in my life I am making decisions with nothing binding me. I have no one thing tying me to one place. It is a terrifying and yet really freeing concept. How often do you get to look into the future and get to say I could really do whatever I want and go anywhere in the world?

Going home to America was amazing because I got a chance to see family, reconnect with old friends, but it was nice to come back and remember what hunger felt like. And New Years on a Peruvian beach is the definition of why there are firework regulations in the USA. Something I wouldn’t have given up for the world. Not often you get to see a spent firework fall directly into someone´s pocket and nearly destroy a car by setting off fireworks in the wrong direction. Although America will always be home, I´m glad to have the chance to experience something else while I am in the unique position not having ties to something else pulling me in one direction. Eventually I will have those responsibilities, but for now I´m enjoying figuring out who I am working in a foreign country, free to make as many mistakes as possible.