A Glimpse into Reality

So there has been so much that has happened in my life that I am going to write two entries because otherwise it would too much to handle. If you don’t end up reading this one because you only read the one above it I will no be offended. Neither will this entry. So last week we had field based training in Ancash. It was at about 2,000 meters up so to start off the week we had to take altitude medicine. For most of the volunteers the altitude medicine did nothing. No such luck for me. I felt like a spinning space cowboy in outer space. When I described this symptom to the Peace Corps Medical Officers this they got really confused. I’m pretty sure they thought I was on acid. But when I convinced them I wasn’t they said I should lay off the medication. Permanently. So after a case of the spins and my brain being temporarily removed from my body I slept it off on a 12-hour bus ride.

Field Based training was the first time we really got a chance to be in the campo and get a glimpse into what our lives would be like for the next two years. I have to admit one of the more startling moments, besides sucking some serious wind from the altitude while walking uphill, was running into two volunteers and having a serious cultural moment. One of the volunteers said that she had a song stuck in her head and we naturally started to sing “Last Friday Night.” The volunteer stared at us like we were a dead dog. She had never heard of “Last Friday Night”…or California Dreams… maybe not even Katy Perry. Bold move. This proved to be more traumatic than the three hour lecture that started off FBT. Ya know those good old fashioned lecture with no breaks and a dash of fainting. Who doesn’t love those. Thankfully we ended the day ended early when everyone could see we were on the fast track to death. But now away form the trauma and on to the good.

The first activity we did during FBT was house visits. And I would like to say that the health promoters showed up on time to take us on the visits but that would be a bold faced lie. We had to hunt one down. I’m pretty sure she tried to run away from us. And by pretty sure I mean we saw her run away from us and the current volunteer had to do some serious investigation. But it was 4 vs. 1 so we won. So off we went, three trainees, one coordinator and one less than thrilled heath promoters. The house visits themselves were actually significantly more successful than many of my peers. Some people only got to walk up the mountain, back down again and scower around some bushes. Our bandit group got to see 3 houses of health promoters around town.we even got an apple from an organic garden. Which my friend Monica actually contemplated eating, Until we thoroughly convinced her that eating an apple straight out of an organic garden in Peru would be asking for giardia. Or death.

After hunting some people down and investigating their homes, which were in a different level of repair but for the most part pretty classy establishments we move on to contructing cocinas mejorarada and latrinas. For those of you who don’t speak Spanglish that better cooking stoves and latrines, which is part of the healthy lives initiative. This process of constructing in Peru really shed some light on what my life will be like these next two years. It was a cold hard slap in the face with some concrete and a dash of poop. Because it wouldn’t be the Peace Corps without poop. When we went to build the latrina we showed up to build a woman a free latrine. She didn’t have to attend any educational lectures or change any part of her house. She just had to be. Also I should tell you that we were building a latrine for the same health promoter that made a dash for the hills that morning in an effort to avoid us. Anyways, the family had not build the hole necessary for a latrine…and they weren’t home… critical piece of the puzzle. We had to break in to their house to get the supplies to build their latrine. And then when the family finally showed up the mother seemed less than ecstatic about the fact that we were building a latrine for her. The volunteer we were working with, Kaitlyn, said that she was going to steal the latrine if the family didn’t build the hole within the next two days. I wish the best of luck for her if she attempts to move a solid slab of concrete up a mountain. Besides the lack of Peruvian personnel the building was relatively successful and I felt like a real Peace Corps actually building something. And naturally I was somehow dirtier than anyone else working.

Building the cocinas also proved to be an interesting challenge. The family was supposed to build the base of the cocina before we showed up. When we arrived to the house the husband had built the base to a different stove. But kaitlyn was not there to tell us this. We started on the construction anyways, none the wiser. When Kaitlyn came to check on our progress she realized that we were working on a model that a past volunteer had built in her village. The man whose house we were at asked us some questions about the design. All we were left with was you are building a different design so hmmmmmm…..We were at a standstill about what to do so naturally we just kept chugging along. The whole time we were constructing our language facilitators kept trying to encourage the man- who was little but not my little man- to teach us what he was doing. He said was “aqui”- here, and the “what it’s called.” It was very productive. I feel much more informed. I did however get to throw mud and put some bricks down. And manage to get dirtier than the rest. But then we ran into a problem. It was the cocina design that the husband started to build required a lot more material what what we had. There was not enough “special red mud,” iron rods or bricks. Since there is not much we could do about the lack of iron rods or bricks Kaitlyn sent us to work making more “special red mud.” This mud consists of something red, which I did not get the name of, dried donkey poop, straw, water and sand. I told you there is always poop. So we sat there mixing this great concoction of random stuff and poop, making jokes all the while. The first volunteer in Health to poop her pants and socks was in our group. We were relentless. And I got the mud on my neck. How that happened is anyone’s guess. By the end of the day I also managed to have blue paint on my shirt from our youth activities. I’m the definition of a hot mess.

So the whole training went along swimmingly. I feel like I actually know more and could do some semblance of building, or at least facilitate- which is really my goal. And then Sunday came. Sunday was a day that will be remembered by Peace Corps Health 18 for the rest of our lives. We were told that it would be an epic day and for some reason our pants but not our shoes or shirts would get muddy. There would be tears and epicness. What really went down was hugging. The science of hugging. The hippie Peruvian version of a cultish commune hugging. With blindfold. On top of a mountain. So to get to sed hippie commune of doom we had to go up 1,000 meters on a road that left us about an inch from death and had some curves that a bus should never even think of taking. Ever. The view was breath taking. The people did too many drugs in their youth.

The people were two couples, one young and gringo and the other older and Peruvian. And one young girl, who I would love to have a conversation with in 20 years. The hippies were talking about hugging. Allllooottt. We had to do an exercise where we hugged for 10 seconds, looked into each others eyes for 20 seconds and repeated with increasing intervals of time until we reached a 70 second hug. Also we weren’t allowed to laugh. And something about Sigmound Freud. That the fluent speaker didn’t understand. After sed hugging exercise we had to walk down a hill blindfolded. I would say everyone was concerned for my safety. Ill have you know I made it down in one piece. I did try to hug a thorn bush for a while but other than that I was good. I didn’t try to climb back up the mountain like one of my peers. We also got to do the follow the leader exercise where one person leads blindfolded people around. It’s a good exercise. We did it 7 times. And ended in a group hug. Naturally. And then we got to eat with our hands. Blindfolded. Alone. To celebrate the ritual. And paid 8 soles. For the nutrients. That did not include vegetable. That happened. Luckily Juarez- the capital city- compensated for it. There was banana bread, pizza, wine and fresh brewed coffee. Everything you would need.

Ground Control to Major Tom

This is going to be a short entry and by short I mean kinda short. Shorter than before. It’s been a struggle to write this entry, even though I have been thinking about it. I have come to the point where my brain is a muddled pile of goo. I can’t think in either Spanish or English. I was in fact yelled at twice for speaking emailing in pure misspelled Spanglish. I just wanted to get something out before I ship off to field based training for the next 4 days. Don’t worry I just watched the Hangover to ensure my brain was thinking in English.

So this is a feeling every Peace Corps Trainee will feel and or has felt. It is a complete lack of control over their own lives. It is a curious change to go from being completely independent to having little to no freedom. It has come to the point that none of us actually know what is happening we just move like a heard of turtles. Generally getting yelled at for being late because we are sitting outside of the room we need to be in. Also whenever we travel outside of the center I get the general sense that no one really knows what is going on. I know that the trainees sure as hell have no clue what is happening and some of the times the trainers are blindsided with change. So there is a lot of standing and then changing locations. Then standing. Attempting to speak in Spanish. And changing locations. And standing.

The funny thing that the over controlled feeling I get daily from my professional life extends into my personal life as well. I was told by the Peace Crops roughly a million times that girls in Latin America don’t wear shorts. This didn’t pose much if any problem to my life until last weekend when I was trying to do P90X (a work out video) in my room. My host brother told me that we were going to have lunch ahorita (a little bit of now). Tragically I learned that a little bit of now is not the same as ahora (now) because for the next 60 min I kept doing something and then changing out of my exercise shorts and into jeans to go outside to see if the table had been set. I think I much have switched my pans about 93 times. It came to the point that I was so frustrated about having to change my pants every 77 seconds that I went into my room and put on my work out shorts and then laid there on the floor with frustration. That’ll show em. I was exhausted from changing, hungry because I thought I was going to eat about 2 hours so I effectively did nothing besides reassure myself that I indeed did know how to button and unbutton my jeans.

Attempting to avoid the same pants fiasco this weekend I rebelled and just wore shorts. I am glad for the decision. It was no big deal. It’s just bizarre because my house is one with the Internet café so I am always inside and outside at the same time. I also decided to not wait to go running after lunch and just go before. I had to trust that lunch would come when it came and peanut butter would have to suffice for a snack. Lunch came at 3 pm. I think I went through about 1 pound of my 3 pounds of peanut butter on Sunday. Which, fun fact, I have had to lace with fiber because of my jam-packed diet of potatoes on potatoes with a side of rice. Let me tell you peanut butter and fiber tastes like joy and saw dust. Speaking of joy and sawdust I cooked dinner for the first time. I made the Mexican classic fajitas, because my mother failed to teach me how to cook anything American. If you would like to hear more on this issue, please speak to Jessie Campbell-Morrison. My fajitas weren’t exactly what you would think of instead it was a modified version because not all of the ingredients were available. But either way it was delicious. My little sister Alejandra was less than a fan but my brother like it, or at least fained interest which is all I can really hope for. I also made guacamole; I thought I was being innovative. False. My brother Limber said that in fact all 7 of the Peace Crops volunteers before me have made guacamole. Apparently I’m the least innovative on that one.

The only other real moment in my life I felt like I had absolutely no control over my life was when I was with my friend Monica and going to Santa eulaial, another city to a cultural festival. We got lost on the way to the festival and as the combi (which is a terrifying small version of a bus) turned off to a dirt road we asked a mother on the combi where we should get off. She gave us very strict instructions about where to go and what to do. The one thing she was very explicit was not to take a mototaxi (a terrifying small three wheel box of horror not meant to hold more than one American at a time). When we got off the combi after being yelled at several times about not taking a mototaxi the combi driver called a mototaxi over, escorted us into sed mototaxi and placed us in it. We attempted to argue and not get in the mototaxi, but at the end of the day we had no choice. We were ushered into the mototaxi and sent up the hill. Generally I have realized I have absolutely no control over my life at this moment and pretty soon I’m gong to have tot much.

My boss recently said that this is the adjusting moment. Like standing at the beach with your feet in the ocean before you jump in to swim. Naturally I responded expect we are about to be dropped into the middle of the ocean with no paddle. Tactful KCM. Tactful.

1/2 The Story

Sorry it has taken me so long to write. I had every intention of writing sooner but there was a world cup qualifier game, Peru vs. Ecuador. We lost 4-2, but after we lost My Little Man clapped and said “que triste, well since we lost we should have more beer.” How can you say no to a little old man clapping about beer? Fact: You can’t. Then he commented ”que rico es cervesa.” The man loves his futbol and cervesa con Coca-Cola (yes I mixed beer with coke, better than you would think). Anyways after drinking a beer to celebrate Peru’s loss and then Venezuela’s win over Argentina, My Little Man and I casually entered into a conversation about religion… where I had to to explain the origins of the three Abrahamic religions. Now keep in mind I don’t know the word for the Bible in Spanish. So I think in a round about way I explained it. But there are no guarantees if it translated correctly. I roughly said there was the old book and Jesus and Muhammad. Who knows what he did with that nugget of information. Then we moved on to the evangelicals and the Prosperity Gospel. Of course I completely forgot the English name for the Prosperity Gospel so I said the “creecimento en las platas”- the belief in coins. I sincerely apologize to all evangelicals for that one.

The greatest struggle I have had in the past two weeks only getting about half the story here. Either people don’t quite understand what I am saying or vice versa. And I say “si” a lot with no clue to what I am actually agreeing to. For instance, when My Little Man was reminding me to lock the door or else I would get robbed and killed (it seemed a bit aggressive since earlier he said there was not much crime in Tres de Octubre, but who am I to judge?) I just kept saying “si.” Roughly 5 minutes later I realized I was agreeing to wanting to get robbed and killed. No wonder he got so concerned and explained how to lock the doors 10 times.

In gerenal my language skills have been improving, I just jump 2 language groups because I’m just that stellar but some basic things still escape me. My Little Man just let me know that I have been miss pronouncing “todo” (all) this whole time. I have been saying “toro” (bull). That really explained why he always looked so perplexed when I was talking about “todos los x, y and z.” He was hearing “bull the x, y and z.” I’m pretty sure Sunday I said a sentence that roughly translated to “bull the volunteers went to go to the agriculture university to believe organic gardens.” I only make sense roughly 50% of the time I speak in English but this sentence is just down right ridiculous. Why the hell would bulls be believing organic garden? They wouldn’t. Probably should have learned how to speak in English before coming to Peru. Minor details.

Anyways, then I used my wondrous grammatical skills to talk to my host mom in Argentina. Yes she does exist. When I was handed the phone to talk to her I was so taken off guard by this magical, mythical contraption called a telephone all I managed was “hola, como estas?” Completely forgot all the necessities like “your house and family are so nice,” “thank you for letting me stay here,” “cant wait to meet you.” Just stood there in the kitchen holding the phone as if it was a dead rat and My Little Man whispering “Cuando vas a venir?’ (when are you going to return). My Little Man gave me one of those “oh honey its ok” looks. It goes along well with the giggle in your face look that is pretty standard. My family makes a solid effort to help me speak Spanish but sometimes they just cant help laughing at me. I would be offended but I run into walls so its happened before.

Now the prime example miscommunication skills is an incident that happened Monday at dinner. Limber, my host brother, left after dinner. The woman who comes over to help cook, who I call My Nanny, said he was going to see “su flaca.” Side note: you may be wondering why I call her my nanny. It’s because she helps me with my homework, feeds me, packs my lunch and occasionally reads out loud to me. Yup I’m 5. Anyways, the entire time My Nanny was talking about this illusive “flaca” she was quite the little miss sassy-pants. Not quite understanding why she was saying “flaca” the way 13 year-old-girls say “boooyyyfffrrriiieennndd” I asked what a “flaca” was. She replied “la mujer con (or para, missed that one) el dinero.” This left me even more confused. So naturally I jumped to the conclusion that my brother was going to see a prostitute or going grocery shopping. These were the only two options. I’m quite the logical one, its undeniable. Bewildered by the casual mention of my brother going to visit a prostitute I asked my language teacher Monica, what “flaca” meant. It means skinny girl, and colloquially it is often used to signify friend or girlfriend. She laughed at me when I asked if it could mean prostitute. So we are left with grocery. Or the way more likely option that he was going to see a friend who is a really skinny girl. But I’m sticking to prostitute. It’s more entertaining.

My other favorite example of my perpetual bewilderment was the fact that I used a shirt as a towel for roughly a week. When I arrived after I had taken my first shower I asked my dad if there was a towel I could use and he said I would have to buy one. Now I had already taken a shower so he seemed perplexed that I asked him after I was already dry for a towel. I felt as if he would know that I used a shirt-towel. But after a brief moment of judgment he asked me if I wanted to go to the market that night to buy one. I was so awkward about the fact I was asking for a towel after my first shower I ate my words and said we can go later in the week or on the weekend. I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking because if he wasn’t judging me (lets get serious he wasn’t) for using a shirt towel after my first shower he sure as hell was after I turned down an opportunity to solve my towel dilemma. He was probably thinking “what is wrong with her? Is she not going to shower?” or “what on earth is she using to dry herself if she clearly doesn’t have a towel but doesn’t want to go get one?” I did in fact shower and used my long sleeve thermal to dry off. For some unknown reason did not remedy this whole towel predicament for a week, even though I went to the market, twice. It wasn’t until I washed the shirt and actually contemplated using it permanently that I realized I was being silly. Also, I’m 99% sure the only reason I didn’t continue to use shirt-towel was the fact it got cold and shirt-towel was my only warm long sleeve. I am just chock full of magnificent life moments.

Training is still going along. Sometimes there are distinct moments where I am shocked or only get half the story. Like getting lost and hopping curbs and becoming airborne in the Peace Corps vans on the way to Lima. Everyone has figured out that I am clumsy. I think it startled them at first that someone of my caliber of skill exists, but it was probably just jealousy. Or confusion. 6 in one half dozen in the other really. But now when I run into a pole it comes as no shock. Sometimes I think the technical trainers and language tutors don’t know what to do with me. it doesn’t help that I inevidably accidently blurt out super inappropriate things in front of them roughly daily. Such as “mother-fucking shit what the hell is going on?” That happened. I was startled. So naturally I screamed Profanities into the Assistant Country Directors ear. Also I accidently knocked into the country directors glasses when going in for the Peruvian kiss (a kiss on the cheek). Pure class. Apparently when he went for the Peruvian kiss with the next girl with glasses he was timid, scared of a repeat. Luckily my skills are unrepeatable. And yesterday, two fellow Trainees tied my shoes for me in front of my boss Katrin and I had my shirt on inside out. Really proving my competency skills. Katrin said “awe, they really take care of you.” And then laughed. I asked her if she was laughing at me. She tried to lie and say she wasn’t but she couldn’t hold it together through the lie. I would like to have you know I do know how to tie my shoes. They just bent down before I did.

So that’s all for now boys and girls! I am going to turn off my headlamp and go to bed. Yes I do have my headlamp strapped over my Bose headphones. Undeniably awesome fashion right there.

Xoxo

KCM

Woah There Sparky

I have officially been bitten by my first dog, it was named Gringo. Go figure a dog named white boy biting a white girl. Don’t worry no skin was punctured. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Dr. Jorge- the Peru Peace Corps doctor- told us all that we would all be bitten and should bring rocks when we go running. I have to admit I was still residing in the “yeah I’ll get bitten but way later camp.” Not the I’ll go next door and be bitten by the dog who poops inside camp.

The dogs in Peru are quite a mystery to me. for starters the majority of them either live in a posy on the street or on the roof. Now I understand the street posies but the roof gets me nearly every time. I recently found out that I actually have a dog in my house not just a cat. One day I was walking home from school and there was just a dog on my roof. Clearly. Her name is Presciosa, and all I really know about her is that she is blonde and lives upstairs or on the roof. Anyhoo when I was hanging my laundry Presciosa seemed less than pleased with my presence and was attempting to bark at me. I say attempting because she was standing near the ledge and doing a sort of scared snarl thing. I’m pretty sure she was scared if she actually barked she would fall off the ledge. I respect that decision- because what would I have done, leap over a water cooler and catch a dog? I wish I had that skill. Since I don’t I would inevitably have to tell My Little Man, by the way while you were in the Sierras you dog fell off the roof in front of me. (On a fun note My Little Man has officially gone to the Sierras, hypothetically he will be back tomorrow, no word on my mysterious mother.)

Last week was filled with a lot of strange moments. Like finally looking at the decorations in my house. The photos of the roosters are actually next to Jesus. I reckon roosters are next to godliness in Peru. Also there are some random billboards upstairs. Probably for the next time we have a makeup sale at our house. Gotta have the promotion material.

I’ll admit it: I have begun to realize that I am going to be in Peru for the next two years. Took a while to hit but it actually did. And sadly the thing that did it was Grey’s Anatomy. In my head the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy was September 28^th. Upon looking at a calendar I realized that September 28^th was a Wednesday so I can’t really justify my sorrow. But anyways on September 28^th I was quite distraught that I was not going to be able to see the Grey’s Anatomy season premiere. No judgment but a tear was shed. In reality I am much sadder about missing The Daily Show or Bones or not having the 1^st season of Grey’s with me, but it was Grey’s Anatomy 2011 is what got me. Then I thought it would be a super logical idea to listen to Adele. Nope. Do not follow this plan. If you are ever in Peru and sad about not being able to see Grey’s Anatomy do not listen to Adele, it will be counter productive. Try The Office or Transformers or Tangled. I know I’m really selling my movie and TV taste right now. But anyways the point of this whole melodramatic paragraph about Grey’s and Adele was to tell you that this was the first time that I have come to terms with the fact that I will actually be in Peru for 2 years. As in 2 years. Grey’s Anatomy will go on without me.

And then there is the general communication quandary. My comprehension and grammar is getting better. I am actually trying a new thing called grammatical correctness in speech. I know I have just blown your mind. KCM speaking grammatically correct. I can barely do it in English how the hell am I supposed to do it in Spanish. So I’m trying to do this whole conjugation thing and integrate all my fancy new vocabulary like hombre is shoulder into phrases but I am now struggling for a new problem I will dub “blankness.” It is a point in conversation where I think I am going along well. I have actually formed roughly 6 sentences and then I come upon a word I don’t know like “handle” and I get so befuddled that I cant find the word I try to go about saying it in another way but its all just blank. I don’t know the word in Spanish and I completely lose track of what I am trying to say in English or in Spanish. It is just blank. No words, no concepts, just a void where language used to be. It’s a struggle that inevitably dissolves into me saying “what the fuck am I trying to say?” After My host family laughs at my inability to speak and I either pointing at the object, coming up with a logical explanation or simply just switching to a different topic of conversation. It would probably be easier to whip out my dictionary but why make it that easy for myself.

Luckily training has turned into more technical things recently. The first few days of last week it was totally theoretical. I began to feel like I had entered 3^rd grade. Don’t get me wrong all the information was quite useful, but when one of my friends got asked to move to the other side of the room because she was giggling too much I literally had no other reaction but to burst out laughing. She had to bring her chair. In front of the whole class. It was enjoyable. At some points it felt as if there was all the great idea of things. The great idea of speaking Spanish; the great idea of what it meant to be a Peace Corps Volunteer but nothing tangible. Luckily I think that is beginning to change and we are coming to the actual functional points in how to do things like do early childhood stimulation. Because lets get real my understanding of early childhood stimulation goes about as far as put in the Baby Einstein DVD and prevent the child from falling down the stairs. I know I’m supes qualified. You now all want me to train all your babys how to be upstanding citizens.

In general week 2 has proven to be a balancing act between being a person, a student, a host daughter and a language learner. High school in a different country and legal beer. Sometimes you are presented with unexpected things like how to be someone’s daughter with no cell phone. It makes it very difficult to do things like change plans. I don’t know if any of you have met me but sticking to a plan for an evening is not exactly my strong suit. Occasionally I get distracted by shiny objects. I’m pretty sure my father would be roughly dead if I didn’t have a cell phone in high school. Don’t know how people before 1990 did it. I guess you just had to make a plan and stick to it but that seems like a lot of work. Or there are those outdated house phone things.

Well this was one long ass entry. I am impressed if you have made it this far. Championship status. So Boys and Girls love and kisses from Peru. You should probs DVR Grey’s over the next two years. And use all your storage space for me. A duh. Or you could send me something. I’ll allow it. Now I’m just getting greedy. Miss you all

Xoxo

KCM