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.

25 Fun Factoids from My First Year

1) I may be the one of the only Peace Corps Volunteers whose socios are so scared of her walking alone they nearly forbid it. Whoever thought of putting me in the Andes clearly never walked down the street with me.

2) I am paralyzing afraid of ledges because I am 99% convinced that I will fall off. Unfortunately I have to face this fear at least every 10 days and in the states ledges meant a building. Here ledges mean a mountain that if I fall off of I will plummet to my eminent death.

3) Flagging down a semi-truck on the side of the road is an acceptable form of transportation. Although I think of a 60 minutes special every time.

4) Tony from P90X has the worst fat kid syndrome known to man.

5) Having to travel 6 hours with a 3,000m altitude increase and no bathroom leads to the worst hangovers known to man.

6) Living with a parasite for 7 months is not necessarily the best idea.

7) Eating oatmeal off a Swiss Army Knife really means you should buy a spoon or a new host family.

8) Breast-feeding is not a private activity, it really means whipping out your boob at any given moment.

9) Hand washing your laundry makes you really appreciate washing machines and the magical way they get stains out.

10) Bucket bathing in your room is a complicate affair even for a coordinated person.

11) Repeating music is an acceptable thing. There is no problem listening to a Nicki Minaj song for 2 hours straight. Although playing “Starships” 97 times may be a bit excessive.

12) Food dreams are a real and crazy phenomenon. Dreams about running through a field raining Honey Nut Cheerios is one of the few.

13) Cutting your hair while angry and watching “The Wire” makes you look like you got ran over by a lawn mower. Thank god for curly hair.

14) Watching an entire series of a TV show is a feasible although disturbing act.

15) Realizing your monthly paycheck is about half of your monthly rent your senior year really puts things in perspective.

16) The concept of legroom is a myth.

17) Cold beverages make you sick, rainbows can get you pregnant, wind can cause stomach ailments, drinking Jello mix is good for your throat and mountains can make you sick and eventually kill you.

18) Going running once means that you go running everyday although people will comment that you are still as fat as the day you started running.

19) Saying this is the coldest I have been in my entire life every day really negates the point.

20) Stained or holey shirts are only ruined if you can’t hide the stain or hole with a carefully placed sweater.

21) Indoor heating was the greatest invention ever. Whoever thought of it should probably get a Nobel Prize. Also I feel bad for the heating bill when I finally have access to a thermostat.

22) Wearing different shades of all the same color is perfectly acceptable, as long as one item is either fleece or spandex.

23) Morning announcements exist outside of elementary school. And they must happen around 5:30am, just to make sure you are awake.

24) You only really need about 20 square feet to have a bedroom, kitchen, gym, closet, living room, and office all in one.

25) Cows are terrifying; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Also you have to cut off part of their horn in order to ensure that they grow.

The Year Mark

So I have officially been in my site for a full year. It’s a strange moment. This is the moment where many volunteers have a “mid-service crisis,” where basically you feel like you have accomplished nothing and you wonder why you are so far away from home. I definitely had a moment of a mid-service crisis. It was the week before going on Thanksgiving vacation, and I had spent too much time in my own head. I began to wonder what I was really doing in Peru and feeling a severe sense of unaccomplishment. Which I know is not a word, but I can’t think of what the actual word should be.

I began to feel like a failure because I had not accomplished anything tangible. There were other volunteers building things, getting money like rain and seemingly moving with the fluidity of Michael Phelps. It was like I could look around and effectively say- you have accomplished nothing. And of course in this week of feeling hyper-unproductive I did what feels like nothing. It’s a vicious cycle.

During the week and a half of my mid-service crisis I began to feel the weight of isolation. For Peace Corps Peru I am one of the more isolated volunteers. I live in site 6 hours from the regional capital, closest mailbox, grocery store, and market, what can sometimes feel like everything. I am an hour from the closest volunteer. Although I started off in a cluster of 4 volunteers all within 1 and ½ hours either walking or in car it sometimes feels like I am living in the land of Murphy’s Law. 2 of them have left and let me tell you when you are on top of a mountain the difference between 2 and 4 is palpable.

I am also one of the lucky few that lives in a Claro only site. For those of you that have no idea what that means there are basically 2 cell phone companies in Peru, MoviStar and Claro. MoviStar is much more popular and the majority of volunteers have it and something called an RPM which allows you to call all other volunteers for free. I on the other hand have Claro and RPC. I can call a whopping 5 people for free. Two of them are my bosses. I don’t frequently call them to chitchat. So I either have to dish out dinero to call people or go running (literally) to hunt for MoviStar service. Although it is not a daily annoyance it can get burdensome at times.

Then I always look at my life and I feel absolutely ridiculous feeling isolated when there are 2 volunteers about an hour and a half from me and I do have the ability to call someone in emergency about 90% of the time. I remember I could be in Africa with no electricity to charge my cellphone. Or I could even be one of my fellow Huancavelica volunteers living without any cellphone service and colder sites. In which case I would probably die, since I’m already sleeping in 6 layers under 5 wool blankets.

That’s the funny thing about Peace Corps it can begin to play tricks on your brain. You can begin to think everyone’s projects are going swimmingly until people can’t leave for Thanksgiving because of abrupt changes in plans. Or that everyone is getting together without you because they are all so much closer, only to realize sometimes those exact people feel the same way. You never really know what is going on in another volunteers site, unless you live in the same site, because everything else is hearsay. You only know what they tell you. Even if they tell you the complete and total truth, you can never compare your work to theirs.

The program goals, lifestyles and pace of projects are entirely different depending on the size of your site, efficiency of your municipality, and whether you live in the sierras (mountains) or la costa (the coast). Even if you live in the biggest most organized site in the sierras your work comes to a standstill during the rainy season. You can’t construct, generally the population shirks and annexes you may have been working with can become inaccessible. Therefore a water and sanitation volunteer, who generally starts constructing faster due to program goals, in a large costal site is entirely different than a health volunteer in a small sierra site. It’s like comparing apples and steak. They are both food, but that is about where the comparison ends. They are not operating on the same resources. They do not have the same end in site. They may not even speak the same language, literally; in the sierras there is a lot of Quetcha.

Although I feel like every volunteer knows that they cannot compare themselves it is nearly impossible to not do it. Especially when you are feeling like your work is inadequate or your isolated and bewildered, which is the absolute last time you should be doing it.

I guess it sometimes feels jarring when you hear about people getting together and you cant do that much traveling. Or you totally misinterpret Peruvian news and think the new African American secretary of state had a sex scandal the CIA is investigating. Only to be told you are completely missed the mark. Go Spanish skills. Although to be fair they were cutting together the stories with a rapidity that probably confused Peruvians.

I guess the point that I am trying to get across is that the year mark puts you in an oddly pensive position. You are sitting there thinking about what you have accomplished in the past year. Trying to put it into tangible form and make sense of it all. Wondering if you have advanced in anything besides gaining a potato belly. It also forces you to redefine the word accomplishment. In the states for me accomplishment basically meant doing well in school, winning games, getting asked on out (sorry mom and dad). And pretty much none of that is relevant to my life here unfortunately. I do not qualify getting asked out by toothless 5 feet men as a self-esteem booster.

It is so easy to feel inadequate in the Peace Corps that you have to take the small moments in order to feel some sense of accomplishment. There usually is no easy quick fix and everything can seem like it is falling apart faster than you can repair it. Sometimes all you need is to get out of your own head. Go somewhere to escape and put everything back into perspective. A time to have those fleeting moments you have been so devoid of to remember why you came and what you are gaining.

I think I am a fortunate volunteer because I never came into the Peace Corps with the delusion that I was going to change the world. My dad set very realistic expectations of what I could gain. The best thing he ever told me before I came was that he became the man he is today because he got a chance to be outside of everything he knew and be completely free to figure out whom he was. When I was having difficulty in my first three months he put things in perspective. He was the only person in his program in the entire country and his socios refused to work with him after the first few months. It made me think you have to take things a day at a time. You can’t really go at warp speed in the Peace Corps, and happiness is just as important as the work. Because really without happiness what do you have?

The 50th Anniversary

This year was the 50th anniversary of my town and in light of that fact there was a weeklong party. Well not really in light of that fact, because every year there is a weeklong party to celebrate, this year they just did it for the 50th time. A town anniversary is the American equivalent to a cities centennial celebration, but unlike America, Peru celebrates it every year. Obviously. Really America you should upgrade your block party. The anniversary is a time when all the people who live in the annexes or have left Cusicancha for the coast to come back and remember la tierra de sus padres.

To give you a chronogram of events the first day, the day before the actual towns anniversary is the dia centera. This day starts with a 10k that many people participate in but few actually finish. There is a bus that travels behind everyone and picks up the lagers, slow runners and those who generally want to quit before you have to climb up about 300 meters of switchbacks.

I decided to do sed 10k, but I’ll admit in the morning I thought I was running an 8k. a lot of times during the town anniversary marathons the women run 8 k and the men run 10k. Just to make things difficult we actually ran a 10k. Awesome. Don’t get me wrong I had no intentions that I would win the marathon against 18year olds that were used to walking 12k up and down from the annexes on a semi-daily basis. I decided that I wanted to finish for the sheer sake of saying that I did. I ran successfully for about 6 km and then the pure subida started. When the bus passed me, everyone was shocked that I did not want to get on. Around kilometer 8 I began to seriously regret the decision not to but there was nothing I could do at that point.

Eventually I made it into Cusicancha and pretty much wanted to kill myself at this point.

Since it is Peru I was obviously handed a bubblegum soda and stuck in a 30-minute conversation explaining who I was and then told to eat a bowl of Patasca- soup with corn and lamb. Exactly what I wanted at that moment. Although I will admit the Patasca was better than I thought it would be for the moment. when I finally made my escape I went home to contemplate my impending death and bucket bathe. I think I came in either 3rd or 4th by the sheer fact that I was one of only 3 or 4 girls to finish the race. I did tell my community I would come in dead last. At least I didn’t lie.

The rest of that day there were events like a food fair with the mothers of JUNTOS preparing typical dished from the region, football games, and the christening of the new bull-fighting ring. Oh yeah I forgot to tell you my municipality dropped S/.3,000 on a new bull-fighting ring for the anniversary. Because that’s a logical thing to spend your money on. Somehow at the opening ceremonies my site mate, Alli, and I became madrinas (godmothers) of the bull-fighting ring. I don’t know how being a broke volunteer qualifies you to be a godmother of anything but I did have the giant white stranger thing going for me I guess.

As part of being a madrina of the ring we had to participate in the christening. The only christening I had any familiarity with was with boats where you crack a bottle of champagne on it before you set sail. Here there were bottles of champagne but the cracking part was not as easy. Instead of just cracking it on the side of the ring, three bottles were hung over the bill entrance and we had to throw rocks at the bottles until they broke. Now I don’t know if any of you have seen me throw but I am the reason there is a stereotype that girls cant throw.

After the bottles were successfully broken, not by me, I found myself in a conversation with a man who looked far fashionable to be from my site. There is one little fun fact I forgot to tell you. Randomly the man who own Full-Color textiles, a textile company that works globally with companies like Victoria Secret, Ambercrombie, Life is Good and Gap, and who also run Topy-Top (the Peruvian cross between Gap and Forever 21) was born in one of my annexes. He is quite a philanthropic man, especially when it comes to parties, and who remembers where he was born, comes with a POSSY of family and friends. That first day of the fiesta my site suddenly was filled with a heard of loaded Limenios. Quite a contrast and change of dynamic. Instead of trying to stealthy avoid drinking too much quemadito- home brewed liquor; I was stealthy trying to figure out how to avoid drinking too much top shelf whiskey and pisco. According to stories I may have turned down giving my phone number to one of the wealthiest men in Peru. If only he hadn’t come up to my boobs maybe we would have had a future together.

There was suddenly what seemed like a million people in my site and a giant concert. I must admit I did not make it as long as I would have liked into the night due to my legs being moderately in a state of struggle and having to avoid large groups of drunk, single men. At one point a tiny little chauffer asked his boss for permission to dance with me. I suddenly felt like I was dealing with the mob and I had some how been claimed without my knowledge. It was odd to say the least. I’m not all that said that I didn’t make it forever into the night because around 5 am a kid got smashed in the face with a bottle.

The second day of the fiesta generally centralized around the parade through the plaza and events with the schools. Since the schools were still in strike during the anniversary the desfile was much smaller than normal. Also since it was the 50th anniversary there was much more talking about he past, present and future before the parade actually began. We had time to go get lunch in between the parade participants were told to line up and when we started. And this was not a long parade; it was one block, through the plaza. Anyways Peru was playing Uruguay this pay so needless to say the communities attention as less than focused on the parade.

The second night was really nothing to write home about. I’m pretty sure that everyone had gone out an hour longer than they should have the night before and the majority of the Limenios returned to the coast.

The third and final day of the fiesta my town indulged in some good old-fashioned bull fighting. Every other corrida de los torros I had seen at a town anniversary to this point had basically been bulls on a soccer field and drunk men waving their jackets at them hoping not to get stomped in the face. Sadly they were not always so lucky. Since we now had a new, classy, christened ring we brought in actual bullfighters from Lima for a real bull-fighting show. As I was walking into the ring one of the bullfighters (matadors) shouted something at me, but I didn’t really think anything of it. I have become accustomed to a certain amount of catcalls.

This particular matador decided that he was going to lay his moves on me during the bullfight in front of my entire town. At the beginning of the fight he handed me his phone to guard. I was seriously wondering why I matador even had his phone with him at such a time and why he would trust some random person with it. Especially considering it was a smart phone and the longer you know me the less you will trust me to be within 50 feet of your smart phone. Either way I took it because I didn’t really know what else to do at that moment.

Further into the fight the matador handed me his hat, which I understood about as much as him giving me his phone. Under the provocation of my site mate I put it on for a photo. Really how many times would I be handed a matadors hat in the middle of a bullfight. While this made for a great picture, it also solidified in my health posts mind that the matador was in love with me and I with him. You know I love my men, short and in tight, sequenced, blue and gold suits.

To continue laying down his game the matador decided that I should take photos for him. Initially he asked me if I had a camera, which I did but had run out of batteries, then he resorted I should use his phone. He was clearly trying to force us to meet up after the fight to give him the photos. Not likely. Anyways since his phone was a smart phone he had to give me the password. It was some made up Spanish word that I could not understand so my social had to help me. She had never had a touch phone and I hadn’t seen one in so long my fingers might as well have been sausage so needless to say it took a while to figure it out. Now I could crack the code to an awkwardly talking phone with a background of the matador leaning up against a shiny red Suzuki. Every girls dream.

At one point in the fight the matador got rammed in the ass by a bull and flung against the wall. He will now forever have that moment on video, which will inevitably be the highlight of his life. After taking a moment to recuperate he came over to where I was sitting. By this point my health post was practically planning our wedding and every time he came over I felt like I was in 7th grade. I simply thought he was coming over to get his phone and hat, which would be the logical thing but things are never that simple. I did manage to hand his things back to him but I also agreed to something. APPARENTLY he asked me if I was a nurse, to which I replied yes. He followed up by asking if he came to the health post later would I cure his ass, which I also replied yes. This was one of those moments where I was only half listening, not really understanding what he was saying and simply saying si to say something. My health post ran with this like they had just struck gold.

The rest of the night I was called the matadora. I also realized that I had been sititng on the opposite end of stadium seating and my entire town had seen the matador hit on me and were all convinced I was in love with him. Not the case, but there was little room for argument.

In the night we had a “Unsa,” which is a party where you basically dance around a tree and chop it until the tree falls down. Whoever chops down the tree is in charge of supplying the tree for the next year. During the unsa we danced a chopped and I finally figured out that I had