I should be showered, in bed, dreaming of stealing BMW's and torrential floods like last night, desperately searching for my beach house??? What is this pathetic existence I lead? I shouldn't be publishing this.
I found this, entitled Amanda Barker:
Henry got me with child,
Knowing that I could not bring forth life
Without losing my own.
In my youth therefore I entered the portals of dust.
Traveler, it is believed in the village where I lived
That Henry loved me with a husband's love,
But I proclaim from the dust
That he slew me to gratify his hatred.
Poem by Edgar Lee Masters
I knew about this poem a long time ago, and had forgotten about it. After revisiting it...it's all becoming so clear
Henry gets me pregnant despite the fact that he knows I will die as a result...everyone back home things he loves me...I think he killed me because of his hatred? Is this a love story? Did he choose baby over me? Was he fulfilling the inevitable...or purposely ended my life?
quick bio on edgar:
Edgar Lee Masters (Garnett, Kansas, August 23, 1868 - Melrose Park, Pennsylvania, March 5, 1950) was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. He is the author of Spoon River Anthology, The New Star Chamber and Other Essays, Songs and Satires, The Great Valley, The Serpent in the Wilderness An Obscure Tale, The Spleen, Mark Twain: A Portrait, Lincoln: The Man, and Illinois Poems. In all, Masters published twelve plays, twenty-one books of poetry, six novels and six biographies, including those of Abraham Lincoln, Mark Twain, Vachel Lindsay, and Walt Whitman.
this poem sums up my life, doesn't it?
some connections we share...he died in pennsylvania...his wife's name was emma, and i was almost named emma, he is heavily tied to legal realism...and well...that one just goes without saying.
i will continue to investigate this, and i expect you to do the same. any rumors about him, i want to hear. something good. all these brief bios have been less than satisfying.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
More photos
http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=1724151007/a=47625438_47625438/
Alright folks, if you want to see these pictures, you've got to sign in. Use the email address ABarker1006@gmail.com and password amanda. If that doesn't work, email me! Happy photo perusing.
Alright folks, if you want to see these pictures, you've got to sign in. Use the email address ABarker1006@gmail.com and password amanda. If that doesn't work, email me! Happy photo perusing.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Pictures
http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=1490460007/a=47625438_47625438/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish/
La Playa!
Here I am updating again at a terribly slow pace. I am home searching for jobs on the internet. It all seems to irrelevant and stupid compared to my mentality while in Arequipa. I just reread my last entry, and realized I should clarify what I meant, towards the end, when I said that the information I learned in the nurse’s station in Puno would soon change someone else’s life. After 3 or so months of working every day of the week, I travel to Puno. The following Thursday, we are out listening to jazz music late at night. We all realize we have a free Monday coming up, and, one by one, we convince each other it is a good idea to escape to the beach for a few days. I am one of the last ones to be convinced in the initial group of people, Edwin, Leonel, Estiv, and I. After a mountain of organizing who will do what, when, and how we’ll get there...we leave the next day, Edwin, Leonel and I. This couldn’t be a stranger trio.
It’s only a few hours by bus, and the bus is pretty nice. The windows don’t open, which means there is clean, cool, dust-free air to breath. The windows are enormous, and I share Leonel’s music as I stare out the window for four hours watching the scenery fly by. I am thoroughly. We arrive in Camana, a small city a few miles from the beach. It seems just like all of the other small cities in Peru I have been to, only this one has sea food, though it’s winter, and there are no tourists. The three of us with our backpacks, sleeping bags, tents and a few bags of food and Pisco head off for the beach. We have to take a colectivo, or group taxi, to get there. We cram in the car with our packs. These people look at us like we’re crazy. When we arrive, there is only one restaurant open, and the beach is empty, save for a few fisherman in their underwear, and the occasional group who comes to enjoy the tranquility of the beach in winter. It’s not cold, but it’s not hot most of the time either. A few hours of cloudless skies during the day heat us up enough to go swimming. The water is some of the coldest I have felt.
We make a fire, eat bread and fruit for dinner, and chat away the rest of the night. Only this doesn’t seem to me to be an ordinary camp fire with ordinary people. These are two of the most passionate, giving and emotional men I have ever known.
We are expecting our friends in the next few days, but we have no idea when they’ll come. Leonel and Edwin’s phones are dead, and I left mine in a taxi...so we are completely isolated. So, the next day, we eat, swim, roam around the beach, sleep, argue over who will go back into town to get more food and Pisco...and make a fire in the evening.
At some point we meet two very interesting men. One is a young guy from Argentina who has come to take care of a friend’s hotel during the winter months, to relax, make some connections, and learn to fish with a net. We have a hard time communicating at first with his Argentine accent, but we manage toward the end of our trip to understand one another. The other man is the owner of the lone restaurant...Dudu, is his nick name. He used to be the governor of this little beach town, which, by the way, looks like the apocalypse has come and gone.
About 10 years ago there was a Tsunami that hit here...and no one was prepared for it. I suppose no one ever is, but it completely devastated the little beach town, and many are too afraid to return, and have left fallen down houses. Others have rebuilt, and close down or move out merely for the winter. Dudu has two penguins, and lives right in front of where we’re camping on the beach. A convenient bathroom and fried fish supplier. He only remembers my name, so when we order food, he screams my name, and motions for us to come in. He reminds me of a Peruvian version of my grand father a little bit, with his big belly, and big heart. Both Marco, the Argentine, and Dudu, are philanthropists after our own hearts. Marco works with street children in Argentina, and Dudu works with groups like Marco’s, networking his business friends to donate food and put on events and what not. Dudu offers to host our children’s intercultural congress in November at the beach, during a festival time, when he knows his friends will be here and willing to donate and help out. Leonel accepts his invitation. These kids are going to die of excitement to hear they get to go to the beach again, I think. Most of them never travel unless it is with INTIWAWA. Few of our children we work with on the weekends outside San Isidro, which is only an hour away, go to Arequipa. Some have never been. They only know one place. Most of these children have never been to the beach either. Only the kids from San Isidro had that privilege last year.
The second night, after Dudu and Marco have gone to their homes, it is just Leonel, Edwin and I again. We always have INTIWAWA on our minds, and talk about it quite a lot. Our hopes, dreams, frustrations and disappointments. We tell stories, and learn more about each other. We have all shared some difficult and trying times together, and this weekend seems like a culmination of this. Part of this trip was a going away and reorganization trip for my departure. We knew when we both Leonel and I left INTIWAWA, things would change. I told the guys my uncle’s story about his little fluffy white dog that chased an adolescent boy down the street. The boy, to protect himself from this ferocious pooch, jumped on a neighbor’s car, and dented and scratched the roof and hood. My uncle would have to pay the damage, and received a fine from the police for not having control over his pet. They laughed at the ridiculousness of it. I also told them my story about Puno, similar to what you’ve read in my blog here. Leonel was hearing it for the second time, but wanted me to tell Edwin. Edwin is the most cynical person I have ever known. He has no hope in adults what-so-ever because they are selfish and blind and ignorant. He only believes the future is purely in the hands of the children and that hardly anyone in the world wants to help. We had a nasty argument over this in the past, but managed to move on despite our differences. This time, things would change. When I told him that 25 of the 30 children at the hospital in Puno were receiving free treatment, he cried. He didn’t know, he told me, that there was help. He thanked me and hugged me and told me I had given him hope. I cried too. We must have looked like lunatics out there on the beach, just the three of us. I will never forget that night.
Our friends arrive, and it's nice to have the new faces. We play soccer, eat at Dudu's restaurant...swim, and play music with odd instruments we've created. Water bottles, rocks, pens...someone has the idea to read a paragraph from a book as the lyrics of a song. The rest of us sing back up or play instruments, others just watch. It was fun making music with friends...something I am not personally used to. Normally I am a spectator. I think that speaks to my how comfortable I was around these friends. I still won't sing solo, but at least I piped up a little singing nonsense songs.
For now, this may be my last blog entry. I do plan to return to Arequipa and INTIWAWA (though I haven't really left, still dreaming, worry, and writing to volunteers making sure they're alright and answering questions) as soon as possible. I hope to be one of the few who returns.
"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go
Will you won't you, be the one I'll always know
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around
You're the only one who knows, you slow it down" - the fray
It’s only a few hours by bus, and the bus is pretty nice. The windows don’t open, which means there is clean, cool, dust-free air to breath. The windows are enormous, and I share Leonel’s music as I stare out the window for four hours watching the scenery fly by. I am thoroughly. We arrive in Camana, a small city a few miles from the beach. It seems just like all of the other small cities in Peru I have been to, only this one has sea food, though it’s winter, and there are no tourists. The three of us with our backpacks, sleeping bags, tents and a few bags of food and Pisco head off for the beach. We have to take a colectivo, or group taxi, to get there. We cram in the car with our packs. These people look at us like we’re crazy. When we arrive, there is only one restaurant open, and the beach is empty, save for a few fisherman in their underwear, and the occasional group who comes to enjoy the tranquility of the beach in winter. It’s not cold, but it’s not hot most of the time either. A few hours of cloudless skies during the day heat us up enough to go swimming. The water is some of the coldest I have felt.
We make a fire, eat bread and fruit for dinner, and chat away the rest of the night. Only this doesn’t seem to me to be an ordinary camp fire with ordinary people. These are two of the most passionate, giving and emotional men I have ever known.
We are expecting our friends in the next few days, but we have no idea when they’ll come. Leonel and Edwin’s phones are dead, and I left mine in a taxi...so we are completely isolated. So, the next day, we eat, swim, roam around the beach, sleep, argue over who will go back into town to get more food and Pisco...and make a fire in the evening.
At some point we meet two very interesting men. One is a young guy from Argentina who has come to take care of a friend’s hotel during the winter months, to relax, make some connections, and learn to fish with a net. We have a hard time communicating at first with his Argentine accent, but we manage toward the end of our trip to understand one another. The other man is the owner of the lone restaurant...Dudu, is his nick name. He used to be the governor of this little beach town, which, by the way, looks like the apocalypse has come and gone.
About 10 years ago there was a Tsunami that hit here...and no one was prepared for it. I suppose no one ever is, but it completely devastated the little beach town, and many are too afraid to return, and have left fallen down houses. Others have rebuilt, and close down or move out merely for the winter. Dudu has two penguins, and lives right in front of where we’re camping on the beach. A convenient bathroom and fried fish supplier. He only remembers my name, so when we order food, he screams my name, and motions for us to come in. He reminds me of a Peruvian version of my grand father a little bit, with his big belly, and big heart. Both Marco, the Argentine, and Dudu, are philanthropists after our own hearts. Marco works with street children in Argentina, and Dudu works with groups like Marco’s, networking his business friends to donate food and put on events and what not. Dudu offers to host our children’s intercultural congress in November at the beach, during a festival time, when he knows his friends will be here and willing to donate and help out. Leonel accepts his invitation. These kids are going to die of excitement to hear they get to go to the beach again, I think. Most of them never travel unless it is with INTIWAWA. Few of our children we work with on the weekends outside San Isidro, which is only an hour away, go to Arequipa. Some have never been. They only know one place. Most of these children have never been to the beach either. Only the kids from San Isidro had that privilege last year.
The second night, after Dudu and Marco have gone to their homes, it is just Leonel, Edwin and I again. We always have INTIWAWA on our minds, and talk about it quite a lot. Our hopes, dreams, frustrations and disappointments. We tell stories, and learn more about each other. We have all shared some difficult and trying times together, and this weekend seems like a culmination of this. Part of this trip was a going away and reorganization trip for my departure. We knew when we both Leonel and I left INTIWAWA, things would change. I told the guys my uncle’s story about his little fluffy white dog that chased an adolescent boy down the street. The boy, to protect himself from this ferocious pooch, jumped on a neighbor’s car, and dented and scratched the roof and hood. My uncle would have to pay the damage, and received a fine from the police for not having control over his pet. They laughed at the ridiculousness of it. I also told them my story about Puno, similar to what you’ve read in my blog here. Leonel was hearing it for the second time, but wanted me to tell Edwin. Edwin is the most cynical person I have ever known. He has no hope in adults what-so-ever because they are selfish and blind and ignorant. He only believes the future is purely in the hands of the children and that hardly anyone in the world wants to help. We had a nasty argument over this in the past, but managed to move on despite our differences. This time, things would change. When I told him that 25 of the 30 children at the hospital in Puno were receiving free treatment, he cried. He didn’t know, he told me, that there was help. He thanked me and hugged me and told me I had given him hope. I cried too. We must have looked like lunatics out there on the beach, just the three of us. I will never forget that night.
Our friends arrive, and it's nice to have the new faces. We play soccer, eat at Dudu's restaurant...swim, and play music with odd instruments we've created. Water bottles, rocks, pens...someone has the idea to read a paragraph from a book as the lyrics of a song. The rest of us sing back up or play instruments, others just watch. It was fun making music with friends...something I am not personally used to. Normally I am a spectator. I think that speaks to my how comfortable I was around these friends. I still won't sing solo, but at least I piped up a little singing nonsense songs.
For now, this may be my last blog entry. I do plan to return to Arequipa and INTIWAWA (though I haven't really left, still dreaming, worry, and writing to volunteers making sure they're alright and answering questions) as soon as possible. I hope to be one of the few who returns.
"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go
Will you won't you, be the one I'll always know
When I'm losing my control, the city spins around
You're the only one who knows, you slow it down" - the fray
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Puno
Forgive me for not writing!!!!!!!!! I am back home now, but I will attempt to write this collecting all that I can from my memory along the way. I will start with where I left off. I was heading to Puno on my own. After hearing on the news what was happening in that region, I decided on our first weekend off, I would go to Puno with clothes for the kids at the hospital. Puno is not only a city, where Lake Titicaca is located, but also a region. The region of Puno has seen some seriously high death rates, which repeats itself with out failure, every winter. Puno is high, and in the winter, it’s dry, and freaking cold. Generally all they raised up there, like in San Juan and Salinas, are llamas and alpacas. The vegetation is low to the ground, and there isn’t much to eat otherwise. The problem the people face there is sickness from the cold. I’m not a doctor, but the changes in temperature are pretty drastic from night to day, the cold can get really intense, like 18 below zero C, and the generally population in these areas is seriously under funded, and nearly forgotten. There is no insulation in the homes, they are made from dirt floors, thatched roofs, brick, and are generally windowless (well, yes, there are holes for windows, but no glass). So, I go to the used clothes market with Leonel, and we find fleeces for about 15 children, plus mittens, and whatever I can find in the box we keep in our house which is overflowing with clothing which will be donated during Christmas time. I fill a potato sack and a big shopping bag full, plus my belongings, and headed off to Puno at 7am on an 6 hour bus. I paid 5 dollars for the trip there, and it felt like I was riding first class in American Airlines. It was the nicest bus I’d been on. I curled up and slept well most of the way. I had only caught a few hours of sleep the night before.
I arrived in bright, “wow I am way overdressed for this sun,” Puno in early afternoon. First task, find a place to dump this immense amount of luggage and get something to eat. Went to an internet café, found a neat sounding hostel, lugged my stuff there, full. Walked around in circles, sweating to death, hungry, tired, and increasingly more frustrated and angry. Stopped in probably 5 hostels, too expensive...too fancy. Where is the cheap stuff? Oh, there it is. Let’s have a look. Oh god, no. Too cheap. I do not want to be the only person staying in this place, and it has shared bathroom stalls, no hot water. Please, this is my weekend off. Give me something! 150 places later, I found a cute little hotel type set up, not exceedingly nice, not terrible, reasonably price, friendly old man showed me the way. Door locks, hot water all the time, they even give you a towel. 10 bucks. Sold. Dump my stuff, and head back out to find some food. I didn’t get further than a block, found something interesting, one lonely tourist eating by himself in there...whatever. I am hungry. I order, oddly enough, coconut curry veggies and rice. It was amazing!!!! Fresh tea. Wow. I am in heaven. Leave there, roam around the touristy shops. Jesus, everything is so expensive. It seems worse than Arequipa, just smaller. I meet a nice girl in a shop who is struggling to communicate with the vendor lady, help her out with her expensive sweater situation, and we chat about what we are doing here by ourselves. She has a neat story to tell. She just quit her well paying job fixing the eyeballs of rich people. Literally, she is an optometrist. She says at first she is a doctor, but specializes in eyes. I don’t know their system, but I don’t bother to ask. We network a bit about INTIWAWA, and she promises she’ll contact us when she comes back to Peru. She’s traveling with a Peruvian guy she met in Mexico who has organized the whole trip. They are off the next day to check out the Islands in the lake. I have a tinge of “someday I am actually going to travel.” Whenever I meet tourists who are seeing everything, that tinge comes knocking on my door. I hate it. I love what I am doing, and I wouldn’t trader it for all the cheap hostels with hot water in the world. We part with smiles, and meet again 10 minutes later in another street looking at knitted hats. Finally we part for good. I manage to find my way to the lake as the sun is setting. It’s really big, but nothing terribly impressing. The good stuff is in the middle, away from all this algae and the taxi drivers and bicyclists.
I head back on foot, mostly to demonstrate to the taxi drivers that dammit, I can walk, even though I am white. I walk a few blocks, and here I am in another market. Fruits, veggies, rice, potatoes, shampoo, cheese, ceviche, raw meat, and lots of wide open eyes. I am the only white person here...I assume because it’s dark, and tourists have no need for these fresh food markets. They eat at restaurants. Alas, this time, I am essentially a tourist. I really don’t have any need for any of this. I buy only apples, avocado, and bread. Dinner. I head back home. It’s nearly 6. I should be in bed soon. I should be doing as much sleeping as possible on this trip to make up for lost time. I make avocado and apple sandwiches, after borrowing a butter knife from the front desk to make this situation a little easier, using newspaper as my plate, but still turns out to be a terribly unavoidable mess. Anyway, it was delicious. I surprisingly have a television in my room, and it has a remote. More than I could ask for. I flip through the excessive amount of stations a few times, get bored, and switch off the light. Here I am. Me and me, just hanging out for the night, and it’s probably 7pm. I am tired. I wake up the next morning, and decide to venture for a shower. I’ve noticed how awfully small the bathroom is. The whole thing is about as big as my bathtub at home, but also includes stand up shower, sink and toilet, all conveniently located in the same place...literally. The sink is actually in the shower...there is no tub. The entire room is tiled for protection. First, I have to shut the shower curtain, which now separates the toilet and the “shower.” Then, I have to stand on the toilet so I don’t soak myself or stand in the freezing cold water while it waits to warm up. I forgot to close the bathroom door, so water lakes out a bit into the bedroom. Tight quarters. wow. I finally manage myself into the shower, and the water is hot. This is the first hot shower I have had in a long time. Not to mention a shower. Excellent. I pack my stuff, and head out. I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I leave at 1pm for arequipa. 24 hours in Puno doesn’t seem like a lot, but it was packed with Amanda adventure. I walk out my hotel door, turn right onto a pedestrian/tourist only type street, walk a block, and find a moto taxi driver half asleep in his motorcycle. He pulls around, I load my stuff into the very back...and OH MY GOD he’s driving away!! Those things don’t go very fast, so I run to catch up with him and I’m there in just a few leaps, I’m banging on his door, “I am not inside!!!!!!!!!!!” “Oh oh, sorry sorry.” Idiot. He felt all the weight bear down in his taxi, and assumed I was in, too. This is really what happens when you assume. I get in, half freaked that he was actually trying to steal my stuff, and to the hospital we go. We arrive at the front entrance in a few minutes... “It’s closed, you know.” (Sunday). “Wow, REALLY?! You knew that before? You couldn’t have told me that before???” How the hell is a hospital closed? I think to myself. Okay, “So what if there is an emergency, what do people do?” “There’s an emergency entrance that’s open on the other side.” Then what the hell are we doing sitting at the closed front entrance if there is another entrance? This guy is killing me this morning. “Let’s go!” He drops my annoyed butt off, and all of my things, at the emergency entrance. There are people loafing around, as usual. But, they are very helpful, and one man offers to help carry my things, and escorts me around the hospital looking for where we need to go. After a few flights up and down the stairs (and it is really cold in the hospital stairwell), we arrive. The nurse’s are scampering around talking to parents and kids, making tea, preparing cotton balls by hand from a mountain of cotton...she’s brought clothes for the children, the man explains. They are very excited, and want me to wait here in their office/everything else room a minute while the visiting nurse finishes up. We are going to deliver the clothes personally to each child. Oh my. I was just thinking of dropping them off, I think to myself. Here we go. We separated the clothes into Mom size and baby size. Two nurses and I set off for all of the rooms. There are 30 children in total. All are under the age of 3, it seems. They are really tiny, all bundled up in these big beds. Three children to a room. Many of their mothers are their by their side. I feel very out of place here, like an intruder. The nurse’s take care of everything, explain what I am doing, take clothes out of my arms according to the size of the mom and child, toss it on the bed or to the mom, and off we go! Wow, this woman knows what she’s doing. Scarves, mittens, fleeces, and in minutes, our arms are nearly empty. One room is a steam room, it’s like 200 degrees in there and 99 percent humidity I think. Another room has two itty bitty infants sleeping. I ask how many months this one is, she looks at her chart, and says one year. Sepsis and pneumonia. I would have guessed 6 months old. She’s way too small. Sepsis is an infection in your blood, and a baby with pneumonia is never a good thing. She’s very sick, but she is sleeping pleasantly, and looks like a little doll baby. I choke back tears. Every one of these children is suffering from pneumonia or another cold weather related illness. We head back to the nurses’ station to wait for the visiting nurse to do her thing. After about an hour of waiting, we finally get to hang out the last of the clothes to the rest of the children. The mothers nod and smile in thanks, and I can’t say anything or I know I’ll cry. Despite the coughing and the crying, half the children are asleep, or are calmly lying in their beds with their mothers sitting in a chair next to the bed. They look at me in wonder.
I arrived in bright, “wow I am way overdressed for this sun,” Puno in early afternoon. First task, find a place to dump this immense amount of luggage and get something to eat. Went to an internet café, found a neat sounding hostel, lugged my stuff there, full. Walked around in circles, sweating to death, hungry, tired, and increasingly more frustrated and angry. Stopped in probably 5 hostels, too expensive...too fancy. Where is the cheap stuff? Oh, there it is. Let’s have a look. Oh god, no. Too cheap. I do not want to be the only person staying in this place, and it has shared bathroom stalls, no hot water. Please, this is my weekend off. Give me something! 150 places later, I found a cute little hotel type set up, not exceedingly nice, not terrible, reasonably price, friendly old man showed me the way. Door locks, hot water all the time, they even give you a towel. 10 bucks. Sold. Dump my stuff, and head back out to find some food. I didn’t get further than a block, found something interesting, one lonely tourist eating by himself in there...whatever. I am hungry. I order, oddly enough, coconut curry veggies and rice. It was amazing!!!! Fresh tea. Wow. I am in heaven. Leave there, roam around the touristy shops. Jesus, everything is so expensive. It seems worse than Arequipa, just smaller. I meet a nice girl in a shop who is struggling to communicate with the vendor lady, help her out with her expensive sweater situation, and we chat about what we are doing here by ourselves. She has a neat story to tell. She just quit her well paying job fixing the eyeballs of rich people. Literally, she is an optometrist. She says at first she is a doctor, but specializes in eyes. I don’t know their system, but I don’t bother to ask. We network a bit about INTIWAWA, and she promises she’ll contact us when she comes back to Peru. She’s traveling with a Peruvian guy she met in Mexico who has organized the whole trip. They are off the next day to check out the Islands in the lake. I have a tinge of “someday I am actually going to travel.” Whenever I meet tourists who are seeing everything, that tinge comes knocking on my door. I hate it. I love what I am doing, and I wouldn’t trader it for all the cheap hostels with hot water in the world. We part with smiles, and meet again 10 minutes later in another street looking at knitted hats. Finally we part for good. I manage to find my way to the lake as the sun is setting. It’s really big, but nothing terribly impressing. The good stuff is in the middle, away from all this algae and the taxi drivers and bicyclists.
I head back on foot, mostly to demonstrate to the taxi drivers that dammit, I can walk, even though I am white. I walk a few blocks, and here I am in another market. Fruits, veggies, rice, potatoes, shampoo, cheese, ceviche, raw meat, and lots of wide open eyes. I am the only white person here...I assume because it’s dark, and tourists have no need for these fresh food markets. They eat at restaurants. Alas, this time, I am essentially a tourist. I really don’t have any need for any of this. I buy only apples, avocado, and bread. Dinner. I head back home. It’s nearly 6. I should be in bed soon. I should be doing as much sleeping as possible on this trip to make up for lost time. I make avocado and apple sandwiches, after borrowing a butter knife from the front desk to make this situation a little easier, using newspaper as my plate, but still turns out to be a terribly unavoidable mess. Anyway, it was delicious. I surprisingly have a television in my room, and it has a remote. More than I could ask for. I flip through the excessive amount of stations a few times, get bored, and switch off the light. Here I am. Me and me, just hanging out for the night, and it’s probably 7pm. I am tired. I wake up the next morning, and decide to venture for a shower. I’ve noticed how awfully small the bathroom is. The whole thing is about as big as my bathtub at home, but also includes stand up shower, sink and toilet, all conveniently located in the same place...literally. The sink is actually in the shower...there is no tub. The entire room is tiled for protection. First, I have to shut the shower curtain, which now separates the toilet and the “shower.” Then, I have to stand on the toilet so I don’t soak myself or stand in the freezing cold water while it waits to warm up. I forgot to close the bathroom door, so water lakes out a bit into the bedroom. Tight quarters. wow. I finally manage myself into the shower, and the water is hot. This is the first hot shower I have had in a long time. Not to mention a shower. Excellent. I pack my stuff, and head out. I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I leave at 1pm for arequipa. 24 hours in Puno doesn’t seem like a lot, but it was packed with Amanda adventure. I walk out my hotel door, turn right onto a pedestrian/tourist only type street, walk a block, and find a moto taxi driver half asleep in his motorcycle. He pulls around, I load my stuff into the very back...and OH MY GOD he’s driving away!! Those things don’t go very fast, so I run to catch up with him and I’m there in just a few leaps, I’m banging on his door, “I am not inside!!!!!!!!!!!” “Oh oh, sorry sorry.” Idiot. He felt all the weight bear down in his taxi, and assumed I was in, too. This is really what happens when you assume. I get in, half freaked that he was actually trying to steal my stuff, and to the hospital we go. We arrive at the front entrance in a few minutes... “It’s closed, you know.” (Sunday). “Wow, REALLY?! You knew that before? You couldn’t have told me that before???” How the hell is a hospital closed? I think to myself. Okay, “So what if there is an emergency, what do people do?” “There’s an emergency entrance that’s open on the other side.” Then what the hell are we doing sitting at the closed front entrance if there is another entrance? This guy is killing me this morning. “Let’s go!” He drops my annoyed butt off, and all of my things, at the emergency entrance. There are people loafing around, as usual. But, they are very helpful, and one man offers to help carry my things, and escorts me around the hospital looking for where we need to go. After a few flights up and down the stairs (and it is really cold in the hospital stairwell), we arrive. The nurse’s are scampering around talking to parents and kids, making tea, preparing cotton balls by hand from a mountain of cotton...she’s brought clothes for the children, the man explains. They are very excited, and want me to wait here in their office/everything else room a minute while the visiting nurse finishes up. We are going to deliver the clothes personally to each child. Oh my. I was just thinking of dropping them off, I think to myself. Here we go. We separated the clothes into Mom size and baby size. Two nurses and I set off for all of the rooms. There are 30 children in total. All are under the age of 3, it seems. They are really tiny, all bundled up in these big beds. Three children to a room. Many of their mothers are their by their side. I feel very out of place here, like an intruder. The nurse’s take care of everything, explain what I am doing, take clothes out of my arms according to the size of the mom and child, toss it on the bed or to the mom, and off we go! Wow, this woman knows what she’s doing. Scarves, mittens, fleeces, and in minutes, our arms are nearly empty. One room is a steam room, it’s like 200 degrees in there and 99 percent humidity I think. Another room has two itty bitty infants sleeping. I ask how many months this one is, she looks at her chart, and says one year. Sepsis and pneumonia. I would have guessed 6 months old. She’s way too small. Sepsis is an infection in your blood, and a baby with pneumonia is never a good thing. She’s very sick, but she is sleeping pleasantly, and looks like a little doll baby. I choke back tears. Every one of these children is suffering from pneumonia or another cold weather related illness. We head back to the nurses’ station to wait for the visiting nurse to do her thing. After about an hour of waiting, we finally get to hang out the last of the clothes to the rest of the children. The mothers nod and smile in thanks, and I can’t say anything or I know I’ll cry. Despite the coughing and the crying, half the children are asleep, or are calmly lying in their beds with their mothers sitting in a chair next to the bed. They look at me in wonder.
While waiting with the nurses, we chatted about the health care system a bit. What happens if the families don’t have money?, I ask. They don’t come, she answers. They don’t receive treatment. No one? I clarify. Well, most people, no. You can petition the government, she explains, for help. Most people are lazy and stupid and don’t write to help themselves or their children, she explains resentfully. And the children here? Does the government help any of the children here? 25 of the 30 children here are here free, she tells me. I am shocked.
Most of the people I have talked to in Peru have no idea this is possible. They think there is no hope. These children don’t receive much here in the hospital, but at least they are in a warm bed, receiving fluids. The one’s who don’t receive any treatment out there in the cold are the one’s who don’t make it. This information has changed my life, and will soon change someone else’s. I leave sad and confused and sorry I couldn’t hang out with the kids and play with them. Back to Arequipa I go.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
One month to go
I ran passed a hand painted rock wall this morning that said-
Vecinos, Juntos Somos Diferentes. Neighbors, Together we are Different.
(there was no sponsorship on the wall to be found)
There are some really crazy things happening in the world, as always. Together we strain to be different, to maintain our cultural and territorial dignity, as well as to remain united. Recently, the Prime Minister of Peru has said he will step down from his position because of his irresponsible actions-that of allowing the passing of legislation which will permit the degradation and separation of land in Northern Peru, the Amazon Jungle, from it´s indigenous inhabitants, without consulting them. After what has become a small war between the native people and the police fighting for the access to roads and water ways. The indigenous people want to close down access to areas the government wants to develop and exploit for it´s natural resources. The trouble is that Peru needs the money...but ironically, will sell this land to foreign companies.
Just a quick fact-From 2002 to June 2008, the portion of territory in Amazonas (north), San Martín (central) and Madre de Dios (east) granted to mining companies quadrupled, from 4.65 percent to 17.35 percent. Wow.
Friday I will travel to Puno, the site of Lake Titicaca. Yes, it does exist. It´s the highest commercially navigable lake in the world. I learned that in the Highlands in Puno, it gets to -18 Celcius, or 0 Fahrenheit. Mother of god. The trouble with cold like this is kids are catching pneumonia and other respiratory illnesses…dying from lack of medical treatment, oxygen, vaccines, warm clothes. My plan is to travel to the hospital and give whatever I can gather together from my neighbors and room mates that they no longer use. I am scared to arrive in a new place with no place to go with no real plan, as I am always scared to start something new. I will only stay the weekend, but I hope that I will be able to see some of what it´s really like there…
A briefing of last weekend…another in Coporaque. This time I was accompanied by a recent graduate of psychology, Renato. The first day, we directed the children to write instructions for games they play (other than soccer and volleyball). The trouble with writing with these kids is that half of them are really little, some don´t know how to write, and the few that do cannot necessarily be relied on. From what I can tell, these kids really lack a sense of creativity. It´s very hard to see a community full of children, and the majority of them either aren´t acquinted with INTIWAWA, or don´t have the time to come. Nearly all of the older boys, from age 11 to 13 could not make it one day because they had to collect the town garbage. The enormous truck drives around in the intense sun with 10 adolescent boys in the back…they are having a blast, and it is quite a sight…an older man walks along, grabbing the trash cans and passing them up to the boys to dump. After writing their ´traditional´ games, which the children have no idea what is traditional, what´s not…only, what it is that they do, and whether or not it´s fun. That is why I would prefer to work on cultural exploration with the older kids…but really, we had one older girl who was older than 13…and no boys…they are working on their farms, helping raise their younger siblings, washing clothes. It´s troublesome.
On Sunday, we cooked! This time, maz amorra de maiz…it´s a soup complete with really squishy potatoes that are dried, then soaked like beans, carrots, onions, alpaca meat, some peppery liquid, abas, kind of like huge lima beans, salt and powdered maiz. It was really good! It was cooked on a fire in a ceramic pot. I carried it up hill for quite a ways…it was very heavy, and lacks real handles (they are smaller than tea cup handles). The heat was so intense that we had trouble keeping the kids attention…but they did enjoy helping prepare the ingredients. I was hoping the kids would be excited about this dish as they were about the gelatin cake…but alas, they were not.
Saturday in Coporaque was another day of another Saint. That said...this one included a parade with a ridiculously shrouded box complete with garland of fruit and flowers...sitting a top was Senor Saint. After the parade, they had a mass, and then after that, the drinking began. I have never witnessed so many drunk people in my life. They had a good four hours of drinking before I joined the scene with Renato. The tradition it to go from house to house, eat, drink and be merry. It´s incredible, with what little some people have, they were feeding everyone full meals (two plates). People bring bags to take their left overs because it´s more than enough. They have a special drink called Chicha which is fermented corn juice, more or less. It didn´t have that great of a flavor...but apparently lots of people reeeallly like it. When we first joined the procession, it was just the stragglers in the back. Turned out to be Chocolate, the father who I went fishing with last weekend, and a few of his relatives, and a few other bizarre men. One woman was crying, falling over herself, and another very leathery man fitted with an enormous cowboy hat was hiding his teary eyes, tucking his chin to his chest...we finally made it to the actual party, the majority of the women are in their traditional beautiful dresses, the men casually dressed, ready to drink and fall down. There is a small brass band with a big bass drum....playing popular songs that are on the radio, not sure how old they are though. Those guys played for two straight days, starting early in the morning, around 8, playing late through the night, and were still playing when I left on Sunday at 2pm. Chicha must be some kind of energy drink...and apparently they make a lot of money. You can´t have a party without a live brass band! After this non sense, we headed back to our house, took a lap, ate half a dinner (tepid fish head flavored soup) and headed down to the river. I missed the hot springs like crazy but it is really quite an effort to get their and back.
Down their in the aguas calientes, the sky with lit up with stars. It was so bright you could see the silouhettes of the tips of the hills and trees. Like searching for figures in the clouds, Antonella and I passed the time making up what we thought the shadows were...animals, cowboys, families, tigers...it was really magical just flopping around in the hot water, pitch black besides the stars. The hour walk back was killer...everything is less defined now that all of the barley and corn have been harvested. It is a good thing I didn´t go down there just with Renato. I am sure we would have gotten lost.
Until next time!
Vecinos, Juntos Somos Diferentes. Neighbors, Together we are Different.
(there was no sponsorship on the wall to be found)
There are some really crazy things happening in the world, as always. Together we strain to be different, to maintain our cultural and territorial dignity, as well as to remain united. Recently, the Prime Minister of Peru has said he will step down from his position because of his irresponsible actions-that of allowing the passing of legislation which will permit the degradation and separation of land in Northern Peru, the Amazon Jungle, from it´s indigenous inhabitants, without consulting them. After what has become a small war between the native people and the police fighting for the access to roads and water ways. The indigenous people want to close down access to areas the government wants to develop and exploit for it´s natural resources. The trouble is that Peru needs the money...but ironically, will sell this land to foreign companies.
Just a quick fact-From 2002 to June 2008, the portion of territory in Amazonas (north), San Martín (central) and Madre de Dios (east) granted to mining companies quadrupled, from 4.65 percent to 17.35 percent. Wow.
Friday I will travel to Puno, the site of Lake Titicaca. Yes, it does exist. It´s the highest commercially navigable lake in the world. I learned that in the Highlands in Puno, it gets to -18 Celcius, or 0 Fahrenheit. Mother of god. The trouble with cold like this is kids are catching pneumonia and other respiratory illnesses…dying from lack of medical treatment, oxygen, vaccines, warm clothes. My plan is to travel to the hospital and give whatever I can gather together from my neighbors and room mates that they no longer use. I am scared to arrive in a new place with no place to go with no real plan, as I am always scared to start something new. I will only stay the weekend, but I hope that I will be able to see some of what it´s really like there…
A briefing of last weekend…another in Coporaque. This time I was accompanied by a recent graduate of psychology, Renato. The first day, we directed the children to write instructions for games they play (other than soccer and volleyball). The trouble with writing with these kids is that half of them are really little, some don´t know how to write, and the few that do cannot necessarily be relied on. From what I can tell, these kids really lack a sense of creativity. It´s very hard to see a community full of children, and the majority of them either aren´t acquinted with INTIWAWA, or don´t have the time to come. Nearly all of the older boys, from age 11 to 13 could not make it one day because they had to collect the town garbage. The enormous truck drives around in the intense sun with 10 adolescent boys in the back…they are having a blast, and it is quite a sight…an older man walks along, grabbing the trash cans and passing them up to the boys to dump. After writing their ´traditional´ games, which the children have no idea what is traditional, what´s not…only, what it is that they do, and whether or not it´s fun. That is why I would prefer to work on cultural exploration with the older kids…but really, we had one older girl who was older than 13…and no boys…they are working on their farms, helping raise their younger siblings, washing clothes. It´s troublesome.
On Sunday, we cooked! This time, maz amorra de maiz…it´s a soup complete with really squishy potatoes that are dried, then soaked like beans, carrots, onions, alpaca meat, some peppery liquid, abas, kind of like huge lima beans, salt and powdered maiz. It was really good! It was cooked on a fire in a ceramic pot. I carried it up hill for quite a ways…it was very heavy, and lacks real handles (they are smaller than tea cup handles). The heat was so intense that we had trouble keeping the kids attention…but they did enjoy helping prepare the ingredients. I was hoping the kids would be excited about this dish as they were about the gelatin cake…but alas, they were not.
Saturday in Coporaque was another day of another Saint. That said...this one included a parade with a ridiculously shrouded box complete with garland of fruit and flowers...sitting a top was Senor Saint. After the parade, they had a mass, and then after that, the drinking began. I have never witnessed so many drunk people in my life. They had a good four hours of drinking before I joined the scene with Renato. The tradition it to go from house to house, eat, drink and be merry. It´s incredible, with what little some people have, they were feeding everyone full meals (two plates). People bring bags to take their left overs because it´s more than enough. They have a special drink called Chicha which is fermented corn juice, more or less. It didn´t have that great of a flavor...but apparently lots of people reeeallly like it. When we first joined the procession, it was just the stragglers in the back. Turned out to be Chocolate, the father who I went fishing with last weekend, and a few of his relatives, and a few other bizarre men. One woman was crying, falling over herself, and another very leathery man fitted with an enormous cowboy hat was hiding his teary eyes, tucking his chin to his chest...we finally made it to the actual party, the majority of the women are in their traditional beautiful dresses, the men casually dressed, ready to drink and fall down. There is a small brass band with a big bass drum....playing popular songs that are on the radio, not sure how old they are though. Those guys played for two straight days, starting early in the morning, around 8, playing late through the night, and were still playing when I left on Sunday at 2pm. Chicha must be some kind of energy drink...and apparently they make a lot of money. You can´t have a party without a live brass band! After this non sense, we headed back to our house, took a lap, ate half a dinner (tepid fish head flavored soup) and headed down to the river. I missed the hot springs like crazy but it is really quite an effort to get their and back.
Down their in the aguas calientes, the sky with lit up with stars. It was so bright you could see the silouhettes of the tips of the hills and trees. Like searching for figures in the clouds, Antonella and I passed the time making up what we thought the shadows were...animals, cowboys, families, tigers...it was really magical just flopping around in the hot water, pitch black besides the stars. The hour walk back was killer...everything is less defined now that all of the barley and corn have been harvested. It is a good thing I didn´t go down there just with Renato. I am sure we would have gotten lost.
Until next time!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Hecho con Manos
The last two weekends I have spent in Coporaque. I forgot to mention my fun farming experience. We made the slippery trek down to the river after working with the kiddos two Saturday´s ago...the sun was still strong and it felt good to be walking, free of worries. After finally reaching the little plot we were headed for (no one every says how long it will take to get somewhere) we find ourselves first in front of the borrows. They are being prepared to be loaded up with corn stalks and huge sacks filled with dried maize to carry back to the village. The weight is enormous, and takes 2, nearly three people to pick up the bag and heave it on to the back of the donky. None of the three donkeys is excited. After watching them pull the final donkey´s by the ears as hard as humanly possible into submission, loading this one up with less weight because he is in training, we went to the next little plot. There we met our enormous pile of recently cut corn stalks. They are all piled together like a sequoia. The task is to shuck the corn. The corn stalks are about 4 or 5 feet long, and lay in a pile (the system I chose, because you get to sit). You sit on the pile, and pull stalk after stalk out one at a time, find the corn cob, take it in one hand, use the little fat tool sharpened like a pen cil to pierce the top of the leaves, split it in half, rip the leaves off, then throw it in the pile. Most of the corn is semi dry. They harvest the corn much later than we do. What is really cool is that every cob is different. Some are purple, some are purple and white, some are orange, red, yellow or plain old white. My favorites, and of course the rarist, where the red ones. The next day, in the morning, we picked out the still fresh ones and pulled off all the kernels. The kernels were then boiled and we used them to make a delicious salad (nearly the same as a pasta salad, only with corn instead, flavored with cumin and black pepper, yum!)
I can´t remember the last time I was truly so content, sitting out their in the sun, chatting away with new friends, shucking corn. I surrounded by nothing but land, mountains and sky, with the river just a ways away. The only trouble I had was that I was wearing someone else´s shoes, which were entirely too small. Long story short, I brought only street shoes...and thought smaller sneakers would be safer than my clogs. I still can´t say what would have been better. Maybe bare feet.
AFter the long trek back up the mountain, and a long wait for our dinner, I had one of the best sleeps of my life. Nestled up in my sleeping bag, and piled on top of me was 5 or 6 more wool blankets, I didn´t want to leave my little nest the next morning.
My second experience, full of surprises, was fishing with the father and son of the family we stay with. Complete with a huge fishing net, a couple of sacks, and an truck tire inner tube. What the hell are we going to do, I wondered. This was after we walked an hour straight down the side of a mountain to get to the river...a different part of the river than I had been to before. This path is not nearly as...clear. I carefully made my way through many spiny plants...and shortly before arriving at the river, I slipped, fell on my ass, and caught myself on a cactus...just the left hand. OW not again, I thought. I looked, and there were just three or four 1.5 inch spines sticking out of my hand...I quickly ripped them out...whined for a bit...and then carried on. Now, we are at the river. We need to cross, they tell me. I look around, up and down stream...there´s not a really great place to cross rock hopping, I think to myself. Meanwhile, both father and son are rolling their pant legs up. They have sweatpants on, and sandals that stay on well, made of recycled tire rubber. I have my hiking boots on, and jeans. No matter how well prepared I am, I am never fully prepared. I can´t roll my pants like you, it doesn´t work, what can i do? I can´t soak my pants or I will freeze. Right...off with boots...and the pants. Here we go, holding hands with a grown man, father of 4, so I don´t slip on the river rocks...jeans and boots around my neck. I cannot believe my life, sometimes. It was cold, but not freezing...the freezing would come later.
So, we´re on the proper side of the river now...in a canyon. Cool. Ah, and windy. Here are some hot springs...very small. Might come in handy later. By now, its about 3 30pm. They lay out all the stuff we´re to use...including the net that looks like a tangled mess. The top half is connected with little white pieces of styrofoam. The bottom has litte rubber bands to tie to rocks so the net stays upright.
Christian, the son, who is 14, blows the inner tube up while we deal with the net. Then, he ties the two sides of the tube together to make it more oval shaped, puts a tarp on top, brings it to the waters edge, fully clothed, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, belly down on the make shift boat, and Chocolate, the dad´s nickname, as it were, shoves him off into the river. My god, I think, I Hope he knows how to swim. I do not want to go in there after him. The walk home would be horrible. So, little by little, we send off the net...one hour later of swimming and squirming arond in the river...still not sure exactly what he was doing moving up and down the river...one can only assume he was getting the net just right, he swims down stream (paddling with hands and forearms, rather) with the rope of the net in his mouth, makes a big circle, Dad grabs the net, and painfully slow, pulls the net in. During this time, helping, holding the wet rope, wet rocks, etc, my fingers are going numb. I watch him pull in the net, fetch what fish we have trapped (they are all tangled, yet relatively calm), and in the bag they go. 9 the first time. well, I think, at least I know there are enough fish to feed us all tonight. (4 family members, and me).
Half the reason we are even fishing is beccause Rosio, the mom, is in Lima, working on a artisan vending project...and Chocolate doesn´t know how to cook very well, he says.
So, I tell him I want to go home, because my hands are numb. Just 20 minutes...half hour more, he says. I know I can´t leave...I don´t know the way, and it´s getting dark. Dammit. Warm your hands in the hot spring, he says. Good idea. I do so, and a half an hour later, my hands are finally getting their feeling back...but they are still multi colored.
I go back during the second, faster round of netting the fish…4 more. Sweet…I have to say it was really exciting to see him pull the net in, little by little, to make sure they don´t escape. And just barely befote he pulls them to the beach, you can see their shiny silver skin. Trucha…Trout. They are spotted trout.
Quickly we gather our things…and set off, straight up the mountain. I asked if we were going to take the same route, because I know how hard it was comino down…literally sitting on your butt to asend various drop offs. He considered an alternate route, and decided it wasn´t worth the risk…there are bad dogs, he says. They are big, and bad. Oh Lord…I don´t know which is worse…the route we took, or the dogs. I had no choice. We took the same route back. It was really dark, but it was a full moon. I actually had to shield my eyes at times from the blinding Light. Despite being terrified I was going to grab on to a cactus, the walk home was incredibly beautiful. I will never forget it.
I can´t remember the last time I was truly so content, sitting out their in the sun, chatting away with new friends, shucking corn. I surrounded by nothing but land, mountains and sky, with the river just a ways away. The only trouble I had was that I was wearing someone else´s shoes, which were entirely too small. Long story short, I brought only street shoes...and thought smaller sneakers would be safer than my clogs. I still can´t say what would have been better. Maybe bare feet.
AFter the long trek back up the mountain, and a long wait for our dinner, I had one of the best sleeps of my life. Nestled up in my sleeping bag, and piled on top of me was 5 or 6 more wool blankets, I didn´t want to leave my little nest the next morning.
My second experience, full of surprises, was fishing with the father and son of the family we stay with. Complete with a huge fishing net, a couple of sacks, and an truck tire inner tube. What the hell are we going to do, I wondered. This was after we walked an hour straight down the side of a mountain to get to the river...a different part of the river than I had been to before. This path is not nearly as...clear. I carefully made my way through many spiny plants...and shortly before arriving at the river, I slipped, fell on my ass, and caught myself on a cactus...just the left hand. OW not again, I thought. I looked, and there were just three or four 1.5 inch spines sticking out of my hand...I quickly ripped them out...whined for a bit...and then carried on. Now, we are at the river. We need to cross, they tell me. I look around, up and down stream...there´s not a really great place to cross rock hopping, I think to myself. Meanwhile, both father and son are rolling their pant legs up. They have sweatpants on, and sandals that stay on well, made of recycled tire rubber. I have my hiking boots on, and jeans. No matter how well prepared I am, I am never fully prepared. I can´t roll my pants like you, it doesn´t work, what can i do? I can´t soak my pants or I will freeze. Right...off with boots...and the pants. Here we go, holding hands with a grown man, father of 4, so I don´t slip on the river rocks...jeans and boots around my neck. I cannot believe my life, sometimes. It was cold, but not freezing...the freezing would come later.
So, we´re on the proper side of the river now...in a canyon. Cool. Ah, and windy. Here are some hot springs...very small. Might come in handy later. By now, its about 3 30pm. They lay out all the stuff we´re to use...including the net that looks like a tangled mess. The top half is connected with little white pieces of styrofoam. The bottom has litte rubber bands to tie to rocks so the net stays upright.
Christian, the son, who is 14, blows the inner tube up while we deal with the net. Then, he ties the two sides of the tube together to make it more oval shaped, puts a tarp on top, brings it to the waters edge, fully clothed, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, belly down on the make shift boat, and Chocolate, the dad´s nickname, as it were, shoves him off into the river. My god, I think, I Hope he knows how to swim. I do not want to go in there after him. The walk home would be horrible. So, little by little, we send off the net...one hour later of swimming and squirming arond in the river...still not sure exactly what he was doing moving up and down the river...one can only assume he was getting the net just right, he swims down stream (paddling with hands and forearms, rather) with the rope of the net in his mouth, makes a big circle, Dad grabs the net, and painfully slow, pulls the net in. During this time, helping, holding the wet rope, wet rocks, etc, my fingers are going numb. I watch him pull in the net, fetch what fish we have trapped (they are all tangled, yet relatively calm), and in the bag they go. 9 the first time. well, I think, at least I know there are enough fish to feed us all tonight. (4 family members, and me).
Half the reason we are even fishing is beccause Rosio, the mom, is in Lima, working on a artisan vending project...and Chocolate doesn´t know how to cook very well, he says.
So, I tell him I want to go home, because my hands are numb. Just 20 minutes...half hour more, he says. I know I can´t leave...I don´t know the way, and it´s getting dark. Dammit. Warm your hands in the hot spring, he says. Good idea. I do so, and a half an hour later, my hands are finally getting their feeling back...but they are still multi colored.
I go back during the second, faster round of netting the fish…4 more. Sweet…I have to say it was really exciting to see him pull the net in, little by little, to make sure they don´t escape. And just barely befote he pulls them to the beach, you can see their shiny silver skin. Trucha…Trout. They are spotted trout.
Quickly we gather our things…and set off, straight up the mountain. I asked if we were going to take the same route, because I know how hard it was comino down…literally sitting on your butt to asend various drop offs. He considered an alternate route, and decided it wasn´t worth the risk…there are bad dogs, he says. They are big, and bad. Oh Lord…I don´t know which is worse…the route we took, or the dogs. I had no choice. We took the same route back. It was really dark, but it was a full moon. I actually had to shield my eyes at times from the blinding Light. Despite being terrified I was going to grab on to a cactus, the walk home was incredibly beautiful. I will never forget it.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Devil´s Seat
This past weekend with the children of Coporaque, we prepared food together. It´s always a treat, of many of you know, to watch 20 children with knives, fruits or vegetables prepare what you are about to eat. He´s eating, her finger is bleeding, and this one is waving a knife around. Oddly enough, I ask far fewer questions here than I do at home. Often, it´s because I am too tired to care enough to think of how to say it in Spanish, or, more often, there really is no answer to be found, so why bother? I am learning a new kind of patience. Hours and days pass without realizing it. An hour bus ride half asleep, sweating, with my ass half asleep seems normal, though still a tad uncomfortable. Waiting at the dentist for 3 and a half hours with the kids also seems trivial as time passes. I did escape the dentist for a little while to write this and check my email.
Back to last weekend...it has to be one of the best weekends of my life. We pulled off both days of working with the kids with out to many problems, none of which were serious. After working on Saturday, I played with our host family´s kids. We all piled into my and my room mate´s bedroom, starving, freezing, but content. The quick dinner we were told to expect came over two hours later...and I ate two full plates of rice, salad and chicken and two mugs of tea. Wow. After a meal like that you can do nothing more than sleep. We all crawled into our cold beds, and I slept soundly for what felt like a century. After working with the kids on Sunday, we departed Coporaque for Chivay to send off our friend in the bus...we had decided to wait for the 1 am bus so we could go to the hot springs. This time, the hot springs were more of a public pool situation, and not in the river like the one´s in Coporaque. The benefit to these is that the walk there isn´t nearly as treacherous (but perhaps more beautiful and longer). We walked there as the sun was setting, along Colca River, watching the light change the forms of the massive rocky plateaus and mountains. After two hours of prune-ating in the hot water (which was deep enough to swim around and play in!!!!) we were rushed out as the last taxi was about to depart (we were planning on walking back, and didn´t get what the rush was...then i realized, it´s the last taxi for the workers too...oops). We walked back, the moon half full, lighting up the road, making crazy shadows. Earlier, I was told about the Devil´s Seat (in the light) centered in a big rock slab, where a cross now sits, and when we passed it on the way back, I admit I was a little freaked out. Later, we decided to take a rest on the side of the road and stare up at the stars. You can see the milky way...Via Lactia...so clearly. As I am enjoying the view, I hear a rustling in the bush right next to me, and look over...I see a small black form...oh god, I think, an animal! I picture it getting freaked out, jumping on me, screaming, and me losing my mind. I froze...said to Leonel, what is that!!?? I cautiously took the flashlight, and shone it on the mystery object...a black plastic bag rustling in the wind. I hate that I am so freaked out about potential animals now after that damn dog in San Isidro. I think what I need is another attack, only this time, I win, and I scare the thing away. Merely to regain my confidence.
This weekend, I will be returning to Coporaque, but solo. We will have an extreme drought of volunteers, and we have to change things around. Our volunteer who has been switching every other weekend in our two sites (like me, but opposites places) cannot do it on Saturday´s because he has to take classes. Crap, one Peruano down. Anyway, I am familiar with Coporaque, so it won´t be too much of a stress...and I won´t have Leonel to tell me, Amanda, tell the kids a story. Sing them a song. People, I need time to prepare. Give me a minute. I am good, but not that good.
Back to last weekend...it has to be one of the best weekends of my life. We pulled off both days of working with the kids with out to many problems, none of which were serious. After working on Saturday, I played with our host family´s kids. We all piled into my and my room mate´s bedroom, starving, freezing, but content. The quick dinner we were told to expect came over two hours later...and I ate two full plates of rice, salad and chicken and two mugs of tea. Wow. After a meal like that you can do nothing more than sleep. We all crawled into our cold beds, and I slept soundly for what felt like a century. After working with the kids on Sunday, we departed Coporaque for Chivay to send off our friend in the bus...we had decided to wait for the 1 am bus so we could go to the hot springs. This time, the hot springs were more of a public pool situation, and not in the river like the one´s in Coporaque. The benefit to these is that the walk there isn´t nearly as treacherous (but perhaps more beautiful and longer). We walked there as the sun was setting, along Colca River, watching the light change the forms of the massive rocky plateaus and mountains. After two hours of prune-ating in the hot water (which was deep enough to swim around and play in!!!!) we were rushed out as the last taxi was about to depart (we were planning on walking back, and didn´t get what the rush was...then i realized, it´s the last taxi for the workers too...oops). We walked back, the moon half full, lighting up the road, making crazy shadows. Earlier, I was told about the Devil´s Seat (in the light) centered in a big rock slab, where a cross now sits, and when we passed it on the way back, I admit I was a little freaked out. Later, we decided to take a rest on the side of the road and stare up at the stars. You can see the milky way...Via Lactia...so clearly. As I am enjoying the view, I hear a rustling in the bush right next to me, and look over...I see a small black form...oh god, I think, an animal! I picture it getting freaked out, jumping on me, screaming, and me losing my mind. I froze...said to Leonel, what is that!!?? I cautiously took the flashlight, and shone it on the mystery object...a black plastic bag rustling in the wind. I hate that I am so freaked out about potential animals now after that damn dog in San Isidro. I think what I need is another attack, only this time, I win, and I scare the thing away. Merely to regain my confidence.
This weekend, I will be returning to Coporaque, but solo. We will have an extreme drought of volunteers, and we have to change things around. Our volunteer who has been switching every other weekend in our two sites (like me, but opposites places) cannot do it on Saturday´s because he has to take classes. Crap, one Peruano down. Anyway, I am familiar with Coporaque, so it won´t be too much of a stress...and I won´t have Leonel to tell me, Amanda, tell the kids a story. Sing them a song. People, I need time to prepare. Give me a minute. I am good, but not that good.
Friday, May 29, 2009
i miss you
extrañar
1. to surprise (sorprender)
- me extraña (que digas esto) -> I'm surprised (that you should say that)
- no me extraña nada que no haya venido -> I'm not in the least surprised he hasn't come
2. to miss (echar de menos)
- extraña mucho a sus amigos -> she misses her friends a lot
3. to find strange, not to be used to (encontrar extraño)
· he dormido mal porque extraño la cama -> I slept badly because I'm not used to the bed
4. to banish (desterrar)
Isn´t it interesting how vast the differences there are in definitions of the same word. Surprise. Yearning. Unaccustomed. Hm.
Every day I feel a little more anxiety towards leaving
One of my main concerns here is- are the children going to their appointments at the right time, the right place, with the right person? Most of the time, the answer seems to be no. My thought process- Someone´s missing. Someone´s incredibly late. Someone forgot. Dammit. I forgot my jacket, and now I am going to freeze. I am starving, again. Do I have enough change to get home and buy something to eat? Is there enough time to go home, relax, do my laundry, sleep, hang out with friends, go out, call home, write emails, organize appointments, pick up the bread, and the yogurt, and make it on time to the dentist? Somehow, that answer has been yes. Minus the sleep. I am forever tired, and falling asleep on the bus. It´s a terrible place to try to sleep. I am always at the point of closing my eyes, wow this is so nice…and asleep for 5 seconds before my chin reaches my chest and I am jolted awake by my own body torturing me. One of these days, I will fall asleep, and I will miss my stop. I did it more than once in
Speaking of the lack of sleep, I will depart for Coporaque once again at 3 30am…the four hour drive will get us there just in time to freeze our asses off in the rising sun, sit for another 45 minutes in a combi (plus the time waiting for the combi to depart, full, unless you want to pay the extra 2 dollars) and then when we arrive in Coporaque, eat some bread and butter, and off to rally children. The good news is, lunch will be delicious, and we end around 1. After, there is time to relax, and we generally go to sleep around 6 to make up for lost time, plus there is nothing to do in Coporaque at night. This weekend, we might go to Chivay, where we catch the combi to go to Coporaque, which is where the bus station is, and lots of shops, restaurants and a few bars. If that´s the case. I will be ridiculously tired. I can sleep when I am dead, right?
So, back to the biting dog, which I am sure you are curious. As always, I was waiting for two kids at the regular meeting spot, when I became a little impatient and decided to go see where the kids were and if they had left their school or not. So, I take off down a semi-populated dirt road towards the school, right next to the prison. What a nice scene. Anyway, I spoke with a few adults and children about when the kids get out of school, and did they know so and so, and did they know where they were. Without finding the kids, I returned back to the meeting spot, along the same, now deserted road in the middle of the bright, hot dry day. This time, accompanied first only by a truly disturbed man wearing two pairs of pants, the second layer of which was open completely, as he mumbled and stumbled to himself. Odd, I thought. I continue on, and then my new favorite friend, a standard San Isidro dog, starts barking at me and running towards me…I have had very good luck in general with the dogs, read, none of them have attacked me…most of them are nice, or only bark and don´t chase, or are asleep or dead, the later two of which are preferential, honestly. Not this time. I was a bit worried, since the road was completely deserted, but I stayed as calm as I could (truly, they can smell fear) and talked calmly to it (in Spanish, to be sure he understood) and walked away slowly and meekly. It didn´t work, he continued to bark, take a few steps toward, than back, over and over, until I really did get scared, and he ran up to me, and bit me in the side of my thigh. Well, he made his point. I won´t ever go back on that road. I was too afraid to even pick up a rock to scare him off. He was close enough more than once for me to kick him, but I was terrified it would make him angry and then he would tear my leg off, which is really want I was trying to avoid. No, I don´t have rabies, he thankfully did not break the skin. But, he did break my faith in those stupid dogs. I really hate them even more now. I know it’s not their fault they keep having millions of babies every few months, and that they are all starving and stealing food from children’s hands if they can…but really, we have to have exceed some capacity. But who is going to fix the dogs? And feed and care for the ones that are injured? Nobody has the money for that.
Nuestra cancion
This is likely the strongest emotional attachment I have ever had to a song. I hope it finds a place in your soul too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbKDUPh-IFI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbKDUPh-IFI
Monday, May 18, 2009
INTIWAWA:Ninos del Sol:Children of the Sun
INTIWAWA has a very special place in my heart, and I have only been here for two months. As you know, working with any group of children will change you. I am learning how necessary it is sometimes to step aside from your own desires to make way for the needs of someone else, especially children. We work with over 130 children in three locations. Our everyday site, San Isidro, is where we are most active. We provide breakfast two about 35 children every morning in a kindergarten and primary school. Of all of the children we tested for nutritional deficiencies in San Isidro, every single one of them is clinically considered malnourished. They have high sugar, high protein, high starch diets. Very little vegetables, fruit or dairy are consumed on a daily or weekly basis. We have a very special woman who lives in San Isidro and who has two young boys, 13 and 6 approximately, who volunteers her time on a daily basis, often all of her time. She prepares breakfast and lunch for the children, goes shopping for the weeks amenities in the town center with one of our volunteers, as well as picks up whole wheat bread (an incredibly difficult task in itself to organize!!) and her modest home is essentially of a hub of compassion in San Isidro. She is currently the only parent in San Isidro that has committed more than a few days.
The lunch we provide is what I would call snack, but is actually referred to as lunch, is for about an equal number of students that are in primary and secondary school who choose to come to homework help Monday through Thursday. We work in the community center, which is shared by many other activities, has no running water, a toilet, nor much storage space for our modest library and school supplies. The children work on their home work alone, in partners or groups, or with a volunteer and are rewarded with lunch which includes includes some calcium, and as of just last week, now will include some vegetables. The children are as rambunctious as any other group despite their situation.
The gravest situation of the children of San Isidro is perhaps their home life. 45% of the children interviewed in San Isidro experience domestic abuse-mostly at the hands of an alcoholic father. Currently on hold, we have a group of psychologists who come to homework help to meet in small, private groups with the children to work on boosting self esteem as well as discussing their home life. The psychologists work for free.
In San Isidro, we are planning to construct a home for INTIWAWA. We currently have no united space where we can store all of our belongings for the children and for our projects. We store things in the home of our San Isidro volunteer, some in the community center, and most of it in our apartment, an hour away from the children. We have had a lot of complications with sharing the community center, as there is a lot of suspicion amongst the community as to why we are even in San Isidro. We continue to have meetings, and try our best to keep the communication lines open, but many parents have expressed their dissatisfaction and suspicion. I hope to be a part of a change here in communication lines. We want nothing more than to support their children, but even in our own lives, when we incite help, we often feel others are judging us. The violence in the homes, the poor diets, as well as the 100% of children tested who tested positive for parasites. This are all very intimate subjects.
We also have a large project running for the children of San Isidro to take them to the dentist. Most of the children need to visit at least four times, often much more, for various treatments. Tooth removal and cavity fillings being the most prevalent. We pay for the materials required to work on their teeth. We have yet another heroin, our dentist. She has committed to start and finish the project, alone. An enormous task.
Most of the children have rotting teeth due to the high sugar content of their diet. It could be that a lack of calcium is weakening their teeth as well. We just started to buy water for the children of our homework help project to wash their hands before they eat. There is no running water in homes, and the assumption is that they are still drinking water containing parasites. It has been suggested by the doctors that they are reinfecting themselves because of their dirty fingernails. With the threat of the swine flu tearing through a third world country, we are trying to be more careful. Children without good nutrition have difficult resisting illness that the rest of us could survive, nor can they afford the treatment if they were to become ill.
In addition to these projects solely existing in San Isidro, we have our intercultural project, which spans across our three sites. This involves recognizing the beauty in ones village, the differences that exist, the traditions, histories, songs, food, etc. and sharing them with other children. Once a year, we have a congress for the children. It is a big event, bringing 120 or more children together in one place to share their culture. The three sites that are several hours away from the city are indigenous communities, and there is often racism towards these groups. Part of the idea is to raise consciousness that it is okay to live in an indigenous community, and that is something to take pride in. Little by little, indigenous communities are disappearing. As I look out the window, travelling to three communities, I can see empty villages, homes without roofes, and nothing left but weeds.
I know we are all facing difficult times financially, and I am the last persons to solicit donations from anyone, but my heart has found a home for now, and I would love to see INTIWAWA in your heart as well. If you can find the time, I would ask you to send this to others whom might find our story interesting, and if you can find a little extra money four INTIWAWA, we would be eternally grateful. You are welcome to use the website to donate money. There are no administrative fees in INTIWAWA.
Please feel free to view our website at http://www.intiwawa.com/ in English Spanish and German! The English version has much less information than in Spanish, unfortunately. Please feel free to email me with questions at abarker1006@gmail.com. Thank you for your patience and interest in reading about INTIWAWA.
My Best,
Amanda Barker
The lunch we provide is what I would call snack, but is actually referred to as lunch, is for about an equal number of students that are in primary and secondary school who choose to come to homework help Monday through Thursday. We work in the community center, which is shared by many other activities, has no running water, a toilet, nor much storage space for our modest library and school supplies. The children work on their home work alone, in partners or groups, or with a volunteer and are rewarded with lunch which includes includes some calcium, and as of just last week, now will include some vegetables. The children are as rambunctious as any other group despite their situation.
The gravest situation of the children of San Isidro is perhaps their home life. 45% of the children interviewed in San Isidro experience domestic abuse-mostly at the hands of an alcoholic father. Currently on hold, we have a group of psychologists who come to homework help to meet in small, private groups with the children to work on boosting self esteem as well as discussing their home life. The psychologists work for free.
In San Isidro, we are planning to construct a home for INTIWAWA. We currently have no united space where we can store all of our belongings for the children and for our projects. We store things in the home of our San Isidro volunteer, some in the community center, and most of it in our apartment, an hour away from the children. We have had a lot of complications with sharing the community center, as there is a lot of suspicion amongst the community as to why we are even in San Isidro. We continue to have meetings, and try our best to keep the communication lines open, but many parents have expressed their dissatisfaction and suspicion. I hope to be a part of a change here in communication lines. We want nothing more than to support their children, but even in our own lives, when we incite help, we often feel others are judging us. The violence in the homes, the poor diets, as well as the 100% of children tested who tested positive for parasites. This are all very intimate subjects.
We also have a large project running for the children of San Isidro to take them to the dentist. Most of the children need to visit at least four times, often much more, for various treatments. Tooth removal and cavity fillings being the most prevalent. We pay for the materials required to work on their teeth. We have yet another heroin, our dentist. She has committed to start and finish the project, alone. An enormous task.
Most of the children have rotting teeth due to the high sugar content of their diet. It could be that a lack of calcium is weakening their teeth as well. We just started to buy water for the children of our homework help project to wash their hands before they eat. There is no running water in homes, and the assumption is that they are still drinking water containing parasites. It has been suggested by the doctors that they are reinfecting themselves because of their dirty fingernails. With the threat of the swine flu tearing through a third world country, we are trying to be more careful. Children without good nutrition have difficult resisting illness that the rest of us could survive, nor can they afford the treatment if they were to become ill.
In addition to these projects solely existing in San Isidro, we have our intercultural project, which spans across our three sites. This involves recognizing the beauty in ones village, the differences that exist, the traditions, histories, songs, food, etc. and sharing them with other children. Once a year, we have a congress for the children. It is a big event, bringing 120 or more children together in one place to share their culture. The three sites that are several hours away from the city are indigenous communities, and there is often racism towards these groups. Part of the idea is to raise consciousness that it is okay to live in an indigenous community, and that is something to take pride in. Little by little, indigenous communities are disappearing. As I look out the window, travelling to three communities, I can see empty villages, homes without roofes, and nothing left but weeds.
I know we are all facing difficult times financially, and I am the last persons to solicit donations from anyone, but my heart has found a home for now, and I would love to see INTIWAWA in your heart as well. If you can find the time, I would ask you to send this to others whom might find our story interesting, and if you can find a little extra money four INTIWAWA, we would be eternally grateful. You are welcome to use the website to donate money. There are no administrative fees in INTIWAWA.
Please feel free to view our website at http://www.intiwawa.com/ in English Spanish and German! The English version has much less information than in Spanish, unfortunately. Please feel free to email me with questions at abarker1006@gmail.com. Thank you for your patience and interest in reading about INTIWAWA.
My Best,
Amanda Barker
Friday, May 15, 2009
La luna
Every night I wait for the moon to rise. It comes up late, and leaves me wondering what it´s doing while I am waiting…and every day, the moon appears different. As the moon changes, the world follows in her footsteps.
Peru is changing me, but I am not sure how exactly. I feel a bit different sometimes. I feel good. Strong. But still lost.
I wrote an incredibly long entry, and then accidentally deleted it as I was about to post it. The story of my life! The furthest back I can remember of things to share is last weekend. My trip to San Juan and Salinas. It began with a night of drinking and being merry, staying up until 4, then waking up late, in a crazy hurry, at 6, to be at our bus by 6 30. I was panicked, not knowing what to expect. I was told to prepare well. The sun will be brutal, the altitude very high, and for the love of god Amanda don’t get sick. I was mentally prepared for the apocalypse I think. Except for being late. We made it to the bus in plenty of time, because everyone was busy loading what seemed like a life time supply of everything. I was welcomed on to the bus, with nearly front row seats, by smiling seemingly familiar faces. I was accompanying Leonel, and they all know him from so many trips to San Juan. It would be a four or five our bus ride…with bleached blue curtains to block out the beating rays of the morning sun. I didn´t know the sun could be so intense, even when it was still cold.
Although the bus seemed full, more people climbed in, sat on eachothers´ belongings in the aisle, children at on laps, bags sat on childrens´ laps. The roof was piled to the sky. This is a weekly trek for the people of San Juan. They live at such a high altitude that nothing grows except for Alpacas, Llamas, Vicunas and people. How the animals and people are surviving is beyond me.
I could feel the excitement of fervor of returning home from what was probably a hectic time in the city, collecting their necessities. Everyone I have ever met always has something special they´ve bought that they know won´t last long…like a reward for shopping. This time, I spotted a cake in a woman´s lap, and people were selling sweet tamales and hard boiled eggs and potatoes in a bag for breakfast. I was far too sleep deprived to consider eating anything. So, we finally went on our way. The sun was bright, but the view was too beautiful to keep the curtains closed the whole way. I felt like a little kid peeking around someone to see what they have in their hands as a surprise. Between the curtains, and tops of heads, I could see a really beautiful land. It is an odd tint of green and yellow. As we made our way what seemed like thousands of miles, leaving behind dust and city life. The trip there was mostly filled with cat naps abruptly ended by quick jolts to the neck from the bumpy road, or smacking heads with Leonel, or some other unpredictable event. With a bus filled with the conversation of friends and family, I couldn´t help but feel safe and sound.
When we finally arrived, I realized how cold it was despite the sun, especially indoors. There is absolutely no insulation in homes but the cement it´s made from. When we arrived, the driver climbed up top of the bus and tossed down our belongings. We made our way to the hotel (believe it or not) that we would stay in. My guess is the hotel is there primarily for the workers of the salt mines nearby. We met two little brothers hanging out in the center, and we chatted with them for a while. We would meet them later, after lunch and a nap. Shortly after, we had a nice lunch of a fried egg, white rice, french fries and tea. Very typical Peruvian food! There is nothing like two pounds of starch to fill your belly.
Two boys came to our room to wake us up with the sound of the dribbling a soccer ball like a basket ball. The echo was really quite impressive.
We chatted with the boys as one sloppily ate jello, and pumped up some soccer balls. They seemed happy and content to be together and chatting, like two old men. These two boys witnessed Carlito´s accident just a week or two before. They replayed it in gruesome detail for us, including sound effects. They seemed removed from it.
I could go on for hours about how beautiful the rest of the trip was…including the salt flats and salt lake (which I had no idea existed in Peru!!!) and the second day, including a festival in Salinas. All was spectacular! I was happy as a clam.
So, after this experience, among many others in my last two months, I have decided to extent my stay another month, to return on July 14 instead of June 11. Hopefully by the end I will have some money for a snack in the airport…but we´ll see.
We have very few volunteers here now…so things are changing rapidly, and we are all trying to fill in the blank spots. I am the only person who has been here longer than two weeks that is involved in the every day projects. So, it´s a bit crazy and busy, but I feel I can thrive on this.
Peru is changing me, but I am not sure how exactly. I feel a bit different sometimes. I feel good. Strong. But still lost.
I wrote an incredibly long entry, and then accidentally deleted it as I was about to post it. The story of my life! The furthest back I can remember of things to share is last weekend. My trip to San Juan and Salinas. It began with a night of drinking and being merry, staying up until 4, then waking up late, in a crazy hurry, at 6, to be at our bus by 6 30. I was panicked, not knowing what to expect. I was told to prepare well. The sun will be brutal, the altitude very high, and for the love of god Amanda don’t get sick. I was mentally prepared for the apocalypse I think. Except for being late. We made it to the bus in plenty of time, because everyone was busy loading what seemed like a life time supply of everything. I was welcomed on to the bus, with nearly front row seats, by smiling seemingly familiar faces. I was accompanying Leonel, and they all know him from so many trips to San Juan. It would be a four or five our bus ride…with bleached blue curtains to block out the beating rays of the morning sun. I didn´t know the sun could be so intense, even when it was still cold.
Although the bus seemed full, more people climbed in, sat on eachothers´ belongings in the aisle, children at on laps, bags sat on childrens´ laps. The roof was piled to the sky. This is a weekly trek for the people of San Juan. They live at such a high altitude that nothing grows except for Alpacas, Llamas, Vicunas and people. How the animals and people are surviving is beyond me.
I could feel the excitement of fervor of returning home from what was probably a hectic time in the city, collecting their necessities. Everyone I have ever met always has something special they´ve bought that they know won´t last long…like a reward for shopping. This time, I spotted a cake in a woman´s lap, and people were selling sweet tamales and hard boiled eggs and potatoes in a bag for breakfast. I was far too sleep deprived to consider eating anything. So, we finally went on our way. The sun was bright, but the view was too beautiful to keep the curtains closed the whole way. I felt like a little kid peeking around someone to see what they have in their hands as a surprise. Between the curtains, and tops of heads, I could see a really beautiful land. It is an odd tint of green and yellow. As we made our way what seemed like thousands of miles, leaving behind dust and city life. The trip there was mostly filled with cat naps abruptly ended by quick jolts to the neck from the bumpy road, or smacking heads with Leonel, or some other unpredictable event. With a bus filled with the conversation of friends and family, I couldn´t help but feel safe and sound.
When we finally arrived, I realized how cold it was despite the sun, especially indoors. There is absolutely no insulation in homes but the cement it´s made from. When we arrived, the driver climbed up top of the bus and tossed down our belongings. We made our way to the hotel (believe it or not) that we would stay in. My guess is the hotel is there primarily for the workers of the salt mines nearby. We met two little brothers hanging out in the center, and we chatted with them for a while. We would meet them later, after lunch and a nap. Shortly after, we had a nice lunch of a fried egg, white rice, french fries and tea. Very typical Peruvian food! There is nothing like two pounds of starch to fill your belly.
Two boys came to our room to wake us up with the sound of the dribbling a soccer ball like a basket ball. The echo was really quite impressive.
We chatted with the boys as one sloppily ate jello, and pumped up some soccer balls. They seemed happy and content to be together and chatting, like two old men. These two boys witnessed Carlito´s accident just a week or two before. They replayed it in gruesome detail for us, including sound effects. They seemed removed from it.
I could go on for hours about how beautiful the rest of the trip was…including the salt flats and salt lake (which I had no idea existed in Peru!!!) and the second day, including a festival in Salinas. All was spectacular! I was happy as a clam.
So, after this experience, among many others in my last two months, I have decided to extent my stay another month, to return on July 14 instead of June 11. Hopefully by the end I will have some money for a snack in the airport…but we´ll see.
We have very few volunteers here now…so things are changing rapidly, and we are all trying to fill in the blank spots. I am the only person who has been here longer than two weeks that is involved in the every day projects. So, it´s a bit crazy and busy, but I feel I can thrive on this.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Things have certainly improved over the last week or so, but nothing will ever be quite the same. Yesterday, as I walked out of the community center to retrieve the afternoon snack the children are given after homework, my heart nearly stopped. It was the same scene all over again. There was 50 people crowded around the pedestrian crossing, and a bus from the line I ride on everyday parked in the driveway leading to the center. Oh no, I thought, not again. It was too similar a scene to believe that it could be anything else but another accident. But, it was simply a gathering of loved ones paying respects to the young girl and the location in which she was killed.
I feel like I cannot escape death here. Everyday I go running, I smell the stench of rotting carcases of dogs. There is almost always a new dead dog somewhere along the sandy path that hugs the closely knitted fields of corn, potatoes, onions, and other essentials here. There are always new bags full of trash strewn everywhere. Not a single day will pass without me seeing someone throw trash on the ground without a thought, even in the presence of others, and even on community owned property. No one seems to care.
Fortunately, there are people in this world who do care. I visited the office of an organization I would like to work with, roughly translated as the association which specializes in sustainable development. The modest office was located in what looked to be a house. Unbelievably enough, it´s on the same line I take everyday, so it wasn´t too troublesome to find, thanks to a very friendly taxi driver who even went up to the door with me to make sure I was at the right place. I spoke to two people who work in the office-a woman named Christiam, and a man named Jose. Jose spoke most of the time, just explaining the projects, what AEDES does, and where they are located. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that they are working in three areas. Their first place, which they have been working with for 14 years, is the most soundly impacted. They have organic agriculture, product exportation, young student projects and education, and other biodiversity and natural resource conversation. So amazing! They have now started in two other areas, in Puno and Condesuyos (large provinces in Southern Peru) as well as the original in La Union in South Western Peru. They are replicating their projects. It is actually working. And it is not solely lead by extranjeros, either.
The trouble, for me, lies in my commitment to INTIWAWA, and pull I feel towards getting at least a feel for this project. I told them I could at least commit to a week (they had said 6 weeks is a very short time, which is all I have left). It is twelve hours by bus to Cotahuasi, in La Union. I believe I have to take two buses, the second of which, for 5 hours, is nothing but turbulent travel. But, if I stay for a week, by the end of the week, I hope I will have forgotten how horrible the bus ride was, and be alright to get back on! Now that my stomach is feeling better, a bus ride doesn´t seem so impossible.
To be a bit more specific, after going to the hospital for a third time (the second of which was only to sit in the waiting area and learn that I was there on the wrong day), the doctor looked at my results, and told me they were all negative. But, he said, he was sure that this is a parasite, as it is common to have negative results even with parasites present. He told me what medicine to get (anti-protozoal) and I was on my way. $10 US later, I had my meds...and the symptoms went away within a few doses. I have to say that I am not completely recovered, though I believe that must be what causes all of my problems. I learned parasites can come not only from water, but from street food as well. Oops. I like the street food. It´s simple, inexpensive, and I feel better buying it than I do walking into some overpriced restaurant while there are street vendors out front barely able to scrape out a living.
Sunday and Monday were filled with excitement and swooning over the children. Sunday was the third birthday of the annexation and association of San Isidro from a larger entity. We arrived around 9 with a box full of 120 ham cheese lettuce and mustard sandwiches we had made for the children. We roamed around, as nothing was happening, hung out with some of boys we work with who are always roudy and causing trouble. They were sitting around like a bunch of old men. We joined them, and we all just made fun of each other.
I kept being reminded by the one volunteer that according to the people, last year was way better, there were more people, and it was more organized. I wanted to be satisified with whatever I was about to experience. 18 year old boys get really annoying sometimes. We saw two poorly played soccer games and 5 traditional dances performed by our very own ninos. I felt like a proud parent, welling up with tears, so see how adorable and innocent they looked doing their dances in brighly colored glistening costumes which were surely hot, uncomfortable, and ill-fitted. They all have a story to them, which is generally about daily Peruvian life, mostly flirting, drinking, and being merry. I was so proud of them. I am reminded how diverse the mind is. Some of these children find it impossible to do, but they can dance. They can remember the moves, who to link arms with, where to go. I have to say that I think I might be better at homework than dancing!
Monday, after spending several miserable hours in the post office waiting for my package my Mom sent, I headed over to a really beautiful gallery in the Spanish colonial tradition white stone building with high domed ceilings, with a central stone square to host events and a small, really neat museum mostly featuring massive machines to make molded metal plates with letters on them, ultimately to print newspapers. Normally, with a little imagination, I can understand Spanish on paper better than spoken. This time, I could hardly understand a word. It was mostly technicaly language. I relied on the pictures, the actually machines, and the progression of products created by these machiens on display. So the point of me being there was not to see the museum, but to help set up for what was essentially an opening of the display of the mothers´of San Isidro´s knitting and crochet work. Scarves, children´s clothes, women´s sweaters, hats. Really extensive handi-work, I thought. Most everything did not fit me, as one can imagine. We started hanging signs, photos, and the actual work around 9. The event did not start until 5pm. Myself and a Peruvian volunteer who is new went out for lunch in the center. After some confusion, we ended up at a Chinese food restaurant which looked just like the ones at home. I tried Arequipenan soda, which tasted like cherry soda. Estiv was very proud of the Arequipenan-ness of it. This is a common sentiment here. The regions pride is really intense. He even told me how ridiculous he thought it was that Lima is the capital of Peru, and not Arequipa. Wow. We talked about sustainable development among other things over two somewhat standard Chinese dishes that were more expensive than the faster-food Chinese restaurants that are everywhere, where the food is still cooked fresh, and you can actually watch them make it. I think we were paying for the fish tank and the nice white table clothes. I suppose we call that atmosphere! It was really a nice change from tamales and empanadas that I eat almost every day because it only costs between 30 and 60 cents to fill my belly. This was a whopping $3! Wow!
Once we returned, the chairs had already been set up (our assigned job, oops). We had to rearrange them anyway to make more room for the dancers. After some waiting, rearranging and putzing around, over 50 children, and more than 10 mothers with their youngest children came by bus with some of our volunteers. Someone was to have arranged a combi solely for INTIWAWA, but that didn´t work out. This was a publically available bus. There are only about 25 seats on these busses! I never imagined that many people could fit on one bus. They told me how squished they were, but they arrived smiling and excited to be in the city and surrounded by people excited to see them perform. We saw three of the traditional dances they had performed on Sunday in the same outfits. It was really great to see them so up close. We passed out strawberry Pisco drinks to the adults, and soda to the kids. There were mini appetizers, and then everyone dispersed to see the exhibition. Everyone was pleased, the kids chased and pushed each other around, and everyone seemed to have a great time. We finally cleaned up and closed the doors around 7-30. It was a long day. I will try my best to post some pictures I took on someone else´s camera. My camera is kaput now. It eats batteries in only 20 minutes.
Last but not least, last night, I went to the massive convent of Santa Catalina. It is a small village encased in high stone walls. It´s beautiful kept, with huge red geraniums everywhere. It´s one of the few plants that grows in this intense sun. I went with a room mate of mine, Carolin, from Germany. We had fun poking our heads into the dark rooms lit only by a single candle, an oil lantern or a fire in the stone stoves used for cooking. We saw the quarters of the nuns and their servants. Most of the grounds are open to the public, and are simply something like a museum now. The furniture is beautiful, old, and often ornate. This particular convent was deemed excessively corrupt at some point. There were several bishops or popes who had come to reinvent the wheel, allowing only 1 servant per nun. The ceilings were high, the beds uncomfortable, but the place was spacious. My favorite part was an aquifer which poured water into huge ceramic urns laid on their sids, split in half, placed to collect water for washing clothes. My second favorite thing was the water purification system. They had a huge ceramic or stone bowl more than an inch thick, filled with water, and a bowl underneath to collect the water that dripped down. No moving parts, no chemicals, only pure genius! Just like an underground aqufier, the water takes so long to drip through the thick, semi pourous material, that by the end, it is fit to drink.
I learned a great deal about Santa Catalina herself, a devoted nun, of course. These women lived very intensely devout lives, mostly restricted from the outside world except to exchange some goods through either slatted windows or one tiny little entrance where a market could be set up. We spent two hours going through all the little rooms. Many of the women entered into the convent at my age or younger, never to see their families or friends again. Some did see theirs only after people sought refuge there from the devastation of earthquakes. Really fascinating stuff. But what I am more interested, I think, is seeing some more indigenous Ruins. The Spanish really had it good, invading Peru. Perhaps I will see more.
I feel like I cannot escape death here. Everyday I go running, I smell the stench of rotting carcases of dogs. There is almost always a new dead dog somewhere along the sandy path that hugs the closely knitted fields of corn, potatoes, onions, and other essentials here. There are always new bags full of trash strewn everywhere. Not a single day will pass without me seeing someone throw trash on the ground without a thought, even in the presence of others, and even on community owned property. No one seems to care.
Fortunately, there are people in this world who do care. I visited the office of an organization I would like to work with, roughly translated as the association which specializes in sustainable development. The modest office was located in what looked to be a house. Unbelievably enough, it´s on the same line I take everyday, so it wasn´t too troublesome to find, thanks to a very friendly taxi driver who even went up to the door with me to make sure I was at the right place. I spoke to two people who work in the office-a woman named Christiam, and a man named Jose. Jose spoke most of the time, just explaining the projects, what AEDES does, and where they are located. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that they are working in three areas. Their first place, which they have been working with for 14 years, is the most soundly impacted. They have organic agriculture, product exportation, young student projects and education, and other biodiversity and natural resource conversation. So amazing! They have now started in two other areas, in Puno and Condesuyos (large provinces in Southern Peru) as well as the original in La Union in South Western Peru. They are replicating their projects. It is actually working. And it is not solely lead by extranjeros, either.
The trouble, for me, lies in my commitment to INTIWAWA, and pull I feel towards getting at least a feel for this project. I told them I could at least commit to a week (they had said 6 weeks is a very short time, which is all I have left). It is twelve hours by bus to Cotahuasi, in La Union. I believe I have to take two buses, the second of which, for 5 hours, is nothing but turbulent travel. But, if I stay for a week, by the end of the week, I hope I will have forgotten how horrible the bus ride was, and be alright to get back on! Now that my stomach is feeling better, a bus ride doesn´t seem so impossible.
To be a bit more specific, after going to the hospital for a third time (the second of which was only to sit in the waiting area and learn that I was there on the wrong day), the doctor looked at my results, and told me they were all negative. But, he said, he was sure that this is a parasite, as it is common to have negative results even with parasites present. He told me what medicine to get (anti-protozoal) and I was on my way. $10 US later, I had my meds...and the symptoms went away within a few doses. I have to say that I am not completely recovered, though I believe that must be what causes all of my problems. I learned parasites can come not only from water, but from street food as well. Oops. I like the street food. It´s simple, inexpensive, and I feel better buying it than I do walking into some overpriced restaurant while there are street vendors out front barely able to scrape out a living.
Sunday and Monday were filled with excitement and swooning over the children. Sunday was the third birthday of the annexation and association of San Isidro from a larger entity. We arrived around 9 with a box full of 120 ham cheese lettuce and mustard sandwiches we had made for the children. We roamed around, as nothing was happening, hung out with some of boys we work with who are always roudy and causing trouble. They were sitting around like a bunch of old men. We joined them, and we all just made fun of each other.
I kept being reminded by the one volunteer that according to the people, last year was way better, there were more people, and it was more organized. I wanted to be satisified with whatever I was about to experience. 18 year old boys get really annoying sometimes. We saw two poorly played soccer games and 5 traditional dances performed by our very own ninos. I felt like a proud parent, welling up with tears, so see how adorable and innocent they looked doing their dances in brighly colored glistening costumes which were surely hot, uncomfortable, and ill-fitted. They all have a story to them, which is generally about daily Peruvian life, mostly flirting, drinking, and being merry. I was so proud of them. I am reminded how diverse the mind is. Some of these children find it impossible to do, but they can dance. They can remember the moves, who to link arms with, where to go. I have to say that I think I might be better at homework than dancing!
Monday, after spending several miserable hours in the post office waiting for my package my Mom sent, I headed over to a really beautiful gallery in the Spanish colonial tradition white stone building with high domed ceilings, with a central stone square to host events and a small, really neat museum mostly featuring massive machines to make molded metal plates with letters on them, ultimately to print newspapers. Normally, with a little imagination, I can understand Spanish on paper better than spoken. This time, I could hardly understand a word. It was mostly technicaly language. I relied on the pictures, the actually machines, and the progression of products created by these machiens on display. So the point of me being there was not to see the museum, but to help set up for what was essentially an opening of the display of the mothers´of San Isidro´s knitting and crochet work. Scarves, children´s clothes, women´s sweaters, hats. Really extensive handi-work, I thought. Most everything did not fit me, as one can imagine. We started hanging signs, photos, and the actual work around 9. The event did not start until 5pm. Myself and a Peruvian volunteer who is new went out for lunch in the center. After some confusion, we ended up at a Chinese food restaurant which looked just like the ones at home. I tried Arequipenan soda, which tasted like cherry soda. Estiv was very proud of the Arequipenan-ness of it. This is a common sentiment here. The regions pride is really intense. He even told me how ridiculous he thought it was that Lima is the capital of Peru, and not Arequipa. Wow. We talked about sustainable development among other things over two somewhat standard Chinese dishes that were more expensive than the faster-food Chinese restaurants that are everywhere, where the food is still cooked fresh, and you can actually watch them make it. I think we were paying for the fish tank and the nice white table clothes. I suppose we call that atmosphere! It was really a nice change from tamales and empanadas that I eat almost every day because it only costs between 30 and 60 cents to fill my belly. This was a whopping $3! Wow!
Once we returned, the chairs had already been set up (our assigned job, oops). We had to rearrange them anyway to make more room for the dancers. After some waiting, rearranging and putzing around, over 50 children, and more than 10 mothers with their youngest children came by bus with some of our volunteers. Someone was to have arranged a combi solely for INTIWAWA, but that didn´t work out. This was a publically available bus. There are only about 25 seats on these busses! I never imagined that many people could fit on one bus. They told me how squished they were, but they arrived smiling and excited to be in the city and surrounded by people excited to see them perform. We saw three of the traditional dances they had performed on Sunday in the same outfits. It was really great to see them so up close. We passed out strawberry Pisco drinks to the adults, and soda to the kids. There were mini appetizers, and then everyone dispersed to see the exhibition. Everyone was pleased, the kids chased and pushed each other around, and everyone seemed to have a great time. We finally cleaned up and closed the doors around 7-30. It was a long day. I will try my best to post some pictures I took on someone else´s camera. My camera is kaput now. It eats batteries in only 20 minutes.
Last but not least, last night, I went to the massive convent of Santa Catalina. It is a small village encased in high stone walls. It´s beautiful kept, with huge red geraniums everywhere. It´s one of the few plants that grows in this intense sun. I went with a room mate of mine, Carolin, from Germany. We had fun poking our heads into the dark rooms lit only by a single candle, an oil lantern or a fire in the stone stoves used for cooking. We saw the quarters of the nuns and their servants. Most of the grounds are open to the public, and are simply something like a museum now. The furniture is beautiful, old, and often ornate. This particular convent was deemed excessively corrupt at some point. There were several bishops or popes who had come to reinvent the wheel, allowing only 1 servant per nun. The ceilings were high, the beds uncomfortable, but the place was spacious. My favorite part was an aquifer which poured water into huge ceramic urns laid on their sids, split in half, placed to collect water for washing clothes. My second favorite thing was the water purification system. They had a huge ceramic or stone bowl more than an inch thick, filled with water, and a bowl underneath to collect the water that dripped down. No moving parts, no chemicals, only pure genius! Just like an underground aqufier, the water takes so long to drip through the thick, semi pourous material, that by the end, it is fit to drink.
I learned a great deal about Santa Catalina herself, a devoted nun, of course. These women lived very intensely devout lives, mostly restricted from the outside world except to exchange some goods through either slatted windows or one tiny little entrance where a market could be set up. We spent two hours going through all the little rooms. Many of the women entered into the convent at my age or younger, never to see their families or friends again. Some did see theirs only after people sought refuge there from the devastation of earthquakes. Really fascinating stuff. But what I am more interested, I think, is seeing some more indigenous Ruins. The Spanish really had it good, invading Peru. Perhaps I will see more.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I have written and deleted several first words here tonight. It´s clear that I don´t write often, and when I do, it´s because I am moved to. Both Friday and today have brought unspeakable tragedies to two families in two villages Intiwawa works with. On Friday, a little boy of just eight years old was playing on a slide in San Juan. The slide had been unattached from its original structure to be moved to another play area. Although unstable, the children played on it anyway. This little boy fell off the slide and hit his head on a rock, and the slide fell on top of him. The doctor´s told the community that they would have had just one hour to operate in order to save the boy had they been able to reach him in time. They are four hours from Arequipa, the nearest emergency care that may have been adequate. It tears me up inside to think of the what if´s.
Today, during tarea, in broad daylight, a fifteen year old girl was struck and killed in the road right in front of the community center. Hundreds of people walk back and forth across this main street, one that contains speed bumps to slow the many busses, taxis and construction vehicles that pass through every day. With the confusion of the event, my initial reaction was ¨I can´t do anything.¨ I thought someone had hit a car with their bike. When I heard what really happen, my instinct was to run to the scene. I knew she would be horribly injured, but I was prepared to help. I braced myself for what I thought would be the worst case scenario. Blood and broken bones. I can handle almost any injury, I tell myself. I am confident of this. There were fifty people lined up along the busy road, staring in disbelief. She had already been covered by a small green tarp, concealing only her torso. I thought she was a grown woman, and thought of her children. One of the volunteers, only his second day of helping, had gone to see what had happened. I came shortly after, tearing down the drive way, and he met me in the street. It was too late. I wanted desperately to make sure she was dead. I didn´t want to leave it to chance, but there was no way I would be allowed near the girl. I asked, and he told me he was sure there was no pulse, no breathing. She was gone.
No words can describe the despair this village must feel. The anger, the resentment towards the driver. The driver was driving one of the many construction trucks that normally carry bricks and sand. He was drunk. For more than two hours, this young girl lay in the street as the sun began to set. There was still an air of disbelief. A very sweet girl the same age, whom we work, was sobbing on an elder´s shoulder. The smallest children still played, clueless. A policeman stood near the young girl, guarding her body, waiting for an ambulance I suppose. She was later covered further only by poster sized advertisements from what looked like an ice cream brand. This isn´t the first time this has happened here. There are no side walks, only a V shaped gutter to walk along the busy truck ridden road. She was killed just feet from the cross walk. Little children of just 2 and 3 years old run through this street on their own. One of our young ones, probably about 7 or 8, had been struck once before, but made it out unharmed, this was referred to by Leonel, the president, as he said a few words about the danger of the road, and then a prayer like I have never heard before.
I must admit that the terror I felt subsided only a little by signing the cross and saying a short prayer. Perhaps I have gotten swept up in the incessant signings of the cross here in Peru, in which people sign at every hospital, church and cemetary very publicly. Or maybe this is what happens to people when death lies directly in front of you.
Today, during tarea, in broad daylight, a fifteen year old girl was struck and killed in the road right in front of the community center. Hundreds of people walk back and forth across this main street, one that contains speed bumps to slow the many busses, taxis and construction vehicles that pass through every day. With the confusion of the event, my initial reaction was ¨I can´t do anything.¨ I thought someone had hit a car with their bike. When I heard what really happen, my instinct was to run to the scene. I knew she would be horribly injured, but I was prepared to help. I braced myself for what I thought would be the worst case scenario. Blood and broken bones. I can handle almost any injury, I tell myself. I am confident of this. There were fifty people lined up along the busy road, staring in disbelief. She had already been covered by a small green tarp, concealing only her torso. I thought she was a grown woman, and thought of her children. One of the volunteers, only his second day of helping, had gone to see what had happened. I came shortly after, tearing down the drive way, and he met me in the street. It was too late. I wanted desperately to make sure she was dead. I didn´t want to leave it to chance, but there was no way I would be allowed near the girl. I asked, and he told me he was sure there was no pulse, no breathing. She was gone.
No words can describe the despair this village must feel. The anger, the resentment towards the driver. The driver was driving one of the many construction trucks that normally carry bricks and sand. He was drunk. For more than two hours, this young girl lay in the street as the sun began to set. There was still an air of disbelief. A very sweet girl the same age, whom we work, was sobbing on an elder´s shoulder. The smallest children still played, clueless. A policeman stood near the young girl, guarding her body, waiting for an ambulance I suppose. She was later covered further only by poster sized advertisements from what looked like an ice cream brand. This isn´t the first time this has happened here. There are no side walks, only a V shaped gutter to walk along the busy truck ridden road. She was killed just feet from the cross walk. Little children of just 2 and 3 years old run through this street on their own. One of our young ones, probably about 7 or 8, had been struck once before, but made it out unharmed, this was referred to by Leonel, the president, as he said a few words about the danger of the road, and then a prayer like I have never heard before.
I must admit that the terror I felt subsided only a little by signing the cross and saying a short prayer. Perhaps I have gotten swept up in the incessant signings of the cross here in Peru, in which people sign at every hospital, church and cemetary very publicly. Or maybe this is what happens to people when death lies directly in front of you.
Well, my god...where to start? I am back from Coporaque (that should be obvious, I have no access to the internet or time to search it out while there). I feel like the trip to Coporaque, the two days with the children, and the trip back are trials of survival for me. Both tests of patience and of sound stomach. Miraculously, I enjoyed myself for most of the time, going only with the president of our organization, Leonel, to draw and paint two murals of Coporaque on sheets of fabric. I find myself a complete mess after painting, usually, and this was no exception...times about 24 children. We had a local woman prepare meals for both Saturday and Sunday lunch...two big plates of food, plus an AMAZING cake called torta helado. Helado is normally ice cream, but this was gelatin mixed with cream, in three layers, with real cake in the center. They pour it into a mold, let one layer set, and then the other two, at some point tossing in the pound cake. The cake is a freak of nature, but it is good, I have to admit, despite its brightly colored layers that almost make it look like a cake the Barbie factory would make.
The children worked well together, were relatively attentive, ate most of their food and didn´t fight hardly at all. There is now paint everywhere, and will probably remain for all eternity. Because we had only four paint brushes, and about 50 Q Tips, some of the children took to finger painting (including myself) because we had such a vast expanse to cover in the short two days. Home life at the part house part guest rooms where we stay was really nice. I was so excited to see Antonella and Zamilla, their two little girls, the second and third youngest of four. They are so affectionate, so sweet, and love everything I do. Zamilla (Read-Chamilla) is quite a fire cracker. She had a hard time remembering please, and orders me and others around to tie her shoes or pick her up and play with her (she´s four or five). The first morning, over breakfast, I asked her where her puppy was, since I normally see it poking around, hanging out with the chickens in their pen. Zamilla told me, with a dead serious face, that Ouicho, the dog, had eaten a chicken, and they had had to kill it. I was speechless...I looked at her, as she was surely serious, and said feebly, ¨How sad.¨ I didn´t want to have a conversation about it, mostly because I faced this inner conflict of, my god, that is really harsh, but when it comes to your livelihood, a pet is less important, right? But he was so cute...Toward the end of breakfast, I´d managed to stop thinking about it...the family had sat down to join us over bread (literally, the only thing we ate for breakfast both days, wow), and in enters cute fuzzy filthy little Ouicho. ¨Zamilla!!!¨ I yelled! Her parents looked immediately at her, and her mouth fell open. Busted. I told them the story, and they were not surprised. She is their bad child, they have admitted before. They don´t know why she´s like this, her mother says. The older two never were like this...perhaps it is middle child syndrome, I think to myself. Little Shit. Mierdita? I wonder if that is acceptable to call a child in Spanish? I don´t think I will risk it!!
I had the pleasant opportunity to return to the hospital yesterday after first stopping in at another gastroenterology clinic across the street...only to find out that despite their hours of attention from 6am to 7pm, they dont have any appointments until 6pm. Every week day. Often I stumble over myself in conversations here because I am overcoming disbelief, and not sure if there´s been a communicative error, or it really is that ridiculous. It really was. Where are the doctor´s all day, then? At the hospital, of course. So, I go over there, shuffle through the waiting elderly and mothers with babies...wait in this line, then another, then another...back to the first...no appointment, not in the system, have to pay first...upstairs, downstairs, left, right, through this hall...you get the idea. As I am standing at the window waiting for this woman to sort through whatever mess is on her computer, she hands me an appointment. Afternoon. There are no options? I ask her. Options for what?, she baffles. Options for appointments you nut ball! I can´t in the afternoon, I have work. Surely there is something else. Waiting waiting waiting...ah yes, afternoon afternoon...hmm...no tomorrow in the morning! No, Wednesday. Okay, fine. I escape before the mob sets in of impatient Peruvians who are all very pissed off at each other, presuming their issue is more important than the person in front of them, or the other twenty people...and barge in at my window more than once with their papers. Sometimes they are rejected, sometimes their persistence is heeded. I think in the US if someone did that, they would be injured instantly. I wonder if they have unemployment here...imagine that line, if the hospital is this bad.
Some good news...the parents of the children in the school we serve breakfast at called a meeting to be held yesterday. Chris, the American, attended. We hadn´t a clue what the meeting was about, other than breakfast. We were very worried, but confident that if they don´t want breakfast they way we do it, they don´t have to have it at all. We all have short fuses these days, knowing the impending doom of lack of manpower is coming in just one week. So, Chris reports back that the mothers love what we´re doing, hated the way it was just a few weeks ago (due to one particular German girl who has a very short temper, apparently, and little room for criticism), and one to help. They all agree that it´s crazy to have people from other countries do everything for them. I agree too. The trouble with this organization is the seeming lack of effort to create sustainable, long lasting programs for change...Feeding kids every morning back they don´t have good nutritious meals at home is just nuts with out education for the parents or the children...I am learning, thankfully, more about what I want to see and don´t want to see in the development of impoverished areas. Dependency is of course the last thing I want to see, but it can happen so quickly. So, beginning next week, we will go with them on Monday´s to the market to buy everything in ridiculous bulk so it will last longer, be cheaper, and will not have to be trekked to San Isidro by bus every friggen day by us. This is the best organizational news I have seen yet.
The second piece of news, unrelated to Peru for the most part, is that I was accepted into Clark University!!!! I found out last night, and called home right away. Better yet, they have offered at 40% discount for my tuition. I have never been offered anything like this before. I would be stupid not to take it. Nevertheless, I am sick with worry about the lifestyle I have chosen for myself for the next two years. I decided I am going to try to make it as hospitable as I can, despite it being Massachusetts. I will try to find a living situation that truly suits my needs...study hard, and really invest myself in this community I will be a part of. The disappointment of all of this now is that I won´t be travelling to Belize in November, as I had anticipated, assuming the worst from Clark. I will try my best to integrate the organization I found into my studies...Organic farming, international development, renewable energy...self suffiency and growth. Everything I can think if that I am looking for in my life. I have a lot to do.
The children worked well together, were relatively attentive, ate most of their food and didn´t fight hardly at all. There is now paint everywhere, and will probably remain for all eternity. Because we had only four paint brushes, and about 50 Q Tips, some of the children took to finger painting (including myself) because we had such a vast expanse to cover in the short two days. Home life at the part house part guest rooms where we stay was really nice. I was so excited to see Antonella and Zamilla, their two little girls, the second and third youngest of four. They are so affectionate, so sweet, and love everything I do. Zamilla (Read-Chamilla) is quite a fire cracker. She had a hard time remembering please, and orders me and others around to tie her shoes or pick her up and play with her (she´s four or five). The first morning, over breakfast, I asked her where her puppy was, since I normally see it poking around, hanging out with the chickens in their pen. Zamilla told me, with a dead serious face, that Ouicho, the dog, had eaten a chicken, and they had had to kill it. I was speechless...I looked at her, as she was surely serious, and said feebly, ¨How sad.¨ I didn´t want to have a conversation about it, mostly because I faced this inner conflict of, my god, that is really harsh, but when it comes to your livelihood, a pet is less important, right? But he was so cute...Toward the end of breakfast, I´d managed to stop thinking about it...the family had sat down to join us over bread (literally, the only thing we ate for breakfast both days, wow), and in enters cute fuzzy filthy little Ouicho. ¨Zamilla!!!¨ I yelled! Her parents looked immediately at her, and her mouth fell open. Busted. I told them the story, and they were not surprised. She is their bad child, they have admitted before. They don´t know why she´s like this, her mother says. The older two never were like this...perhaps it is middle child syndrome, I think to myself. Little Shit. Mierdita? I wonder if that is acceptable to call a child in Spanish? I don´t think I will risk it!!
I had the pleasant opportunity to return to the hospital yesterday after first stopping in at another gastroenterology clinic across the street...only to find out that despite their hours of attention from 6am to 7pm, they dont have any appointments until 6pm. Every week day. Often I stumble over myself in conversations here because I am overcoming disbelief, and not sure if there´s been a communicative error, or it really is that ridiculous. It really was. Where are the doctor´s all day, then? At the hospital, of course. So, I go over there, shuffle through the waiting elderly and mothers with babies...wait in this line, then another, then another...back to the first...no appointment, not in the system, have to pay first...upstairs, downstairs, left, right, through this hall...you get the idea. As I am standing at the window waiting for this woman to sort through whatever mess is on her computer, she hands me an appointment. Afternoon. There are no options? I ask her. Options for what?, she baffles. Options for appointments you nut ball! I can´t in the afternoon, I have work. Surely there is something else. Waiting waiting waiting...ah yes, afternoon afternoon...hmm...no tomorrow in the morning! No, Wednesday. Okay, fine. I escape before the mob sets in of impatient Peruvians who are all very pissed off at each other, presuming their issue is more important than the person in front of them, or the other twenty people...and barge in at my window more than once with their papers. Sometimes they are rejected, sometimes their persistence is heeded. I think in the US if someone did that, they would be injured instantly. I wonder if they have unemployment here...imagine that line, if the hospital is this bad.
Some good news...the parents of the children in the school we serve breakfast at called a meeting to be held yesterday. Chris, the American, attended. We hadn´t a clue what the meeting was about, other than breakfast. We were very worried, but confident that if they don´t want breakfast they way we do it, they don´t have to have it at all. We all have short fuses these days, knowing the impending doom of lack of manpower is coming in just one week. So, Chris reports back that the mothers love what we´re doing, hated the way it was just a few weeks ago (due to one particular German girl who has a very short temper, apparently, and little room for criticism), and one to help. They all agree that it´s crazy to have people from other countries do everything for them. I agree too. The trouble with this organization is the seeming lack of effort to create sustainable, long lasting programs for change...Feeding kids every morning back they don´t have good nutritious meals at home is just nuts with out education for the parents or the children...I am learning, thankfully, more about what I want to see and don´t want to see in the development of impoverished areas. Dependency is of course the last thing I want to see, but it can happen so quickly. So, beginning next week, we will go with them on Monday´s to the market to buy everything in ridiculous bulk so it will last longer, be cheaper, and will not have to be trekked to San Isidro by bus every friggen day by us. This is the best organizational news I have seen yet.
The second piece of news, unrelated to Peru for the most part, is that I was accepted into Clark University!!!! I found out last night, and called home right away. Better yet, they have offered at 40% discount for my tuition. I have never been offered anything like this before. I would be stupid not to take it. Nevertheless, I am sick with worry about the lifestyle I have chosen for myself for the next two years. I decided I am going to try to make it as hospitable as I can, despite it being Massachusetts. I will try to find a living situation that truly suits my needs...study hard, and really invest myself in this community I will be a part of. The disappointment of all of this now is that I won´t be travelling to Belize in November, as I had anticipated, assuming the worst from Clark. I will try my best to integrate the organization I found into my studies...Organic farming, international development, renewable energy...self suffiency and growth. Everything I can think if that I am looking for in my life. I have a lot to do.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
La Hospital
Well, since I returned from the beach, everything went back to normal. We have tarea in the afternoon, and we are very short on volunteers, so we are all helping each other out with all of the projects. There are five core people who volunteer with the projects every day, plus the two psychologists, and occasionally the president...we had a meeting yesterday, and we realized how clear it was that we are walking a very fine line between complete coverage and insanity. For scale...the biggest of our projects is the health project, most of which involves taking 50 odd kids to the dentist for a check up, and any further treatment that is needed. All of the children need at least two appointments but most of which need 4 or more. Some of the kids appointments are so long (three hours or more), that only one child can to go the dentist at a time. That involves four hours on the bus (to collect child, take to dentist, return child, return home). So far, Sabina has been doing all of it. Occasionally, now, three of us will fill in for her, because we need to make sure she doesn´t lose her mind, and as well, can work on her bachelor´s thesis, and plan for other projects she is involved in. I admire her involvement, but at this point, do not envy it so much.
As for me, I will deliver breakfast for two schools, each with sixteen kids, twice a week...and go to the dentist about twice a week (it´s a full seven or eight hour day!) as well as homework help every day. It still leaves me time for Capoeira, some running in the mornings, some sleeping in, and time to go to the center to shop for food or whatever. I am currently in pursuit of finding this enviornmental organization that runs both in Arequipa and another region in Southern Peru...I have a map, but it´s not helping. The addresses are very confusing, even for homes, as they don´t have street names most of the time, they are only by district and building name and number. I am sure I will get the jist of all this nonsense by the time I leave, but until then, I am running around like a lunatic, not knowing which way is which.
So, after the beach, I decided I would go get tested for parasites because my stomach problems have not subsided entirely, which worries me a bit. I walked to the hospital in my district (which is a nice one) and couldn´t believe how many people where milling around in there. It was as crowded as a DMV on a Saturday morning. I didn´t see anything graphic that I can remember...so I presume the emergencies enter somewhere else. The hospital is set up a bit differently, and it feels more like a massive doctor´s office with lots of walk in appointments. Apparently you can get appointments, but for some reason, the man helping me assumed I wanted one right that very second. I ran around different offices for an hour or more, clueless as to what the hell was going on. All I could do is trust that he knew what he was doing. Part of the reason I didn´t want an appointment at that very moment was because I didn´t have any money. After the stolen wallet, I was living off 100 dollars, thinking that would be adequate until I got my cards in the mail (It lasted two weeks, I think). I was on my way to the bank when I thought, yes, appointment, how civil and orderly this could be. Well, it was, sort of. I did see a doctor (who, according to my helper,speaks very good English.) Wow, not so. So, we spoke in Spanglish, or mostly him speaking English, me speaking Spanish. He ordered tests, and told me near the city center, there is a laboratory I need to go to. Super. They don´t have a lab at the hospital, or can´t send off samples to the lab...I have to go. Three times. Today is my last day, and tomorrow I will get the last of the results. The women who work there are very nice, prompt, and patient. Compared to so many of the places I have been, the one woman who worked there really made me question...What the hell is she doing here? Her aura just seems so incredibly confident and smart...more so than the creepy gastroenterologist, or all of other crazy people of whom have no sense of professionalism.
So, I decided to go to Coporaque again this weekend. We will leave at 3 30 am for the 3 and a half hour bus ride to Chivay, plus the combi ride to Coporaque which is a bumpy, isolated, one track road through the beautifully vibrant farms. Fun word- chacra, which is farm. I am both excited and nervous to travel to Coporaque, as there are no stops or bathroom breaks included, at at 3 30 it´s really cold on the bus. It will be really great to see the family again that we stay with when we travel (a make shift hostel-traditional home). Everything is so close to everything (because mostly, there is nothing) that it makes learning your way around very easy. It´s always much easier to settle in if you´ve already been there once. The children will feel more comfortable, and they will better understand my level of Spanish compared to a stranger. I know I have so much more to learn, it seems an insurmountable task with out an exsessive amount of energy and time spent soley on studying. When I go back, if I get accepted into Clark University, I think I will continue my studies in Spanish. I am working on very little it feels like. Why are there so many conjugations? The good thing about Spanish is that most of the words are some kind of cognate with English...and that there is a set structure for changing Spanish into English, or vice versa.
Well, I am off on the long walk to the lab, and then I will try to find someone who knows where the hell this environmental organization is. I will go to the dentist today instead of tarea. I am not bored with this, because it is still a challenge to get everything organized. Right kid, right bus, right time, right dentist office...yowsers.
Oh yes, and yesterday, as I was walking home, I thought I´d take a peek down into the little stream where sometimes there are cows tied up, peeing pooping sleeping and eating in the same 25 square foot spot, only to see some kind of hide. I thought, wow, another dead dog. Super, that can´t be good being right in the water like that. Then, I looked harder, and realized, my god, that is a huge dog. No, no. It was a cow hide. A cow must have died right at the watering hole type spot, and no one thought to drag him away from the water to decompose, as cows are very heavy as it is, I suppose a dead one would be impossible to budge. They are maltempered, even in death. How stubborn.
As for me, I will deliver breakfast for two schools, each with sixteen kids, twice a week...and go to the dentist about twice a week (it´s a full seven or eight hour day!) as well as homework help every day. It still leaves me time for Capoeira, some running in the mornings, some sleeping in, and time to go to the center to shop for food or whatever. I am currently in pursuit of finding this enviornmental organization that runs both in Arequipa and another region in Southern Peru...I have a map, but it´s not helping. The addresses are very confusing, even for homes, as they don´t have street names most of the time, they are only by district and building name and number. I am sure I will get the jist of all this nonsense by the time I leave, but until then, I am running around like a lunatic, not knowing which way is which.
So, after the beach, I decided I would go get tested for parasites because my stomach problems have not subsided entirely, which worries me a bit. I walked to the hospital in my district (which is a nice one) and couldn´t believe how many people where milling around in there. It was as crowded as a DMV on a Saturday morning. I didn´t see anything graphic that I can remember...so I presume the emergencies enter somewhere else. The hospital is set up a bit differently, and it feels more like a massive doctor´s office with lots of walk in appointments. Apparently you can get appointments, but for some reason, the man helping me assumed I wanted one right that very second. I ran around different offices for an hour or more, clueless as to what the hell was going on. All I could do is trust that he knew what he was doing. Part of the reason I didn´t want an appointment at that very moment was because I didn´t have any money. After the stolen wallet, I was living off 100 dollars, thinking that would be adequate until I got my cards in the mail (It lasted two weeks, I think). I was on my way to the bank when I thought, yes, appointment, how civil and orderly this could be. Well, it was, sort of. I did see a doctor (who, according to my helper,speaks very good English.) Wow, not so. So, we spoke in Spanglish, or mostly him speaking English, me speaking Spanish. He ordered tests, and told me near the city center, there is a laboratory I need to go to. Super. They don´t have a lab at the hospital, or can´t send off samples to the lab...I have to go. Three times. Today is my last day, and tomorrow I will get the last of the results. The women who work there are very nice, prompt, and patient. Compared to so many of the places I have been, the one woman who worked there really made me question...What the hell is she doing here? Her aura just seems so incredibly confident and smart...more so than the creepy gastroenterologist, or all of other crazy people of whom have no sense of professionalism.
So, I decided to go to Coporaque again this weekend. We will leave at 3 30 am for the 3 and a half hour bus ride to Chivay, plus the combi ride to Coporaque which is a bumpy, isolated, one track road through the beautifully vibrant farms. Fun word- chacra, which is farm. I am both excited and nervous to travel to Coporaque, as there are no stops or bathroom breaks included, at at 3 30 it´s really cold on the bus. It will be really great to see the family again that we stay with when we travel (a make shift hostel-traditional home). Everything is so close to everything (because mostly, there is nothing) that it makes learning your way around very easy. It´s always much easier to settle in if you´ve already been there once. The children will feel more comfortable, and they will better understand my level of Spanish compared to a stranger. I know I have so much more to learn, it seems an insurmountable task with out an exsessive amount of energy and time spent soley on studying. When I go back, if I get accepted into Clark University, I think I will continue my studies in Spanish. I am working on very little it feels like. Why are there so many conjugations? The good thing about Spanish is that most of the words are some kind of cognate with English...and that there is a set structure for changing Spanish into English, or vice versa.
Well, I am off on the long walk to the lab, and then I will try to find someone who knows where the hell this environmental organization is. I will go to the dentist today instead of tarea. I am not bored with this, because it is still a challenge to get everything organized. Right kid, right bus, right time, right dentist office...yowsers.
Oh yes, and yesterday, as I was walking home, I thought I´d take a peek down into the little stream where sometimes there are cows tied up, peeing pooping sleeping and eating in the same 25 square foot spot, only to see some kind of hide. I thought, wow, another dead dog. Super, that can´t be good being right in the water like that. Then, I looked harder, and realized, my god, that is a huge dog. No, no. It was a cow hide. A cow must have died right at the watering hole type spot, and no one thought to drag him away from the water to decompose, as cows are very heavy as it is, I suppose a dead one would be impossible to budge. They are maltempered, even in death. How stubborn.
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