Futbol, Follies and...other things that don't start with F's

Last week was pretty amazing. I met all the leaders of organizations in Corral de Arena, had meetings with the director of the school and the mayor. I started exercising, convinced that I would start training for the Peace Corps marathon that is in May. I'd put on my ipod and take off. And I found throughout the week that Corral de Arena is a bit more groovy with a little Earth, Wind and Fire. I ran everyday and still managed to play futbol and volleyball with the boys and girls in my town. Playing sports was a good way to meet a lot of kids at the school. There's always a lot of laughing and whispering that comes along with playing with the kids. Gringos are funny things to them. We talk funny. And I really don't speak Spanish very well, so that's hilarious to them. I started reminding myself of how funny foreign accents and the way their expressions used to make me laugh in the States. So there is something fun about being that goofy person. Besides, adults are always ridiculous to kids (especially ones that work at the school). I remember all those teachers that I laughed at for being dorky or whatever, and how they made a difference in my life nonetheless. Even though I laughed at them, I cared what they thought. And those silly teachers made me who I am today.

There were a lot of futbol follies, afterall, I hadn't played soccer before Peru. Often I've kicked the ball to the other team. It's very impressive that these kids are so swift playing on sand. I got tuckered out pretty quick. One game, they kids had pretty much exhausted me when I stole the ball away from one girl and kicked the ball furiously for a goal with no one to stop me. I threw my hands up and screamed, “Goal!”. But all the girls were yelling, “no, no, no.” I asked them, “is Ericka on my team?” I pointed to the girl guarding the opposite goal.
“Yes.”
“Goal!”
“But Terraza,” said the girl I stole the ball from, “I'm on your team.”

I really enjoyed how I felt after running and the places I would run to, not necessarily the running itself. I'm used to running telling myself it'll end soon. But everyday it got a little more enjoyable, and I would think about where I wanted to end up. Each day the run stretched. I liked ending my run at the empty riverbank with the trees overhanging and the mountains in the distance. One day, I decided I would try to run to La Estancia – the neighboring town with a fellow volunteer. I didn't make it, but I ran further than I thought I could. It was pretty damn far for me. I run with a stick to fend off dogs who want to attack. And I run with these dogs in mind. And the thought of taking a road that had few to no people seemed like it could either be dangerous because of the lack of a presence or good because of the lack of dogs. But I jogged keenly aware of danger. I was listening to my ipod when I noticed dog tracks in the road and, at that very moment, I heard something behind me. So I swung around kick, swinging my stick to beat the dog. It was an old man on a bicycle. We both screamed and then laughed. I apologized through my laughter, explaining that I thought he was a dog. He ended up riding into town at the speed of my stroll while we talked.

I went to classes at the highschool and daycare/kindergarten. The youngest ones were the most fun. I was probably more of a disruption in the class than a help. We made a Christmas tree out of paper cut-outs of our hands. They figured out that I would act really upset if they covered my paper hands with scraps of paper. They would do it over and over again, laughing at how upset I would act. And this turned into all the kids running over to put scraps of paper on my heading while saying “Feliz Navidad”. Man, I love these kids. And my little brother is so darn cute, too. We play all kinds of silly games. We both get a kick out of the same silly games of face-making, wiggling, tickling and mimicking.

I went to our regional meeting feeling good about my week and came back inspired by other volunteers to do great things. The next day, I sat down and created a syllabus for the seven weeks of summer school I am going to be teaching. It's exciting. I've never had such a huge responsibility, teaching grades equal to first through twelth in the United States. And I thought really hard about how to make it fun and creative. We'll be painting a mural, putting on a puppet show, having a movie night fundraiser and doing all sorts of environmental activities.

I'm excited and scared that I'm gonna screw it up. I want to do so much for these kids. And yesterday, the overwhelming feeling of all of this responsibility came over me. I met the mayor that morning to visit his fields. He shares a parcel of land with 3 other families. They've built a well that runs off of electricity rather than a gas motor. This prevents water and air contamination and is the only well like it in Corral de Arena. His field (chacra) is also organic. I was so excited to know I can buy organic produce in Corral de Arena. He told me that he wants these fields to be a model for the rest of the farming community in Corral de Arena (which makes up 70 percent of the town). And he wants me to help find the funding to make this change. Also on the list of things to do in the next two years is to created small landfills for households, combat deforestation and implement a recycling program.

I went home feeling the pressure of all that is expected of me, all the hopes these people have about having a Peace Corps volunteer. And I didn't want to leave my room. I spent the rest of my day by myself, not wanting to even speak to my family. I just wanted to escape for a day, to not feel the pressure of it all. And that just made me feel worse. By that evening, I felt like a horrible volunteer. I tried to read my Bible to feel better and I kept coming across verses that just made me feel worse. There's that one story Jesus tells about the person who doesn't know when the thief is coming in the night, or else they would've been prepared. It freaked me out, the thought of seeing Jesus while I was feeling so unmotivated. Disconnected. Producing nothing of worth. And then I went out to do something and the moon was so bright it hurt my eyes. It was so bright it was impossible not to notice. It was as if, all of a sudden, the moon was a source of light. And I could feel God telling me simply that “He” cared for me. The message in that moment was unmistakably clear. And we just looked at one another for a moment, telling each other how much we cared for the other. I'd like to say that it helped me to stop being afraid, but I still didn't want Jesus to walk through that door, not that night.

The next day, I went to a going away meeting for a fellow volunteer, Sara Mascola. Sara Mascola was a super volunteer. She spent 3 years in Olmos and ended up coordinating a eco-efficiency program that connected 20 schools all around the area. She was one of the first persons mentioned when I came to my site. And it was inspiring to see so many people who wanted to show up and thank her for the work she's done. I told her that I hope that I'm just even a portion of the volunteer she's been. And she told me that during her first 3 months of service she read 80 books. She kept a list of them all. She would stay cooped-up in her room, not wanting to interact with anyone. She said that we need those days sometimes.

Wade in the Water

I just took an hour and a half combi ride from Chiclayo to Olmos. The whole time, I kept thinking about my friend Jessie´s baptism she told me about once. It was in a cold, cold river in Montana. She wore jeans of all things. I wondered how cold that must have been. The only reference I have is a river I stepped into in Colorado this summer, and I´m sure that doesn´t compare to Montana. But I remember the feeling very vividly. My mom and brother were wading out to collect fool´s gold with my dad directing their steps. I wanted to join them and they were encouraging me to come in to where the water was at their shins. And I was trying, really trying. But everytime I got in just a bit past ankle level, the pain was unbearable. I felt every muscle tense up with sharp pains. My breaths became rapid and shallow, and pretty soon I would get dizzy. Every piece of my body was screaming to escape to the shore and I couldn´t get out fast enough.

I thought about that feeling and what it would be like to be totally immersed in the painful river. And then I thought about Jessie, wading in to that river in Montana in an expression of her commitment to Christ. It is much more common for me to associate baptism good feelings and warmth rather than pain and coldness. But in our relationship with God, both realities seem to be present, don´t they? We´re attracted to the beauty of our Creator who represents everything that is good, everything that gives us hope that love will win in the end. And people who experience this unreasonable, foolish love that God has for us are never ever the same again.

But I have been praying lately that God will bring me closer to `Em and it feels more like Jesus is taking my hand and leading me into that cold, cold river than to the warm feeling of the love of God. I am reading ¨Divine Nobodies¨ by Jim Palmer. He talks about this reality of getting to know our God. Palmer recounts an experience he had with the International Justice Mission, rescuing child sex slaves - little girls who are drugged, dressed up and forced to have sex with strangers sometimes more than 10 times a day. And he talks about getting to know a God who knows suffering. We have a God who never gets a break from the suffering and injustices of this world. God is ever-present in that cold river, always witnessing the moments that make us sick to our stomach. And we as humans check out, take mental breaks from these horrific realities, because it is just too much. We can´t handle what is a reality for our God. Somehow, God can experience the beautiful moments of our lives simultaneously with the pleas of God´s people that are suffering in ways beyond words.

This is my first week at site (granted it is nothing in comparison to what Jim described), but I still find that every part of me wants to flee, my mind wanting to be anywhere but here. Faced with the daunting task of becoming part of the answer to my own prayers, I just wanna run to shore and escape the cold waters. It is just too painful, and I´m not even knee deep yet. I can tell the young girls that they are important members of their community, but it doesn´t mean their families will send them to university. I can build landfills, but it doesn´t mean people will care about where they dump their trash. And I can work to reforest in the clear-cut areas, but it doesn´t mean that area will look any different in 10 years. On paper, I know what I am here to do, how to begin. Reality is always more complicated, and there are questions that I have about how to begin to really make a difference, wondering how to sort my priorities, how to begin to build relationships.

All the while, my prayers to be closer to God pull me deeper and deeper into the cold water. And thankfully I know I have Jesus to steady my step, to bear the pain with me, to take on the burden. In the next two years, I think I am going to see more and more of the face of God. And I am getting the sense that it will be distressing and heartbreaking than I had imagined. Because to see God is to see a holy response to God´s people who suffer and cry out for help. Please pray for me, that I´ll get in deeper, immerse myself in this experience. I hope the same for all of you reading this post, that you would be pulled in deeper too.

Family and the Warm Fuzzies of Christmas

I´m sitting at a computer in some of my new family´s house in my capital city (the house of my host mom´s sister). I came into town to buy some things for my new room (like a mattress, bedding, etc). We went to Real Plaza, which is a fancy shopping mall that is acting as my little America. They have a Pizza Hut, Starbucks, KFC, etc. By the way, because Peruvians are in love with chicken, KFC is a huge hit. My family and I shared a bit of KFC and I thought it was dinner, but apparently it was just a snack. My host mom lured me back to the house with false promises of spaghetti. I am not positive that she lied, though I am pretty sure that she did. Her Spanish is difficult to understand. My first host family spoke very clearly and slowly - gringo Spanish, if you will. But this new family speaks campo Spanish, they are from a rural farming community. So their Spanish is slurred, not necessarily correct, and very difficult for me to understand.

Whether or not we misunderstood each other, or she told me there would be spaghetti to get me to eat her rice and chicken is really irrelevant. I am learning to not be disappointed, to just expect that things won´t happen the way I normally would expect them to. In Peru, yes can be no. Solid plans are really tentative. And explicit instructions are suggestions. It isn´t something that I plan to get upset about and that is very different from how I was in the States. I used to be very easily disappointed, always expecting things to go as planned.

Back to Real Plaza. I was walking around today, looking at all the lovely, lovely things that remind me of the United States. There was Christmas music playing while I window shopped and it reminded me of all the Christmases I ran around South Plains Mall with my family - me, Logan, and Tate scrambling to complete our lists and laughing all the way. And I got really homesick. I miss that time of year with my family with a tree, comfy pajamas and cocoa. I miss walking around the mall with Tater, stopping into GameStop to check out videogames we´re not going to buy, browsing for books with Logan, talking her ear off about God knows what, and time with Mom and Dad.

I went into Starbucks and got a brownie with a special coffee that came with whipcream. I spontaneously bought a bag of Starbucks Christmas coffee because my Mom gave me a bag of it one year for Christmas. I sat down and devoured both of them, trying to take my time but consuming rapidly to comfort myself. I sat there wondering what my family was up to and hoping that, by some chance, they would call that very moment to see how I was doing. But I finished my treats and no one had called. So I decided to go browse this store that has smells that remind me of my Mom back home. The store reminds me of Martha Stewart, with things that are cute and modern and smell like candles. I ended up buying a French Press and making warm-fuzzy talk with the security guy. I acted as if we had some report, like we had seen eachother a hundred times and asked about eachothers families. And thankfully he reciprocated with warm smiles and questions. So thank you, doorman. You made my night.

Now I am about to meet the neice of my host mom. We are going to see Harry Potter (dubbed in Spanish). Hopefully that will help me to get through the homesick evening. Love you all. Hug your families. And if you can, hug mine.

¨and I swear...by the moon and the stars in the sky¨

Today I finished all of the requirements to be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Last Friday, we had language interviews and I´m supposedly intermediate-medium. Somedays my Spanish is better than others. We also had to be signed off by our technical trainers, Lane and Monica. This included a small community diagnostic of our training community. I was incredibly nervious to give my presentation in Spanish, but it was fine in the end. It was such a relief to be done with it. In celebration, I went to the volunteer´s movie night in Yanacoto with my 12 year-old host sister. The volunteers in Yanacoto borrowed equipment from the office to setup an outdoor showing of Wall-E for the children and families in their community. I was surprised how many kids actually came. They had popcorn and soda for everyone. I freaking love that movie! And it´s a perfect pick, because so much of the movie has no dialogue.

Today in training, we had to do round robin activities to show our proficiency in areas of security, introducing ourselves to community members, nogotiating rent and amenities, a general understanding our Peru´s history, etc. The swearing in ceremony is Friday. Tommorow, we have a special goodbye event with the families. Our group was lucky to have that fall on Thanksgiving. We prepared for food, entertainment (a Thanksgiving skit, dances, a photo slideshow and a ¨funny things the your gringos have said¨game).

I´m excited to get to my site and start my service, but I´m sad about saying goodbye to all of the teachers, friends and family I have in Santa Eulalia. My host mom cried last night because she´s really sad to see me go. We´ve become like a real family. My host mom and I have connected over the past ten weeks. We´ve shared our cried together while sharing our sorrows and because we were laughing so hard at cultural and linguistic misunderstandings. She takes care of me as if I were one of her daughters, and I´ve been spoiled in that respect. I think I´ll be more independent in my next household, washing my own laundry by hand and doing a bit of my own shopping for vegetables and fruits that my family wouldn´t otherwise buy.

But I´m looking forward to starting projects and teaching during summer school (which is winter in the States). And the little things get me tickled, like getting to wear a professional vest! In Peru, wearing a vest is a sign of a professional. If you work for an official agency, you have one of the vests with all the pockets and your name on it. And I´m a huge fan of vests in general. This particular style would be incredibly dorky in the States, but I loooove it. How cool is it that I can wear a vest with slots for pencils and get respect? And it is the little pleasures like that that get me so excited.

The work I´m going to be doing is going to be answering specific needs in my community in terms of environmental education, reforestation and the problem of trash. That in itself will be challenging and rewarding. I´ll learn how to get along housing in roughness most of my time, but then I´ll also get to enjoy some comforts from home. Twice a month, I´ll get to go to my capital city and enjoy thngs like a oh so lovely cup of Starbucks coffee, a hot shower, and maybe even a movie in English (Spanish subtitles). Every little piece of home is shuch a treat. A cup of real (not instant) coffee is so much richer. Pizza is a delicacy. Praying with a friend is sacred, a moment to be cherised. A phone call or package from home is the highlight of my week.

And even though my description above makes it sound like life is more vivid herethan it was when I was in the States, I find myself struggling with depression and feelings of worthlessness. I worry I won´t be a good volunteer, that I´ll fail to take advantage of opportunities and leave with regret. I miss having people around me who know me really well and I can talk about anything. Not having a strong Christian community is a struggle. And just ten weeks in, there have been things that I have said and done that I wish I had done differently.

So I´m ready to serve, but afraid of the things I´ll screw up. I´m trying to find the balance between believing in myself and not taking myself too seriously, being aware that failures and successes will both come. And I want to swear in with that sense of honesty in the forefront of my mind. I don´t want to take my oath with a romantic idea of what service will be like. I want to swear in with a promise to do my best, and to move keeping going even when I fail.

Saying things you shouldn´t say without knowing you´ve said them.

Funny story that I need to record:

This Monday, I was sitting at the breakfast table with my host mom, talking it up like usual. And I started talking about moving to Lambayeque. And so I told her that I would like to buy my mattress in Chiclayo (my capital city), because it would be cheaper there. Then, I could just take it back on the combi (bus) with me to my site. Simple conversation right? No, no, not for Terrace Awkward Hill. No, what I actually said was that I was going to buy pussy in Chiclayo and take it back on the combi with me. Because pussy would be cheaper to buy in my capital city rather than buying it in my site.

And I couldn´t figure out why my host mom was frozen in her seat as I described this plan. Then we laughed til we were teary-eyed. Lesson learned: colchon is mattress, and concha is, as my host mom puts it, ¨la parte de la mujer¨.

Critters Innumerable

It is fitting that after my first visit to sight that I would run across Psalm 104: “You make darkness, and it is night, when all the animals of the forest come creeping out...creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great”. I can already tell that the abundant supply of creepy things in the dry forest of Corral de Arena will be one of the most difficult things for me to get used to. The chickens, goats, and turkeys make a mess everywhere but I'll get used to that. Cleanliness is a relative term I'm finding out. I had washed my clothes in site with a bit of Tide and the water we collect in barrels for the day. To me, they smelled really great, felt clean. But when I returned to Santa Eulalia, I realized they actually smelled like chicken poop. Showering is quite similar. We have a “shower area”, but it is really just an area in the backyard with a tarp to cover you. There are vines and sticks that run across the top and the chickens like to hang out up there. I've never had to shower and be afraid of a chicken pooping on my head at the same time. That's new.

Since living in my lovely, tidy house in Santa Eulalia, it hadn't occurred to me that living in the campo would put a new spin on the expression “night life”. All hours of the night, there are things creeping, clucking, hopping and giving me the all-around 'heebie geebies'. The first night, I talked to Lisa before going to bed. Lisa was the volunteer in my town before she had to move into Olmos for health reasons. Now she works with the animal refuge/zoo that is in desperate need for funding. I called Lisa after having gone to the latrine in the dark to find it literally covered in cockroaches. Needless to say, I didn't end up using it. I cut the top off a two liter plastic bottle and used it in my room instead. I called Lisa and she suggested that I buy a specific bucket people use to pee in at night. She also mentioned that she never got used to the critters at night, especially the mice that would run around her bedroom floor at night. That just freaked me out. I decided to sleep with the light on to discourage las cucarachas.

I laid there awake for two hours, keenly aware of every crawl and squeak behind and possibly in my walls. From the sounds, I imagined at least 10 mice. I kept sitting up to check for cockroaches. Two came in at one point. The first one hopped and flew around my room. I didn't realize they could jump so high! One jumped about five feet and even flew around. And ewwww, how fast it could crawl up the wall.

I covered my whole body with my covers and prayed for safety and the ability to fall asleep, a little embarrassed that I'm a grown person afraid of such tiny creatures. I tried reasoning with myself. What could they possibly do to me? Even if a mouse bit me and I got sick, I have doctors I can call. It'll be ok. But there is no such reasoning when it comes to be the insects or animals of any size.

Even worse than the bugs, I would have to say I am more afraid of the dogs. The dogs in my new town aren't your normal canines. These dogs are vicious and fight at all hours of the night, and during the day, in front of my house. The sounds are horrible! It sounds like they are actually tearing each other apart. And over breakfast my last day, I watched about five of them gang rape my little female dog. She was yelping and obviously trying to get away, but the male dogs kept biting her while they each took turns. I ran out and yelled at them with a broom, but they weren't scared of me. I felt sick to my stomach for a few hours after that. I told my program director about the situation. His advise was that I try to find out whose dogs they are and ask them to keep them locked up. If they have no owners, he suggested, in his comedic Peruvian English, that I kill them all over a period of time so that no one will know it's me. I paused for a moment before replying. “How would I go about doing that?” I think I am gonna talk to my host family about the problem, and then go to the mayor. If neither one works, I think I will kill them. After two days of their fighting in my patio at night, I found myself picturing shooting them all with a gun. I've never wanted to kill animals like that.

I'll end this blog with a funny story related to getting used to animals in site. My friend Tina was going to the latrine during her site visit. She peed and then she was getting ready to leave when she heard something russling around in the latrine. She looked down, and there was a chicken who had laid an egg at the bottom of the latrine. Who knows how it got down there, and who knows how they got it out, but they did somehow. I died laughing when Tina told us that she peed on a chicken.

Field Based Training

Okay, so I´ve spent the last 5 days traveling through Lambayeque. The first night, we took a bus from Lima to Chiclayo. The buses are a vacation in themselves, with dinner and movies, and the most comfy reclining leather seats I´ve ever sat in. We watched ¨Marley and Me¨ and ¨The Devil Wears Prada¨in Spanish with English subtitles. The reclining chairs were arguably more comfortable than our beds at home, and it was nice to just sit back and enjoy a movie.

We arrived in Chiclayo and took a combi (a van) to Olmos, near where I will be living for the next two years. We went to a school near Carolyn´s site and taught a couple of grades. Because we were told kinda late about teaching classes, we prepared our lessons over the two hour car ride and lunch. Sara and I taught our class on the various routes of water contamination. In this particular community, there isn´t a trash pick-up program. Adults and children just throw their trash wherever they happen to be standing when they are done with it. The sides of the streets are littered with pastic bags and packaging materials. Seeing all the trash made me very grateful for the strict littering policies in the US.

The first night, we stayed at a animal refuge/zoo outside of Olmos. The refuge mainly houses birds and different monkeys, some the size of chimpanzees and others that were itty bitty. We cleaned out animal cages, did some painting and planted vines that will hopefully shade a patio area. I´m starting to realize how afraid of animals I am. While attempting to clean out a cage, one black bird less than a foot tall ¨cornered¨ me. I was frantically yelling at it to go away, but it just towered over me from a meter away, clucking and staring me down. I was stuck for probably 3 or 4 minutes before a ran by it screaming, making a b-line for the door. And that was the end of that project for me. I went on to painting cages, which was messier but less of a threat to my life. I still have black paint stuck to my arm and fingernails, but the switch was a good move. Then me and Lisa (who used to live in my site) painted the kid´s slide and talked a bit about Jesus and a desire for community. I´m looking forward to getting to know her better.

The next night, we camped out in the Bosque of Pomac (a dry, sandy forest). I pooped outside for the first time! I´m learning that we talked more in the Peace Corps about poop than any other subject. We make a lot of jokes around poop. ¨Tengo bicicleta¨ literally means ¨I have a bicycle¨, but it is an expression that means you have diarrea. We´re often singing ¨beee-cicleta, beee beee-cicleta¨. We all share this experience. Some of us might be better at Spanish, some of us might be adjusting differently to the daily stresses, but we all have ridden the bicicleta at some point.

After spending the night in the bosque, we climbed some huacas. These are pre-Incan, man-made hills that housed treasures and were the center of the communities. The leader would live atop them. These sites are full of archeologically valuable material that has yet to be studied. Unfortunately, there also hasn´t been enough protection from raiding and much has been lost. Nevertheless, it was fun to climb these ancient adobe hills andf look at the seashells and pottery pieces all along the ground.

That night, we had pollo a la braza (chicken and french fries) and I got super sick the next day. Never, never ever eat chicken that it kinda pink. It is not worth it and I don´t care how hungry you are. To be honest, I´m not sure if that is what did me in. I´m the only one that got super sick. But I was vomiting and had diarrea at the same time. The pain in the stomach was unbareable 10 minutes before each time I got sick. It started at 5 in the morning and I stopped throwing up around noon. The rest of the day was pretty bad, but nothing in comparison to the first half. I got to the hotel in Chiclayo around 3 and got to sleep and watch tv the rest of the day. All of the volunteers took turns helping me. Some carried my bags, others brought me snacks,the third year volunteers made sure to check up on me and got me a front seat in the combi ride to Chiclayo. Tina even gave me a pad in case I accidentally pooped my pants (which I´m told happens to every volunteer at some point, but thankfully didn´t happen to me yesterday).

Today was America Day, the day we have all been excited about. The third year volunteers showed us all around our capital city of Chiclayo. There is a shopping mall, Real Plaza, with many of the comforts of home including RadioShack, Pizza Hut, KFC, Starbucks, and a movie theater. I didn´t get to see a movie, but hear that they actually play the English audio with Spanish subtitles. I´m looking forward to enjoying that one of these days when I need some American time.

Then we went to a technology market where you can buy all sorts of electronics, clothing or inexpensive entertainment. And then we headed down to the beach and ate some fried rice with fresh fish. Peru has really incredible Chinese food, and good seafood on the coast. It is a perfect combination if you ask me.

Tomorrow, I meet my counterparts that I hope to work with over the next two years. We´ll spend the day getting to know one another in formal sessions and then they´ll take me to my first visit to my site in Corral de Arena. I´ll spend three days getting to know my new host family and the community. I´m nervous about the latrine and even more about the dirt floor in my room. I heard stories about parasites through the feet (and I think I´ve already extracted tick larva from one of my toes). I want to lay cement in my room, but am not sure how much that would cost. Some volunteers recommend laying cement, and others say it will just make my hot room even more unbearable when summer rolls around. Prayers would be great for all of the above. I love you all. Thanks for keeping up with how things are going here in Peru.

trash talk

I was working on this recycling project at a school in Santa Eulalia last week. I had a school whose director seemed interested in starting a recycling program. Usually Peace Corps volunteers don't take on projects during training. At most, they'll teach a class. This is because we are expected to do a 3 month diagnostic before deciding on what projects the community needs and will support. But I struggle with the idea of having communities where Peace Corps is trained, but the communities see very few results. Around a hundred volunteers go through Santa Eulalia every year, and I think it is a waste to have so many volunteers in one place and see so little help given to the people.

So, I saw an elementary school (primary school) without a recycling program and took a chance. I asked the director what she thought about starting a recycling program. She told me it was on the agenda for next year and was something her school was very interested in. I asked if she wanted to push up the plan a year and have the help of a couple Peace Corps volunteers. To make a long story short, Tina and I agreed to teach three grades and decorate signs for 9 new trash cans for the recycling program. We would implement the program and get the kids excited about recycling. We showed up the day of the event to find the director had not purchased any cans. She said she would go to Lima and get them later that day. We decorated papers for the cans anyway and had fun teaching the kids about the upcoming program. In the end, the director purchased 3 out of the 9 cans. I got them ready and put them outside with decorations from all 3 grades involved. I went back to check on the program this week (as I had said I would) to find all three cans nearly completely empty and shoved in the office of the director.

We're leaving for a camping trip in the morning and I won't get to ask the director what happened until next week. But I'm frustrated that "yes, I'm excited to do that" could mean "I'm not at all interested in what you're talking about". We were taught that this is a part of Peruvian culture. It's called the "si, si, si syndrome". But how can I tell when an enthusiastic yes really means no? I'm hoping I'll get to the office next week and find out there was some confusion. But I have this fear that the director and the teachers at the school didn't really like me or care about the project, but just didn't want to say no. And I hate that the kids might have put the effort to make the signs and learn about the new program just to see a failed project.

This is definitely not the way I want to go about doing projects in my site. I'm also sure that I could learn to ask more questions and find creative ways to support programs so that they will sustain. Even so, I think I would have felt worse about my work if I hadn't tried. And I'm still going to show up at that school and see if I can't figure out what inspired the director to move the expensive cans the school invested in into her office. I'm learning that the important part of my service is that I try, that I make the effort. I won't always have the time and the resources to do things in the ideal way, but that seems to be a part of trying to change things for the better. Most importantly, I've gotta do something.

On a happy note, Leslie, Willa, Laura, and I did a puppet show written by our tech trainer, Monica. The spanish was far beyond my level, but we were able to put on a great show for our fellow aspirantes and a primary school. The puppet show was about a snail and a porcupine who are disgusted by the trash everywhere. The porcupine smells like a skunk due to the trash collecting in her spines. I played "Don Cochinon", a smelly character who loves trash and hopes to dirty the entire planet. We taught the kids about recycling and the importance of not littering through songs, hilarious dialogue, puppet-kiddo interaction, and some good ole fashion slow-mo karate moves.

to my brothers and sisters who need some encouragement this morning

This scripture comes after Jesus tells the disciples they will triumph over the power of the enemy. He tells them not to rejoice in this, but in the fact that their names are written in heaven. If you're struggling like I am with failure, wondering how you could know God and still keep screwing up, take some time today to reflect on the blessings we've been given. Wretched ragamuffins like us have been given blessings beyond what we would consider to be better people. It feels pretty awesome to be one of the jackasses that gets to carry the message of Christ (reference to a talk you can check out by Shane Claiborne). And when you say or do things that are not of God, or are just plain ridiculous, you can read this scripture where Jesus thanks the Father for picking people like us.


"At that same hour Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said, 'I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will"...Then turning to the disciples, Jesus said to them privately, 'Blessed are the eyes that see what you see! For I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it'." -Luke 10


So don't stop representing what is holy and good when you fail to be holy and good. You're not the source of it anyway. Be grateful that God picked you anyway. Even with all your problems and struggles. Even when you don't like yourself. Heck, even when no one likes you.

Carne y perros

Interesting day today. I decided when I woke up, I would go into Chosica and get the ingredients to make my family Texas chili. I had given them a packet of Texas chili mix that my mom's work colleagues gave me as a going away present. It was my first time to go into town by myself, and it went really well. I listened to a sermon from Experience Life church in Lubbock while I rode the combi to Plaza Vea. Plaza Vea is kinda like a Super Walmart. Ironically, I boycotted Walmart in the States, but this store is really comforting to me in Peru.


I'm not a fan of the open air markets with raw chicken that just sits out with all the flies and dogs until someone buys it. At the moment, I feel good about shopping somewhere that looks familiar and has a refrigerated meat section. It is gonna take some time for me to find a local market that I trust. I walked around the store and looked at everything. It felt good to see a store organized like it would be in the States – on larges shelving units, with a least ten varieties of each item, free to be touched and picked up by anyone. I amused by the smallest references to American culture. For example, right now I'm jamming out to the Backstreet Boys, “As Long As You Love Me”. Oh yeah.

I got home and shared some Oreo cookies with my host family while I spent a couple of hours cooking the chili. Everyone in my family gathered 'round to enjoy a Texas tradition. I explained that chili is the official meal of Texas, dating back to the 1800s when cowboys would cook on the back of the chuckwagon. (Thanks to the people who put together such an informative packet of chili.) I diced some onion and red bell pepper for the top, and shredded some cheese I hoped would taste alright with the spices. My family apparently doesn't have bowls? This confuses me, and I'm not sure why people who do cook soup don't have bowls. Puzzled, I just kept describing bowls to my host mom, forcing her to repeat that she doesn't have any. She pointed to the plates and said we could serve a bit at a time. I'm not sure why not having bowls was such a big deal to me, but I looked all through the kitchen for something that would work better. How could you eat a delicacy like chili from a plate? I finally resolved to suggest we eat from coffee cups, and my host mom turned to me with a dumbfounded look, conveying her question without a need for words: “have you no class?” If she had any doubts, I confirmed that I in fact did not when I showed them how to pile and mix the food. I swear, when I took the crackers and crumbled them on top, everyone in my family gasped together. But they ate the meat soup with some coca-cola, and told me it was very good.

After the chili, I walked over to give a bowl with, Gordito (Joshua), a fellow volunteer down the street. On the way back, I was walking by a big dog and it attacked me. I was right beside it when it turned and bit me on the arm and on my butt before I could do anything about it. It was a vicious attack, not a “yum, you smell like ground beef” attack. Of course, my instinct was to scream for help in English, which didn't help me. I went back to my house crying and addressed the small wounds. The dog tore through my pants and undies, which my host mom offered to repair.

My host mom and sisters went back down the street with me so we could tell the owners and make sure the dog doesn't have rabies. My host mom told the family that they needed to keep their dog put away, because it could have destroyed a kid. In a weird way, I was glad that it happened to me because I think my family and teachers thought I was just being paranoid about the dogs in the streets. I'm scared of them. I was jogging one morning when two dogs started to attack me. Thankfully two men were there to call them back. And there is a group of dogs in my town that like to gather in a pack the bark at people walking alone. So I walk with stones in my hands. Last week, one of my tech trainers bicycled past me and laughed at me for walking with rocks in my hand. It's silly, but I guess it's necessary.

happenings

I haven't talked much about the training that I'm going through. Right now, I'm in classes from 8:30ish in the morning to 5 in the evening. A few days a week, I have tutoring of Spanish class. We also have other activities like a jogging group, a dance group that will start meeting soon and projects. Though this might seem overwhelming, it is easier to manage because I'm constantly surrounded by supportive staff and peers that keep me laughing all day. My fellow "aspirantes" love to play hacky sacky (or attacky sack), soccer, dance, drink some cervezas, and tease one another to keep it light. I can't say enough how big of a fan I am of these people.

The Santa Eulalia crew are the ones who live in my neighborhood. This includes the following: Ali, Roberto, Jefe, Alexander, Joshua (Gordito), Gabe, Carolina, Eliot, Dan and David (even though he technically lives in Vista Alegre, he's always up here hanging out). These guys are always laughing, always hanging out, and they play a significant role in keeping me entertained.

MAC is my program, Manejo Ambiental Comunitario, aka Medio Ambiente. I spend most of my time hanging out with people in MAC. We are in technical training with our teachers Monica and Lane. Lane is an ex-pat who followed his wife to Peru. While she is working here, he has a job with Peace Corps (Cuerpo de Paz). Monica is a Peruvian who is very white with light blue eyes. She looks like one of us until she talks, and then she has the cutest accent. Monica went to this amazing school in Lima, the Agrarian University. We go there on Saturdays to learn about organic gardening, extracting seeds and more.

Right now, MAC kids are working on diagnostic of their communities. We're spread out in several communities near Chosica. This is practice for what we'll be doing in our first three months in our sites. The point is to figure out what is going on, who is active in the community, and what needs to the community would be interested in having us help with. We start with interviews, cognitive mapping (or community mapping), and a personal assessment.

We also have the Wat-Saners (Water and Sanitation people, Wat-San). Together, we make up 79 volunteers mas o menos. I'm a big fan of Peru 16. Good people.

My favorite day so far happened last week. We had various stations to learn about different tactics of intergration and activities for us to use in our communities. We learned to do a couple of Peruvian dances. It was kinda like a Peruvian square dance. One activity was a series of tubes cut in half. There were about ten students to a group and we each held a piece of cut tube that was about 7 inches. We had to roll a marble all the way across the lawn in our tubes without making the marble stop. It took us about fifteen tries and people got frustrated. But by the end of it, everyone moved together in a relatively smooth motion.

That game is kind of a good image of how I'm adjusting to being in Cuerpo de Paz. I'm homesick sometimes and not moving in the most effective and fluid way, but it is a process. The words in Spanish come a little easier each week. I'm a little less terrified about trying to fulfill the goals of my service (for example: planting 1000 trees). On my walk home, I look at the mountains and remember how stunning my God really is. And I remember how small I am, so much smaller than the grand tasks that overwhelm me. But most importantly, I remember that it is this stunning God who will do the work within me, even when I am small and weak.

a bit more on the subject of justice in the streets

About a week and a half ago, I went to Miraflores. It is a part of the city of Lima that is very fancy. This is where you'll find Starbucks, Papa Johns, a super-sized McDonald's, and so on. We did a group project where we walked around and asked people touristy questions, and then questions about how they dispose of their trash. The latter was related to our group, Manejo Ambiental Comunitario (MAC). MAC is the Spanish name for our program, Environmental Education. I have to admit that it is weird to walk up to people and begin asking them about what they do or do not through away, how they sort their garbage. In actuality, I didn't realize that was weird until a fellow group member pointed it out. Can you imagine some foreigner walking up to you, ask you if they can ask you some questions and begin to ask how you sort your trash? Do you recycle? Do you compost? I enjoyed asking people none-the-less.

Afterwards, me and a few of the girls grabbed some pizza at a local Italian restaurant. The place was a bit more fancy than I would have liked, but I enjoyed that the walls had autographs and money glued down like wallpaper. We ate pretty quickly and begin the journey of returning to the Chosica area. (I live in Santa Eulalia, just outside of Chosica.) We were given instructions in Spanish as to how we would find transportation home. We were supposed to catch a combi (a small bus with crazy drivers) to one of two locations. One location would allow us to catch another combi, and the other would be a point to catch a collectivo. What the language teachers didn't explain well enough for us to understand, was where we would find the collectivos. Collectivos are kinda like taxis except they can pick up different groups of people heading to the same general area.

To make a long story short, we couldn't figure out where the collectivos were and ended up getting on more combis than we should have to get home. A two hour trip turned into three and a half. The last combi to Chosica got into an accident. Many in our group had to stand because they literally pack them full like a can of sardines. (Peruvians call combis "sardinas de la lata". So half of our group was standing when the combi crashed into the car in front of us. A woman in the front who was standing and barely holding on screamed as she hit the floor. Terrified, I grabbed my friend Tina and put her in my seat.

On the way, I looked out the window at all the trash on the side of the street. There wasn't any trash in Miraflores. The municipality in Miraflores hires workers to keep the streets clean. But just twenty minutes further are streets covered, and I mean covered, in garbage. There are actual mounds of trash stacked stacked next to houses made of plywood. I watched as a woman pushed a stroller and a man held his jacket tight as he walked. And I thought about the injustice of it all, that this would be my first time in my life to experience such filthiness and here is this baby whose life has begun with it. I wondered how I could serve a God who would let such disparity exist. And then I remembered that I am called to be part of the solution, the hands and feet for a God who loves justice. I realized that the injustice would be for me to know that this exists and to go back to the States and try to forget it.

Injustice is something that I can choose to take part in. I got really sick to my stomach at the thought of never returning to a cleaner, "happier" life in the U.S. I really didn't intend to spend the rest of my life without warm showers in clean water. It seems so much harder to think that I am called to be with the least of these. And if I was to spend my life serving and living with the poorest of the poor, that strength is gonna have to come from someone stronger than myself. In all honesty, I'd rather eat pizza in Miraflores. And I think that is the source of injustice in the world, what I've found I don't like in myself - what we find that we don't like within ourselves.

dirty ragamuffin in love

I haven't written much in comparison to all that has happened in the last three weeks. I have met so many people, seen and learned more than I can really remember to explain. Every moment is an opportunity to learn, to experience life from a new vantage point. And everything seems to have deeper meaning than can be expressed on paper. It's not just a freezing cold shower; it is a connection with a lifetime of cold showers that my family has gotten used to. It's my little host sister breathing hard and fast; crying from the shock of the water. It not just trash everywhere. It is people living with heaps of trash to the left and the right, in mounds and scattered from one side of the neighborhood to the other while other areas are completed cleaned of debry. It is my family and friends and everyone I've ever known who are here in Peru, because I am here in Peru. It is God's hand getting ready to move because I am ready to move. It is Jesus and Tucson and Lubbock, Texas reaching out to others.

What I am experiencing seems so much bigger than the little help I can give. I'm learning how to be aware of the mighty power of our God who has been changing the world with the hands and feet of humanity all along. Knowing that this movement is so much more than my small efforts and failures (failures that feel so big at the time). The grandness of good news of forgiveness helps me to feel the arms of the Creator hold me tight, to care for me throughout the day. The moments when I fall become opportunities for me to be grateful for the way that God loves this ragamuffin. How awesome is it to know, as Shane Claiborne puts it, the God who didn't want to change the world without us.

"You won't relent until you have it all. My heart is yours."

you can't make this stuff up

Okay, so apparently there is this thing in Peru called “crazy hour”. When someone throws a party, for any occasion (weddings, formal get-together’s, birthdays, etc.), you can hire a group of people to come to your party and throw a crazy hour. In the case of the crazy hour I experienced, it was a first birthday party. Fifteenth and first birthday parties are a big time in a girl’s life and come with grand parties. One of the community members had a daughter who was turning one. My host mom was catering the entire party, which consisted of a couple hundred people. She, my sisters worked all day to get the food and the elaborate cake made. I’ll post pictures of the cake, because I’ve never seen a birthday cake like it. It was so elaborate and creative – a Tinker Bell cake with candy flowers, trees, magical mushrooms and even the Neverland treehouses. Crazy! In America, the first birthday is usually a few family members over at the house, maybe a meal and an itty bitty cake for the baby to enjoy. This party was probably a couple thousand soles.

Crazy hour seemed normal for a first birthday, a clown to entertain the kiddos. The clown was wearing green eyeshadow and pink blush, white lips with a black nose. His outfit was orange with some wicked sneaker-style clown shoes. But then the clown starts dancing very provocatively. Moving his hips a little more than I expected, and then thrusting his pelvis to the music. He walks over to an older woman and gives her a lap dance! I’m freaking out and wondering if anyone else finds this inappropriate when he walks over to a man and starts giving him a lap dance. He stops to make a few jokes and then he is waving his crock and his butt in other people’s faces. I started looking around for the reactions of the crowd and my fellow volunteers.

Two girls (maybe 16 years old) ran out with the clown. They were wearing hot pink school girl uniforms that just covered them. They started dancing for the crowd. I was waiting for the stripper pole to fall from the ceiling. The clown called all the kids to the middle and had a dance competition. It stayed semi-clean except for a few sexual dance moves on the part of the clown and the kids. And then there was a moment where I thought the clown was about to make two kids kiss. I was sitting in my seat, very uncomfortable, very reserved. The clown looked over and came up to me and said something. I didn’t understand, but it made me realize I needed to chill out a bit.

Everyone ended up dancing the kumbia in a circle. People running the party came around with funny animal hats, glittery antennas, foam ties, and shiny masks for everyone to wear. We had long balloons to wave in the air as we danced. Then the clown and the “strippers” put two chairs in the middle and started pulling a man and a woman into the middle for lap dances. One by one, many of the guests were selected and pulled to the middle. Every gringo in the place was spotted and selected. The clown started walking towards me and I started screaming “no, no, no!” There was a moment where the clown seemed to be thinking whether or not to leave me alone. Before I could do anything about it without making a big scene, that clown grabbed my arm and sat me down. I received this incredibly graphic lap dance from a clown with a couple hundred people watching, many with cameras. All the while I’m screaming no, no, no. The men were given lap dances from the girls, often both at the same time. And all of this took place at a first birthday party. It is a story that few can tell. You can’t make this stuff up.

In the Beginning

I am writing this after being here for 11 days, but I felt it was important to go back a bit and talk about when I first arrived. Our group of 79 volunteers met up in Washington D.C. for staging. My cousin Kristen, her boyfriend Andy, and their friend Chris picked me up. We got stopped while we were putting my luggage in the car. The security officer said it was because Kristen's tags were expired. We're sure it was because Andy didn't have any shoes or a shirt. We arrived at the hotel and my roommate was already out on the town.

After we ate some terrific pasta that Kristen made, we headed out for a night on the town. On the way, a foreign student from Greece walked up to us and asked if she could talk with us. She was doing a fellowship in D.C. while working on her Ph.D mideival art at Harvard. She said that Andy and Kristen reminded her of her “Bohemian” friends in Greece. We went to Paradiosio Pizzaria on M St. The place smelled of olives, which I thought smelled more like baby poop. The pizza looked great and I would definitely recommend it because of the five page menu of beer. A-mazing.

After saying my goodbyes to my cuz and new friends, I finally got to meet my hotel mate, Gina. Gina just graduated with a Religious Studies degree from Yale. She was one of 10 graduating with that particular degree. The next day, I met many people I would be spending the next 10 weeks with (and some I would get to know very briefly). The Health volunteers left us after the weekend was over. Water and Sanitation (Wat-San) would end up at the same site with us in Santa Eulalia.

When we arrived in Lima, it was after 9pm. We didn't actually leave the airport for the retreat center until after 11pm. Apparently, the big buses that were supposed to be picking us up got into a car accident on the way. We ended up piling into these small vans. Keep in mind that all of us are carrying at least 3 bags that total out to about 140 pounds. So here we are, packed in these vans with our bags stacked to the roof of the vehicles. I'm stressing about the van getting into an accident and the damage these bags could do to us. If we were to flip the wrong way, we would be crushed. So I'm insisting that everyone should untie the seatbelts that have obviously never been used. I get mine and frantically try to loosen the string around another volunteers belt. We get the seatbelt situation worked out just in time to pull over on the side of the highway and wait for half an hour. We're on this crazy highway with cars zooming by and our driver exits without explaining. Ten minutes later, he's back, but only to eat a sandwich. I guess the other 6 or so buses were not ready and so we were going to wait for them...on the side of death's highway.

We finally get rolling and our driver is doing a good job of navigating through the roads. There seemed to be no rules at smaller roads, just hundreds of cars coming in different directions trying to push there way through. We learned fast that honking is not a rude exclamation, but a way of communication. It signifies changing lanes, speeding up, “get out my way” and “hey, would you like a ride?”. At this point, it is really late at night and we are all exhausted. Some have fallen asleep, but I am fighting it since this is my first hour in Peru. I'm to capture every image. The buildings are painted colorfully under all the dirt and graffiti. There are dogs everywhere. People are congregating outside of houses and businesses, many circling up on cinder-blocks to share a beer (Peruvian drinking ritual).

I kept falling asleep and waking up to the van screeching to a halt and in different dangerous states. One time, I fell forward and woke up while doing so, screaming and near tears. Our driver was a bit slower than the other drivers and they would pull up beside us and wave for him to go faster. We ended up losing the group and getting lost for about an hour. When we finally arrived, all of the other volunteers had already unloaded and had settled in. All of the other drivers were hanging out in the parking lot and applauded and cheered for our driver for his excellence sense of direction and know-how. We stayed at a retreat center. The food in Peru is pretty great and I loved it right away. It is interesting to note that, though Peru grows coffee as a major export, everyone drinks instant coffee. I’ve gotten used to that difference.