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."