The Worm Bin Project!

A few pictures from the worm bin project described in the previous post. These pictures show the different groups digging their holes, collecting wood for the roofs, and starting construction on the roofs.

Passively Shopping Until I Drop

         I am knee deep in a project slopping through the bureaucratic mud. There are many details to this project that I could write pages and pages about, but for your alls sake I will spare you. Instead I wanted to depict the shopping a experience I endured this last week. To give you a brief overview we are digging large holes in the ground (4mX1mX1m) to make worm bins, so that families can start producing their own fertilizer for vegetable gardens in their homes. We have dug seven out of eight holes, where 4-7 families will share one hole, and bring their organic kitchen waste to the shared hole. Each hole is going to be roofed with metal roofing, and each family that is participating is going to receive two trashcans for their kitchens to promote better trash separation. We have a Peace Corps grant out to finance this project, we being the town governor and me who I am working with. Thus I bring you up to speed on why there was a need for a shopping trip into the near by town to buy the materials.

        On Monday I went to the office of the governor and with luck found him in at his desk. He welcomed me in with his four fingered hand shake (he lost one of his fingers to a chainsaw) and then he tried to go on for the side cheek kiss, but I gave the clear stiff upright body language that says this is not how we greet each other in the small town setting, maybe in the big city its ok, but here the handshake is enough. We both sat down and I excitedly updated him that the grant money had arrived, and thus when should we go buy the materials? He looked up to the ceiling contemplating his schedule before declaring that he had a meeting in Chachapoyas (the near by town) wednesday morning, and therefore wednesday afternoon would be good for him. This worked for me because I to could go down before sunrise, treat myself to a morning of good coffee and internet, before dedicating the afternoon to buying our materials. I then asked how we were going to transport all these materials, to which we looked at how much we budgeted for this originally, and his eyes got really big at the measly 20 soles we put down,. This would only cover our personal transportation to and from the city, and did not include the materials. I guess we didn't really think that all the way through beforehand. He told me he would ask one of the local pickup truck drivers to see how much he would charge to make this special trip but surely it was going to be more than 20 soles. At this I left the office with another handshake and an agreement to check back in in the afternoon.

        As promised I dragged myself up from my afternoon nap and went to see what news the governor brought. He informed me that the pickup truck driver was willing to carry up our materials and promised that he could fit all of what we needed into his truck at the price of 100 soles. This was drastically over what we had initially allotted for and felt like a lot to spend on the transport of materials. So I suggested that perhaps the municipality (which is a different office than the one the governor works for) might want to help us out. I could tell from the way his body kind of shut down the governor was not a big fan of this solution, but he had no strong reasoning against it so I took it upon myself to pursue this solution. I walked across the plaza to the municipality where by some kind of miracle I actually found the town mayor in his office. I started the question as a hypothetical question of how much he would charge if he were asked to make a special trip to Chachapoyas to carry up materials for a project just to see if the 100 soles that the pickup driver quoted was fair. But my hypothetically tense in Spanish clearly needs some work because his response was to say that the town dump truck was coming up the next day, and there would surely be space for our materials. The town dump truck apparently always comes up on Tuesdays bringing resupplies for the local stores. Well this was certainly a positive sign that the municipality was willing to lend a hand for our project. The only problem was that the next day was the same day that all the government money for social programs arrives in the banks, and so all the mothers with children who receive this money would be going into town and waiting in line at the bank for several hours to receive their 200 soles, therefore there was no room in the cars to get down to Chachapoyas to buy the materials, as the dump truck was already in Chachpoyas. Fortunately the town mayor also offered us a ride in the morning in his truck. So I told the mayor that I would go check with the governor to see what he had to say about this new plan and then get back to him.

      As I explained my new plan to the governor I could tell by the look on his face he was not pleased. For one it was not as convenient for him to go on Tuesday for he would have to turn around and go back into town the following day for his meeting. Also he wasn't convinced that the town dump truck would really have room for all our materials. Finally I don't think he trusted the municipality to really follow through. But I made the point that if we went with the municipality we could spend the money we saved elsewhere such as a trip to the famous nearby ruins that the women in the project have never been to. He looked up to the ceiling to think, and I sat there in silence letting him process this change of events, waiting for him to say yes or no to the new plan. But an answer never came. I have found this happening a lot in my time in Peru, where if I want something that the other person doesn't really want to allow they have a hard time saying a direct no. So I sit there in silence waiting for them to come up with a strong reasoning behind their answer, and when they can't come up with one they usually agree to do whatever I am asking for. It is a long painful silence, but I wait it out. Finally when it is clear that the governor is not going to respond I step in and say that I have shaken hands looking the mayor in the eyes to confirm his agreement to help us out, and he made a commitment to take both of us to Chachapoyas tomorrow where we would meet up with the town dump truck and load up the materials that we bought. I reassured the governor that this handshake was a powerful contract. Just for security I went back and confirmed with the mayor one more time, and left feeling a bit guilty about pushing the governor, who has been working with me since the birth of this project, into this decision.

        The night before our big shopping day, my mom called me to check in. It was in this conversation that I realized I was a bit anxious for the following day. I found myself being a bit short on the phone, and felt preoccupied. I decided the best way to release my stress was to bake brownies to hand out to the people that would be helping me out tomorrow, plus I really wanted to pass my stress by eating some of the brownie batter! The next day at 6:30am I was just getting dressed after a shower when the governor called wondering what was taking me so long. In a classic situation I found myself hurrying up to stuff mushy slightly undercooked brownies in ziplock bags, and make myself descent, only to be waiting for the next hour until the car was actually ready to leave. The governor, usually a chatty cathy was unusually quiet on the ride down, and I could feel that he was not quite comfortable in the mayor's car. I still can't put my finger on what made the governor so uncomfortable, but I felt a little at fault for being responsible for this discomfort. Finally we arrived in Chachapoyas, a 40 minute drive of awkward silence filled by religious music. As we get out of the car I realize that part of what I was anxious about the night before is the fact that I would really have to let go of the day and allow the governor to make the decisions. I would essentially be obediently following him around all day. This made me nervous because I often didn't see reason in some of his decision, but I needed to let go of control. So I took a breath on the street and looked to the governor for the next directions. He then looked at me for the next directions, so we were at a stand still for a moment. Finally he whispers to me that I should ask the mayor how much they are going to charge us to carry up the materials. I am surprised at this since the mayor said nothing of the sort the other day when we set this up, but clearly it is expected that I ask. I can look back now and see there have been serval times where I just assumed things were free not realizing that it is custom here to not bring up the cost of services unless pushed to name a price. So I lean in the window and ask the mayor how much it will be for the materials. He doesn't have a quick answer so he responds that we should ask when we are back in Levanto saying it should be reasonable because the municipality wants to help, but also making it clear that we should pay something. With this settled the mayor jumps out of the car and offers to buy us a glass of this health drink that they sell on the streets here. It is essentially like going to a food co-op type place and getting some mix of grass shots. Before this I had never had the guts to try one, but they are very popular, and it was surprisingly delicious. However lets be clear it was a cup of liquid, NOT a breakfast!

        We thank the mayor and the governor and I head off. I assume we will now go get breakfast as I look forward to my two breads and sweet coffee, but that does not seem to be the case. Instead the governor proclaims that we have to head to the main office for governors in Chachapoyas to report in, and tell them that he is in Chachapoyas for the day buying materials for a project, and with good reason is not in his post of Levanto. In all reality I think he just wanted to show off to his bosses about the work he is doing in Levanto, and with every right he should. It was a good opportunity for me to be introduced to the government offices in Chachapoyas. On the way to the office visit we stop in some of the hardware stores and start sizing them up. We start by asking them how much they charge for their metal roofing material. Its not aggressive bargaining, like perhaps I would have jumped into, rather its patient withholding of information. We state what we are looking for and ask how much it costs. The store worker does not respond with a price but rather asks how many we want to buy. We answer by not stating a number but making it clear we are going to buy a lot. Sometimes I get over eager and blurt out that we want at least 53 slabs, because I figure that if the store owner knows that we are serious about our purchase it will help. However whenever I interrupt I clearly throw the governor off his game so I have to remember to hold my tongue and let the passive bargaining go down. We say we want a lot, the store owner asks how much and at this point sometimes we give in and state a number but usually we just smile kindly back until the store worker names his price and then the price that he is willing to go down to. The first hardware store proclaimed 17.50 soles per sheet of metal, but would go down to 17 soles if we were going to buy a lot. We say thank you and leave the store. The governor is clearly pleased as 17 is already below what we had budgeted for originally but he also clearly knows more than I do about this game. Each sequential store we go to names a price 50 cents cheaper. It is amazing, because we never come out and say 'well the hardware store before you named this price', but somehow every place we go to is slightly cheaper.

        This is how we pass the next two hours, from hardware store to hardware store passively bargaining, and each time leaving the store saying we will come back we just want to check down the street. Finally we land at the hardware store that is quoting the cheapest for everything all around, from the plastic meshing to keep chickens out, to the 1.5 inch nails, he is all about being our friend and giving us the best price. We agree that we can't find any cheaper and have him write up a receipt for our purchases. There is some debate over what type of receipt should be used, because if they write it on an unofficially registered receipt we can get it an extra few cents cheaper, which seems fine to me. So on the unofficial note pad he writes out our order, and I hand over the money. Once out of the store, I have many technical questions for the governor such as shouldn't we have checked out to make sure he really had the materials we needed instead of just writing it down on paper, and should we call the dump truck driver to coordinate the pickup, and shouldn't we stop for breakfast, but I hold my tongue. I want to be supportive of his decisions and give him space to make decisions. So all I say is, now where are we going to find the trashcans. We go to the famous bargain deal store in town that has just about everything you can imagine stored up in attics and top floors in some of the most unorganized fashion with no price tags. I had already scoped out trashcans there when making my original price estimates for the grant budget so I knew right where to head in the store for the trashcans. Despite my proclaiming my previous knowledge it was clear that the governor was going to have to hear this for his own ears, so we ask a store worker who points us to the third floor as I had already proclaimed.

        It is here where our differences in opinion become clear. The governor has one strong vision of what he wants the trashcans to look like and its very different from mine. First he shares that he wants them to be round and I wonder what the reason is behind this. I keep repeating like a four year old child, but why? But why do they need to be round? His response is consistently 'they just need to be round'. This goes on for more cycles than it really should before I shut my mouth. I then state that the organics bucket should have a handle because the families are going to have to carry them quite some distances. He then shows me how easy it is to put an empty trashcan on his shoulder to carry. I then ask him if a grandma could do that with a full bucket, but this does not seem to phase him. He then states that the organic buckets all need to be green, and the non-organic buckets should be a different color but uniform. I am realizing that the only buckets with handles are transparent with colorful tops. Transparent however for the governor is not acceptable because for one it is not green, and second it is dirty for the families to have to see their organic garbage. The one thing we do both agree on is that they must have a top. As we walk back and forth on the garbage can floor I am in a state of debate with my mind of how much I can let go and just believe that the women will be happy no matter what the receive, and when it is time that I really need to step in and state my opinion. I decide that the only thing I am going to put my foot down on is the handle, the rest I can let go of and allow the governor search for his perfect round container. However everything that has a handle doesn't fit his requirements. I then get the idea that a swinging lid for the nonorganic trash would be really great. These however only seem to come in rectangular forms and are too small for the governor. As we wonder through the endless plastics, not finding anything I continually have to practice my deep breaths. I break out my little kid whine at some points, then laugh at the ridiculousness of our disputes, and he laughs at my ridiculous very non-passive behavior, and I go back to my breaths.

        We are saved by the phone call that the dump truck wants to start picking up our materials. Admitting defeat at the one store that was supposed to have everything, we head back to our hardware store and meet up with the dump truck crew. We have the hardware store write up yet another receipt for our items, still with no sign of the actually items, but this receipt is for the truck driver assistant to present to the loaders. We give this receipt to the truck driver assistant who showed up before the truck and tell him to wait while we go back to our trashcan search. We are essentially asking one of the sweetest workers from Levanto to wait for our things and then load them into the truck, which he agrees to do with a smile. I realize this is my brownie moment so I pull out a bag of mushy unappealing brownies and stuff them into his hands as an act of thanks. He doesn't really know what to do with this gesture, but we are off on our journey before he can have any response. From plastics store to plastics store I trail behind the governor, each place not having what we are looking for. Turns out colored buckets with a lid and handle are not in demand. Rather most people use buckets to sell things out of from cheese, to hot coffee, and thus they want the bucket to be transparent so the buyers can see what they are selling. I finally see one round garbage bin with a swinging lid and drag the governor into the store. He agrees that it would make a good trashcan for non-organics, but the women doesn't have anything in our category for organics. She then states that her husband owns another store just like this one, and he has catalogs we could look to order from directly. We thank her and head off toward the store 'Edu's'

         Turns out we had already been into Edu's but Edu was on the phone when we first entered so didn't further question us about what we were looking for, and thus we left quickly. On our second time around it quickly became apparent that Edu was going to do everything in his power to make sure we bought our 80 trashcans from him. We look through his magazines and find the perfect bucket, which promotes him to call the fabrication and see if they are still making them. Turns out all three fabrications that he has numbers for only make buckets that are transparent, and thus we hit a road block. By this time my stomach is yearning for food, my mind is aching at the debate of letting it go and wanting it to go my way, and my feet hurt from standing up so much. We talk in circles about trashcans, we call factories, I make a dramatic re-enactment of a mother in a kitchen busily cooking and having a plastic bag in her hand and needing to throw it away, and the convenience of having a swinging lid. This wins Edu's vote in a heartbeat, as he proclaims to the governor that the gringa does have a point. The governor seems slightly more convinced to my side about the trashcans, but is mostly just confused about what options we are really debating over at this point. Edu lists out his prices for each type of trashcan we are debating, and I collapse in one of the plastic benches he is trying to sell. It is a debate that I see no end to, and that seems daunting. Finally I realize that the families will be excited no matter what trashcan they receive, and I realize that the governor is overwhelmed with options at this point. I can see in the governor's eyes that he is also weakening with hunger at this point, and our hangry states are not helping anyone. I sit on the bench, as Edu is deep into a story about how his prices are better than anyone else we are going to find, and to prove his point he stops a man selling buckets on the street to ask his price. I put my hands in my head, and realize that the governors passive respect is not going to get us out of the store any faster so I give up my letting go attitude and take on the American aggressive shopper attitude. I realize that in order to save ourselves from insanity I was going to have to make a decision with the options we had at this store. I order up the swinging top for the non-organics and settle for the small round trashcan with no handle for the organics. We then have to make sure the company can make the round trashcans in green, which luckily they can. Edu agrees to make the order for the amount that we need, and then he boldly asks for all the money up front. I am about to agree to it as long as I have a receipt, but the governor stirs from his hungry tired haze and demands that we will only put down 500 soles now and then pay the rest when the order comes in. So we wait as Edu writes out three more receipts in detail of what we are ordering and what we are paying.

        Finally at 1:00pm we are out of the store, the healthy energy drink of the morning totally worn off, and barely able to keep our feet moving, but with our purchases complete. The governor and I are once again on the same page in that we should head directly to find a car back up to Levanto as quick as possible. There is no confirmation from the dump truck that they have gotten our materials, but the truck is nowhere in sight when we pass by the hardware store so all we can assume is that it all went smoothly and they got everything on the list. With some luck we find a pickup truck that is ready to head up to Levanto, with just one stop to pick up some wheelbarrows. In amazing speed we fill up the truck and head off to get the wheelbarrows. However our luck only goes that far as the people to deliver the wheelbarrows are nowhere in sight so we park and wait. I am now hungry and in desperate need to pee. This is when I remember my brownies, however I feel too embarrassed to take them out as they are just mush at this point; so I sit there on an empty stomach and full bladder as the minutes turn to an hour. Finally desperate I proclaim my need to go to the bathroom and go ask at a nearby warehouse. They point me to their doorless bathroom which doesn't phase me until just as I finish peeing a look over as see that a women is sitting on the opposite wall watching me the whole time. With my bladder back to normal my hunger seems even more imminent so I take the plunge into the brownie bag, and proceed to offer up my brownies to everyone in the car, as is custom. They take what is offered, as is also the custom, and I try to convince them that while they look undercooked in fact they are quite good. We eat in silence until finally the wheelbarrows are loaded up and we head up the road. Halfway up the road I can't stop thinking about the other bag of brownies in my bag but I don't want to go through the ordeal of offering everyone again, so I proceed to sneak bites out of my bag killing my hunger but fueling my guilt.

        Once back it feels like a relief to be in the comfort of my own house, where I can breath a bit easier, and worry a bit less. Later that evening as we are playing volleyball out in the street, I get a phone call that the materials have arrived. I tell the governor that I will be down in a minute, but really I just want to finish my volleyball game. So I leave him waiting long enough for him to make a second call to see where I am at. At this point darkness had fallen over the court and so I leave the game unfinished and head off. The dump truck is there with the driver, the driver's assistant, the governor, and miraculously all our materials. I jump into the dump truck smashed up against the gear shifter in the middle and decide the only thing I can do in this position is blast the music and dance. We drive the 10 minutes up to the town where we are doing the project in good cheer that we have accomplished one of the many goals on our list in order to bring organic composting to 53 families! 

Getting old in a quickly changing world

     My host grandma moved in a couple weeks ago. She’s my host dad’s mom, no one really knows her age but somewhere in the 70s, and she is losing her hearing. Or perhaps its selective hearing because sometimes she decides she can hear me, and sometimes its just her talking to me with no pause to see if I’m talking. Most of the time though I find myself shouting jumbled Spanish at her for the whole neighborhood to hear, and she responds as if she didn’t hear anything. She has brought a new dynamic to the house, which I will attempt to explain in the following incidences that I have observed:

     At dinner whenever we are eating meat I will inevitably end up diving into the bones with my hands, and the juices will be running down my hands. My host grandmother waits for these moments when my hands of are particularly messy and just as I go in for the natural instinct of licking them up she jumps in and waves at my host mom to get me a towel to wipe up my hands. She always saves me from the cultural suicide of licking my fingers, for while spitting on the kitchen floor, dropping food you don’t want onto the floor, and sucking the marrow out of bones are all perfectly acceptable table manners, licking the good juices off my hands does not seem to be appropriate. Good thing they don’t have a maple syrup here for me to lick the plate clean.

     She has a habit of showing up outside my door and peeking her head in at me to see what I‘m up to. Most often I am sitting at my desk staring at my computer, which faces the door. She won’t say a word, rather she just posts up and watches me until I look up and smile at her. This is her cue to comment on the fact that I am spending my time sitting. “Just sitting” she says with a chuckle. I too will laugh at this point and then go back to my computer work leaving her to stare at me until she gets bored enough. Other times she posts up at my door is when she has found something of mine that I left in the kitchen or outside my room. She will then lean against the doorpost often in the darkness until I notice. She will then comment something along the lines of “This scarf is very warm, I suppose you left it on the kitchen bench for me.” She then reaches into the door, neither of us willing to move much from our positions, so I stretch out from my seat, and she leans into the door until final we make contact and I snatch the item back to place in my room. Causing my Grandmother to chuckle to herself as she goes back to the kitchen. Its funny in America often people go through the grandparent’s house to put claims on the items they went after their passing, here my host grandma is quite eager to put claims on my items that I should give to her when I go back home, and I can’t fit much in my suitcase. So far her name is on my kitchen pot, a broken water bottle, a teapot, a skirt that is clearly too small for her, and the fixture that I store my clothes in.

     The other day I am talking on the phone with a fellow Peace Corps volunteer while peering out my window with my back to the door in my room. I hear a startling growl and turn around to see my host grandmother at my door. In a whispering snarl that seems a bit annoyed she tells me that the wind has uplifted my underwear from where I had left them to dry. I clearly needed to pick it up off the ground before it is an embarrassment to everyone. Most of my underwear is grandma sized underwear anyways so I see no reason for being embarrassed, but nonetheless, I cut my phone conversation short in order to pick up my undies.

     She refuses to take her multi-vitamins because she claims that they make her sleepy. Whenever I come out of my room past 7:00am she makes a comment about what a free woman I am that I can just sleep right through the hours. Clearly sleeping too much is something that she is a bit self-conscious about. I tell her that when my real grandma was alive she took a nap every day at 3:00pm, and we all had to be extra quiet at these times. It was a big part of negotiating when to visit my grandma as to not disrupt her nap hour. My host grandma found this very peculiar and somewhat unbelievable. She would not be caught dead sleeping too much in the day, and thus continues to refuse to take her multi-vitamin pills.

     After every meal we feed the dogs the leftovers.  Without fail it is a conversation about which dog eats what. One of them refuses to eat soup, and without fail my host grandmother will comment on the fact the Zumba wont eat soup. He loves the rice but never goes for the soup. My host mom responds as if this is still interesting news, even though we talk about it everyday. The absurdity that a dog would be a picky eater seems to really confuse my host grandmother.

     Our favorite conversation to have is about what I have in my land. She inevitably starts the conversation off with “There are no carrots in your land are there” I will then correct her and say actually we do grow carrots. She will then go threw a list of things that are usually within site from where we are sitting, and ask if I have them back home. Finally she will come across some random jungle fruit that we don’t have in the United States, and she will be satisfied that she has discovered one thing that they have here that we don’t have in the States.

     I can’t imagine what changes in the world she has experienced in her life. She was born in a very rural annex of our town, with just about no contact with anyone outside of her village. She grew living completely off of the land. As soon as the road was built in the 80s the rush of modern day life hit the area by storm, and just about overnight new wonders became accessible. Now the people have figured out how to make a living off the land, and are even earning enough money to save up. The other day my host parents bought a cow, and for justification they proclaimed, “money sitting in a box doesn’t grow.” They intend to fatten up the cow to sell.  Now my host grandmother has a foreigner living in her house that comes from a completely different place, and clearly has a lot more money. I would give anything just to see the world threw her eyes for one day, just to better understand her perspective on this very confusing modern lifestyle that is quickly catching up to everyone all over the world.

If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru:

     If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru be sure to only share that you are going in a whisper. This helps hold the suspense of the whole event, and doesn’t spread envy throughout the town. Answer all questions of the whereabouts of where you are going in vague un-descriptive words such as ‘down there’ or ‘over that way’ or simply a grunt and a hand motion will do. Then nod your head as the person that asked you where you will be going to pick your blackberries brags about how many blackberries they have on their farm that are so deliciously ripe. They have no intention of allowing you to go pick these delicious black juicy berries so don’t bother asking in what direction their farm is.

     If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru have a legit container to collect your berries in. A bag will not do. Find a small bucket, or plastic pitcher with a lid; this will show that you are serious about your picking business. However don’t you dare live your house without a black plastic bag or backpack. The plastic bag or backpack is to hide any evidence that you are on a mission to go collect some berries. You must carefully place your collecting container into the black disguise bag and tie the handles of the bag tight. This initiates your journey. Along the route don’t make eye contact with anyone, and only talk in hush tones about your mission.

     If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru feel free to jump the fence of any farm to access the blackberries once you are free of any potential of being caught. There are many farms that are not currently being cultivated and are free range for blackberry hunters. Slide back the wooden posts that create the gate and let yourself in. Run free among the grass and make comments about who owns the farm, and weather they are a good farmer or not. Then get to work filling up your container but never fully taking it out of its disguise bag.

     If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru only head back when your containers are mostly full to all the way full. Make sure to scramble up the hillside comparing war wounds from your spiny vine fight with your fellow companions. Take frequent rests and if there is mud in the road do not pass up the opportunity to complain about it. Once back in civilization be sure to brag about how many blackberries you found but do not show your evidence to anyone. Continue being vague about where you went, and do not for any reason take off the black plastic bag to prove your success until you are safe within your home. If for some reason the disguise slips you will be overwhelmed with the blackberry envy eyes all over the community. You will then have to invite every child, mother, and grandparent to some blackberries, and you will end up back at home with very little evidence of the success of your blackberry hunt. I repeat do not succumb to the please invite me to some blackberries eyes.
   
      If you want to go blackberry picking in the cloud forest of the Amazonas department of Peru make sure you have a plan for your blackberries. You can cook them up with the some flour and sugar, or simple mix them in a bowl in sugar and eat them, it doesn’t matter just make sure there is a plan. Make more than you could ever eat alone and then if you are really feeling generous invite the neighbors to your creation. They will comment on how delicious it is, which will give you the opportunity to brag about how many blackberries you found. At this time you may use a specific location, because this will make the envious eyebrows rise and the blackberry creation you’ve just shoved into your mouth taste even more delicious.

 Pictures of my blackberry picking excursion with kids and blackberry pie to come soon!

Environmental Mural

Last November I asked the company that is putting in a new sewage system in out town for a donation of paints and trash cans. My plan was to paint an environmentally themed mural in town, as well as paint some medal trash cans to put around town. They graciously donated 2 metal trash cans, the paints, paint brushes, paint thinner, for the project. The local students came up with designs, and I had local officials help me select the winning design (which turned out to be a combination of two entries). Students and local nurses helped me paint for two days straight and we had a mini inauguration at the end. Here are some pictures of the event.

Going for the big approval points

These past two weeks have been incredibly slow. Partly my fault in not wanting to leave my house because the roads are a thick clay mud at the moment, due to a new sewer system that they are installing; but also partly because there is literally no one in town if I do venture out my door. So I ponder weather to go out or not, and this is what I’m making the big bucks for; sitting in my room, reading John Steinbeck, watching the Newsroom, and painting cards to be sent back home. It’s like a little America up in here. I know the theme of my boredom comes up frequently in this blog and I think its because it is one of the hardest cultural adjustments. I don’t necessarily mean an American to Peruvian cultural adjustment period; I think it is more of an American working class to a peace corps volunteer cultural adjustment.  I would argue that peace corps has its own unique culture, a way of speaking, a way to pass by hours with little to do, a way to tell stories about our experiences. Sometimes I have a hard time accepting this culture for there are aspects that I don’t like that much about it, aspects where I find myself judging other volunteers harshly for doing, and then I find myself doing the exact same thing. For example I get knots in my stomach when volunteers try to make their sites seem like the most rural, rugged, harsh environment ever, and then I go off and start this blog post with pointing out that our streets are pure mud and what a hardship this is for me. So while I continue to embrace Peruvian culture to the best of my ability, I think I struggle more with embracing the Peace Corps culture.  The struggle with being placed in new environments, knowing that we have to create our own work, but with the expectation that we will have a lot of free time on our hands. Time filled with a guilty inner argument between the culture I grew up in that expected me to always be busy with violin lessons, soccer practice, work, and studying and a culture that is telling us to get used to having nothing to do.  So I think I bring up my boredom streaks often in this blog because it is an issue filled with a lot of guilt which is never a very productive feeling, but one I constantly want to take about.  

Last week I was out tossing the Frisbee back and forth with my neighbor friend, enjoying a break in the rain. It was around 5:00pm and people were just coming back in from their farms, or hanging outside of their houses. One of my students came riding up the road on his horse with his dad in tow behind him, clearly just coming back from the farm. The student slowed down to ask me a question and he put his hand up in a greeting, which I took as a cry out for the Frisbee. I smiled and decided oh this will be a great show for the neighbors if I can pass him the Frisbee while he is on his horse. So without thinking anymore into I tossed the Frisbee to him, which glided up, took a sharp turn to the left, somehow picked up speed in the air, and went flying right for the buttocks of the horse that the student’s father was sitting upon. This startled everyone around as the Frisbee thunked bouncing off of the horse, and then onto the ground. I could see a rush of panic run over the face of the father, and I covered my mouth and smiled realizing I probably shouldn’t have done that. My host mom, who was standing right beside me had a look of horror on her face, as if she couldn’t believe any daughter of hers would have such poor manners. Embarrassed I continued smiling at the father hoping he would smile back and give some acknowledgment of forgiveness.  Finally, after what feels like 10 minutes he gave me a slight chuckle, but not enough to calm my nerves.  However I push through the awkwardness and go on to confirm the times of my classes the up coming week with the student, which was the real reason he put his hand up to greet me in the first place. I often find myself wanting to do these crazy acts that will raise attention from onlookers.  But I never think through the consequences of what happens when they go wrong. What happens when the horse gets frightened kicks up, and knocks the father off? It is a risk of gaining more impressive crazy gringa points, or losing all dignity. For some reason I always attempt for the big points.

Kicked into gear or kicked to a halt

My host mom kicked a guinea pig last night. One of the little ones escaped from the kitchen floor last night and was trying to venture out into the real world. It surely just wanted a little peek into what lay beyond the dirt floor. I’m sure the first site of the big droopy dog eyes would have scared it right back into the kitchen, but my host mom got to it first. She was coming back into the kitchen when I looked up from eating my soup to see a small fur ball fly through the air. She was scolding it for wanting more freedom than what we already give it and my mouth dropped, as I didn’t really ever believe that I would see someone kick a guinea pig in my lifetime. Our other dinner guests were also a little mortified at my host mom’s reaction, or maybe they just didn’t want to see us lose our future dinner so they jumped into guinea pig rescue action. This meant that they put a small bucket on top of the guinea pig and started banging on the bucket. My host mom felt no remorse but proclaimed that surely the guinea pig was dead. The dinner guests were otherwise convinced and passionately argued that banging on the bucket with a wooden spoon would bring the guinea pig back to life. They paused their ruckus every few minutes to tilt the bucket and peak inside, and then proclaim that the bucket banging life revival technique was working and would go back to their impromptu band. Well they did in fact bring the traumatized guinea pig back to life.  That small fur ball got its feet back under it, and perhaps now has more reason to run for freedom but is surely scared out of any of those thoughts.

            We moved the guinea pigs out of the kitchen the next day. Built them a nice cage right in front of our woodpile out back. We woke up this morning and found one of the big ones dead. I think it might have been too old to accept such a big change in its life. My host mom thinks we can still eat it for dinner, my host dad proclaims it died of an exploded stomach, I think I will stick to potatoes and rice for dinner tonight. 

            Sometimes I feel like a guinea pig; running around everywhere, putting my nose in everything, asking questions that perhaps seem apparent, just waiting for the boot to come lift me off the ground and put me in my place. But it never comes. Last year I planned a visit to the nearest University with the senior class of our high school. When I say planned I had gone to the University and set a date, but beyond that I just assumed it would work out. Two days before we are supposed to go it became more apparent that I should have done a little more than just waited for pieces to fall into place. I found myself running around town looking into the eyes of the town mayor, school director, and teachers, asking them to put aside normal conduct and allow us to use the municipality van for transportation, asking them to put in more hours the following week so that the students could make up what they would miss in classes, asking them to overlook the fact that on the last trip the van broke down but this time hopefully it wouldn’t. I was scurrying around looking for a way to get what I wanted but also waiting for someone to just slap me in the face and tell me no. But it never came. I manipulated teachers into believing that every other teacher had said yes and they were the last one to agree to make up their class time in the following week. The students were fighting for me; drumming out the beats of a cheerleading routine over my head to keep me to keep pushing. I felt guilty to be putting so many people out due to my lack of planning, but nobody had the nerve to just tell me no. They said it would be difficult, they said they didn’t want to, they shook their heads at me, but I held onto the eye contact. Somehow on Friday morning I found myself sprinting across the plaza one final time to drop off the last permission slip, and we were rolling down the hill. The tire was flat on the van, one teacher out of protest had held a permission slip hostage in a notebook and wouldn’t turn it into the director, but despite all this we were on the road.  While I never did the kick to send me flying to a halt, I suppose a true execution of a plan should come with a bit more planning.