I
am rounding my three-month corner marker of being in-site. This is a
significant marker in Peace Corps terms for it means that I should be
integrated into my site, can speak the language with some proficiency, am
prepared to start my projects, and I can take vacations. In other words these past three months
I have had an excuse to not work, because Peace Corps deemed this time as
acclimation to the new environment, but now that my three months are up I no longer
have this crutch to tell people the reasons behind my waking up late in the
mornings, and hanging out all day. Last week I did come along a half days worth
of work that would make my whole week feel like an accomplishment. I attended a
meeting at the municipality with the town mayor and the three other regional
representatives. My reasoning for being there was to have them fill out a quick
analysis of the town, which I can use in the write up of my community
diagnostic. They took my being there as an opportunity to volunteer me to help
out with some sort of trash activity they had to do that week. The Spanish flew
across the table faster then I could pick it up so it was unclear what exactly
I was being volunteered for. What I did know was that it would involve boots as
they asked for my boot size. So I agreed to meet them the next day at 8:30am to
go do something with the trash. I will mention here that one of my program
goals is to help start up recycling programs and problem solve alternative
means to dispose of trash besides burning it which is often the preferred
choice. So I was more than happy to go along on this trash mission, as it
seemed to be just the type of work that I am supposed to do.
Thursday
morning came and I announced to my host family that I was off to help the
municipality with the trash, hoping for some kind of shocked reaction, but I
got nothing more than a nod of approval. Arriving five minutes late I was
predictably the first on the scene and thus settled myself onto the wall of the
municipality; one leg crossed over the other, my arms in my pockets in what I
thought was a cool and collected waiting pose. Thirty minutes later the
secretary arrives with the keys into the storage room and promises of boots and
masks for me to wear. Sure enough in a box she pulls out boots just my size,
gloves, and a mask for the ‘trash dust’. Just as I am proving that all fit well
the town mayor pulls up in his pickup truck to receive his gear. By 10:00am we
seem to all be accounted for and suited up so we pile into the truck and head
out, at this point I am still not sure where we are going or what we’ll be
doing.
We
drive up to a site I had walked by several times and had wondered what it was
intended for. Turns out the city a couple months back had built a mini land
fill, with a roof, and aeration system. However in the last two months of trash
dumping the trash collector guy had dumped the trash outside of the hole. Thus
upon driving up to the site we were faced with a large pile of old decomposing,
fly infested trash. We got out of the car and relaxed for a while looking out
at the farm filled vista. Here I was with the mayor and regional directors,
positions in the States that seem strictly political and only get their hands
dirty for the picture, and we were about to dive into the trash pile that most
of the community didn’t know existed. After our twenty-minute relaxing session
we gloved ourselves and started separating trash, pulling out plastic bottles
and tin cans to be recycled. I fought back the apparently cultural urge to
scream and moan as the flies swarmed, the smell filled my nostrils, and I
pulled apart plastic bags of dripping old molding trash to recover bottles once
full of Amazonas soda, coca cola, yogurt, and whatever else the kids are
drinking these days. We were knee deep in trash dumping it into the deep hole
and nobody complained once, I thought everyone complained about touching other
people’s trash, but I guess some just get over it and go about their job.
Two
hours later we had filled eight large bags of recyclables and moved the pile
from outside the hole into in it. The man in the hole responsible for evening
out the mound struggled to find a way out, but with some good cheering by the
gringa (me) he found his way out and we loaded up the car. It was very promising
to be with the municipality taking care of trash, and seeing a commitment to
recycle items. It was also very informative to go through everyone’s trash and
see what is being thrown away. At the very least I have good reasoning to the
municipality to build a recycling program that gets the people to separate
trash and organics in their homes, with the motivation of not wanting to go
back to the molding trash piles in the future. On our way back we stopped by
the local soccer/volleyball court where the community comes out to pass time on
Sundays. We spent another two hours picking up trash and cleaning up the field
area. By the end of it I was exhausted and ready to wash my hands, but
definitely felt like I was actually doing work for my program goals for the first
time so far.
On
my way home I practiced my Spanish in my head of how I would recount the
details of my day to my family over lunch. I hoped to get some good laughs and
shocked reactions from this story as what normal person goes to sort through
trash. I crafted my words, got the tenses right, and felt ready to be the
entertainment of lunch. I waited for soup to be served and for my host mom to
sit down before I dove in. I hit every line as I had practiced in my head and I
was getting no reaction. My host dad grunted, our visiting nephews kept
interrupting with stories from their day on the farm, and my host mom shrugged
as if this was normal. I figured that they weren’t understanding me, so I told
it again hoping this time I would get a little more than a grunt for my half
days work in the trash, but no apparently this is not news worthy, and the only
thing that got a bit of chuckle was the fact that I wore boots and gloves. Giving up I jumped into the nephew’s
conversation about the differences between male a female bodies, to which I
commented oh yeah women have larger hips so they can pass the baby threw, and
this fact of nature got them all laughing.
~Boys will be Boys
After
my classes one day I was hanging out at a neighbor’s house making some arroz
con leche and watching bad quality telanovelas. We needed some cinnamon so one
of the young girls of the house and I walked to the small corner shop to buy
some. On the way back we ran into one of my students, now this student was
intelligent but he was also the student that punched another student in the eye
during my class one day; giving him a bloody nose, all because the student was
annoying him. So he has a bit of anger management issues, but of course to my
face or one-on-one he is very kind. He greeted me formally and politely which I
appreciated and as we entered the house he continued down the street. Just as
we turned around to close the door we look up and there he is mooning us in the
middle of the street. Not sure he anticipated us turning around another time or
not, but we looked at each other in shock and then shuffled into the house
bursting out laughing loudly like middle school aged girls. Boys will be boys
no matter where you are in the world!
~Brand New Bike~
I
got a bike delivered to me from the Peace Corps, one of the great benefits of
being a volunteer. It came in on the bus from Lima wrapped in layer upon layer
of plastic wrap. My host grandma was there for the unveiling, where my
excitement of having a bike turned to venting out some hidden anger within as I
tore at the plastic wrap. This change in temper seems to be a frequent
occurrence with this bike. Later that afternoon I decided I would take it out
for my first joy ride. My host mom and my barely able to hear host grandma were
there to send me off. I checked my tires and decided the front tire needed just
a touch bit more of air, mostly because I wanted to try out the fancy small
pump that they sent with the bike. I ran into my room to grab it skipping with
excitement leaving smiles on my onlooker’s faces. Grabbing the pump I worked
hastily in anticipation, shouting out one word remarks about how beautiful and
nice my bike is. Inserting the pump into the tire I start to pump rapidly but
what greets my ears is the sound of air whooshing out of the tire. Oh my host
mom says, that is not the right sound. I proceed to pump harder thinking I can
overpower the seeping air, while my host mom shakes her head and laughs. What
proceeds is an hour of putting the pumping into the tire, pumping it up
aggressively, feeling the tire and seeing it is completely flat, all the while
my partially deaf grandma holds the tire steady while shaking her head and
saying what hard work this is. To check to see if air is coming out of the pump
I put the nozzle on my host mom’s cheek and say ‘see airs coming out, why is it
not going into the tire?’
I
flipped the bike over to try and get a better angle, as well as relieve my host
grandma of her tire holding job, mostly so that she would stop looking over my
shoulder as I crumbled into a fit of failure. I took the tire off the frame
completely to see if this might help. I dismantled the pump, hit it against the
ground, and put it back together. Over and over again I put the pump into the
tire, pumped rapidly, counting my pumps to 50, and yet no air would enter the
tire. My host mom got bored of the process and went into her room, my host
grandma shook her head and repeated what hard work this was turning out to be,
and I proceeded to feel ashamed at my inability to work a bike pump. Eventually
having enough I proclaimed that the pump was broken and my host mom came up
with a list of other people that had pumps, all of whom were currently out in
the farms. I sulked into my room wanting to cry-laugh the situation off feeling
like a four year old about to throw a tantrum in a 26-year-old body.
A
couple hours later after going for a walk around town I returned to my house
empty of people, with the bike sitting there still staring at me. I took a deep
breath and calmly picked up the pump. I looked the pump in its one eye-hole,
stared it down, took the hose out of the plastic covering, and discovered that
by doing this I could still pump and the air didn’t seep out of the plastic top
casing. I slowly inserted the pump into the tire and what do you know that tire
inflated in less than 50 pump strokes. In disbelief that I had solved the
problem in about 5 minutes I started dancing around our outside staging area. I
mounted that bike I rode it right up the hill with children running after me,
but with this success nothing could slow me down. I suppose there is a lesson
in this story of patience, staying calm, and walking away from things to come
back to them later but mostly I clearly do not perform well under the pressure
of my host grandma’s eyes.
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