Town Festivities

A glimpse into the town celebrations. They started making these large mural/rugs at 3:00am in the central plaza. By 8:00am they were finished and on display until 11:00am when everyone leaves the church and walks all over the beautiful murals in procession.

Waking up on the wrong side: A follow up to the Cookstoves

Well I had quite the day yesterday. I woke up out of coffee and thus too lazy for a run I knew I was off to a bad start. My whole town seems to be on vacation including the mayor and one of the cheese makers and thus this whole past week I have been called upon to help out with the cheese making production. However this day it seemed at my host moms request I was not going to make cheese but rather be her replacement for another project in town that was getting ready to sell their juice, jelly, and liquor out of a native fruit tree at an artisan market that was going on that weekend. My host mom had to go to the farm so I agreed to cut labels and stick them on jars for the morning.  Upon arrival it quickly became apparent that it was a BYOS (Bring your own scissors) type of event, and I was not informed. So after watching some cutting go down I felt completely hopeless and ran back home to grab my scissors. On my way out the door I ran into one of the other cookstove representatives. Last week we had all received our lists of 27 names of households. It was expected that we visit these houses to make sure that they would be ready for when the materials arrived and the construction of cookstoves could begin. Each family had to buy their own bricks, provide three buckets of ash, and prepare mud to make the stoves. The local nurse promised me that we would go on house visits together as this would be more fun. This was particularly important to me, as the list only had names and I had no clue where people lived. I was simply waiting for the nurse to call upon me and we would head off together to visit these houses.

            As I was leaving to get my scissors the other representative informs me that I needed to be ready today to unload the car with all the cookstove materials as they were coming that day. Panicked I asked her if she had done her house visits, to which me gave me a look of ‘well duh’. Stress rushed through me as I informed her that I hadn’t done any because I was waiting for the nurse to do them with me. She made it clear that I really should get them done that day, and with that I rushed off to talk to the nurse and get my scissors. I stormed into the health post exclaiming that we needed to go on house visits ASAP as the materials were coming that day and we needed to get started with building the cookstoves. The nurse rolled around in her chair and questioned if I’d done any of mine. I exclaimed well no, I was waiting for her. She laughed and said she’d done all hers, except for four. Confused and shocked my mouth dropped open as I realized she had left me to fight for myself. I whined about her not calling me to do them, and she rolled her eyes at the silly gringa. So off I went to collet my scissors and my list of names determined to get this done right that moment.

            Once back to labeling I showed my list to the other representative and complained that I had no clue where any of these people lived, and thus how was I going to complete the house visits on my own. I felt I was way in over my head and that it was a terrible idea to elect me as a representative. She looked over my list and standing there explained where every house was, which would have been incredible helpful, however directions giving here lacks details. Most of the descriptions were ‘they live up above, or they live right next to here, or they live down below, or better yet they live even farther down below’ As the house direction flew at me I felt even more overwhelmed and wanting to just go hide behind a closed door. To combat my stress I was ready to get some of the house visits done with, but I was quickly informed that there was no way I could go to houses now for everyone was at the farm, and I had to wait until tonight. So I put off my task and went to cutting up labels. Being a latecomer to the table there was only one pair of scissors left, I picked them up and it quickly became apparent that they were extremely dull. The paper folded underneath them, and the edges they cut were not tidy. But I was determined to contribute something, so I pushed through. It wasn’t until we were sticking the labels onto the jars that someone asked who cut out the ugly ones, and the woman that was standing next to me exclaimed that I had ruined all the ones that I cut because I was using bad scissors. Well this caused another slump in my shoulders, as my day just seemed to be piling up.

            Not wanting to ruin anything else I took on the job of unsticking the stickers, allowing the others to actually put them on the jars. This task forced me into a standing position and not long into this one of the little girls came up to me and asked what I had done to my skirt. I turned it around to see that I had been sitting in something black and the whole back of my skirt was dirty. I let out a moan and put the stain to the front deciding this would look better. Everything was tumbling down on me and there was no stopping it. After labeling all of the jars I waited outside to see if the cookstove materials would arrived, and had a few more people run through the list to give me more vague directions.

            Deciding that the materials would not come until later we broke off and went to lunch. Throughout lunch and self pitied myself as I recounted my morning to my host family who laughed at me, realizing that each little thing that went wrong for me was quite insignificant on the grand scheme of things. However we did come up with one genius idea in that I would get a kid to accompany me to the houses as they would know where they are. And so it was, after lunch I found my way to some of the houses that I already knew the locations, and practiced my speech of explaining what they needed to prepare for the cookstoves. I was overwhelmed by the amount of houses but I had a plan in place and that made me feel a bit better. Many of the houses had decided to go with the government program as they provided everything for free, and it appeared would be done more rapidly. However after seeing the government cookstove it also became clear that their model is not as long lasting at the NGOs. The house visits were enjoyable as people invited me in for tea and were very excited to be receiving a new cookstove. I enjoyed taking my time and hearing how people cooked, and seeing their kitchens.

            Later in the afternoon I headed back up to my house to put on my official vest that represented the organization, and get more serious about my house visits. On my way up I ran into the truck that was bringing up the materials for the cookstoves. I complained the to governor that I had no clue where the houses were, and he laughed at my hopelessness, but I was feeling a little more positive. The nurse came out to help unload the car and we had a good crew going back and forth taking materials for over 200 cookstoves out of the car. Feeling more confident I started showing off my strength to my fellow worker friends and decided to lift a heavy metal tube up above my head. Well my strength was proven but my cockiness was slapped in the face as dirt and metal dusting fell down on my face and all over my clothes.   Screaming and laughing I wiped myself off with my hands, and then wiped my hands off on my skirt, thus further staining my skirt. The roughness of my day was clearly being reflected in the dirtiness of the skirt. 

After we unloaded everything and enjoyed some soda to celebrate our accomplishments it was time to knock off some of my houses as most had returned from the farms by that time. I had recruited every kid that I had seen on the street that afternoon, and by the end I had three kids to argue and debate the order in which we went from house to house. They were a bit more a headache than a help but we were able to knock off half the houses in one night. I went to bed that night feeling glad I made it through the day, and proud to be a representative for the new cookstoves. This week we start construction and I hope to inspire my homes to paint their cookstoves with the best of the best designs!

Distance does not stop the family connection

       I am proudly rolling out a new morning routine that has taken me 10 months to figure out. Its got all the elements to get my day going with a jump start and not make me feel like the lazy gringo that can afford to wake up at 8:00am. As most of my family does here, I am in bed by 9:00pm each night, somehow completely exhausted and ready for sleep. This leads to a natural awakening at 6:30am, as more than 9 hours of sleep each night just seems excessive. I pop myself out of bed and release the pee that is yearning to get out as it has built up a lot of pressure due to my consumption of one mug of tea every night right before bed. I greet my host family on the way to the bathroom, typically at our gate carrying grass for the guinnea pigs or starting up the fire in the kitchen. This proves that I am in fact up and awake at a respectable hour. I also carry an empty water bottle to the bathroom to fill up for when I return to my room, shutting the door behind me, I start up my electric kettle to boil and drip my coffee through a collapsible camping coffee dripper and American sent coffee filters. Once the aroma has filled my room, I top off my mug with some milk that I have stocked up on from my last trip down to the main town, as it is not sold here. I store this milk on my floor as a natural cooling system, right next to my pee chamber (that is really just a large plastic container that has been cut) that I use when I am too lazy to walk to the bathroom at night. On a side note I have been watering our peach tree with this, and the peach tree is looking quite nice, a natural fertilizer if you ask me! Anyways I then move my chair next to my bed to place my cup of coffee on, and then I climb back into bed and read for half an hour, while sipping on my coffee, and very cozy under the covers. Once the coffee energy has kicked in I am shaking to get out of bed and jump into my running clothes. It is at this point that I really hope all my natural digestive systems are working, as the natural laxatives of caffeine should be kicking in at this point. When all is in check this system keeps me extremely regular which is a very important stabilizer to have when traveling and consuming foods that your stomach is still in question about. I pop my running shoes on, stuff my ipod in the back butt pocket of my running pants, and toilet paper down my bra (for my constantly running nose) and I head out the door.

            Let me re-emphasize how I truly hope that I am staying normal and can make a bathroom stop on the way out the door. However the last couple days  this has not been the case. I have been heading up the steep outdoor stairs that lead up to our main road without this essential stop. I climb up the hill feeling all right, with my jams on and once at the top start off up the road for my run. The Nike plus running app tries to predict how many miles I run but the GPS sometimes tells me I run a five minute mile, and the next mile I run is a 20 minute mile, so I suspect something about the GPS system is not quite working. However on these days that the regularity has not come to me, I find the announcement of 2 miles in 18 minutes and 43 seconds and I cannot go a step farther. I am in emergency mode and in the middle of farmland. I desperately look around for some nice rounded leaves with no spines, and find that all the leaves near the road have been sprayed with pesticides. I do not think the softness of my bottom would react well to pesticides, so I scramble up with hillside getting more and more desperate. I finally yank some leaves off a tree and with no other choice, look around and pray that there are no farmers milking their cows or tilling their land. I drop pants with half a second to spare and well lets just say I enjoy the view for a couple minutes. Afterward I sprinkle a little dirt on top and let Nike plus take me on down the road with a much lighter step. Three times in a row these emergencies have sprung up on me, and it is three minutes of intense panic, followed by 45 minutes of the best and lightest running of my life.

            However this is not the focus of the story, the point is that my routine gets me happily out of bed at a reasonable hour, and on a run everyday. On my run I am able to enjoy the sites, and give my mind time to plan out projects that I want to do, and next steps for the day ahead. I get back to my house and enjoy breakfast, eager to start off the day. The routine is consistent, and works every time, making me feel like I have purpose to each day. However it was only three days into the routine that I had a mini break down when I realized this is the exact routine that my mother has used all of my life. Panic struck me as I realized I was turning into my mother all too quickly and there was no avoiding it. Yet the routine makes me so happy and gives me such a feeling of accomplishment, part of me wonders if this is because I know my mother would be proud me for it. I then panicked that we all just turn into our parents one day or another, and there is no hope for social change when most of us end up voting as our parents do, eating as our parents do, and praying as our parents do.  But have no fear I worked these struggles out on my next run, and feel proud to have a morning routine that I can count on and that starts the day off right.

'In My Land'

Lately I have been trying to tell weather or not people have dentures or their original teeth. It turns out it is probably a 50-50 chance that I guess right and yet I have a very hard time telling the difference between fake and the real thing. One person gave me the hint of looking at the gums but I still struggle. Then the other night my host mom pulled a curve ball on me and disclosed that in fact SHE had dentures and could completely remove all of her teeth. I knew a few years back she woke up late one night with horrible pain from her teeth; so she took a cold shower at 3:00am to try and combat the fever and pain but even this fool proof technic did not work. So the next day she went into town where they plucked out all her teeth and gave her a brand new set. What threw me is that even this new set is bedazzled in metal work, something I guess I didn’t really expect. The conversation that night then turned to brushing teeth. I found myself making sweeping statements about the United States. “Well in my land we have the custom to brush our teeth everyday since the day we are born, we are careful not to give babies soda or artificial sugar” My host mom’s initial response was impressed nodding her head and agreeing that it was bad here how much sugar they give babies. She then made the point that the other day she went to the store to buy toothpaste for my host dad, after he had dental problems. The small tube of toothpaste put her out 14 soles, but it does the job, and my host dad gives it rave reviews. She pointed out that brushing teeth is a privilege, not something she could have afforded when she was younger. If it’s a choice between getting your baby fattened up with sugary food so that they are accepted as a healthy baby in the community or spending your money on a tube of toothpaste, the decision is pretty obvious.

            Later that week I was talking with some of the other volunteers about the statement ‘in the united states…’ We are asked a lot about what plants grow in our land, what’s the climate like, do men have more than one wife, are guinnea pigs really pets, are there farms/rural areas in America or is it all cities, is everyone rich and on and on. It is easy to reply with a simple answer that may be true for my family or in my small town, but it’s not a fair representation. I realized that in my response to my host mom I quickly reinforced the image that America was only rich privileged white blond people who can afford to brush their teeth, which is very far from the truth. I sometimes get frustrated at the seemingly narrow minded questions that I receive on a daily bases, such as a disbelief that anyone that is white could be poor, but then I realized that perhaps some of my statements and actions in fact reinforce this belief.

            My conversation with the other volunteers then changed to generalizations about the dating scenes, and how hard it is to understand the cultural codes of dating. We are taught in Peace Corps training that in general if you are dancing with a guy and you look them in the eye this means you are ready to get married. Thus on the dance floor most people are looking either at the floor or ceiling when dancing. Also if a guy enters into your room, you are ready to marry them, or expect them to call at least 20 times the next day. While these are also sweeping generalizations the point being is that beginning relationships may be some of the most complex social codes to understand between cultures. I found myself getting in trouble by making too much eye contact in simple conversations or dances.  We then tried to break down the cultural dating scenes of the States and it was something that we all seemed to understand but very hard to put into words. To imagine someone from our sites going to the States and trying to figure out that system was humorous, and this perspective shone light at the impossibility of us trying to truly understand the dating scene here.  It is easier to understand a culture through generalizations, and yet the implications of these statements lead to the United States coming off as a country of purely cities, that snows all the time, where they eat hamburgers, and pure vegetable salads, everyone moves through a lot of boyfriends/girlfriends, and everyone has perfect teeth. More important is to share personal experiences of not having artificial processed sugar as a baby, and this being something that comes from a white privileged girl from the states and not a representation of ‘my land’.