Hair Cutting Party

                  Last Sunday after all the adults had cleared out of the volleyball and soccer courts to go home and prepare dinner I held back to wait for my roasted banana to finish grilling. Traditionally on Sunday afternoons in my site I go down to watch a little volleyball, get freezing cold sitting there, and hoping that when they are done playing my host mom will offer to buy me a roasted banana fresh off the grill from our Aunt. Every Sunday my host aunt hauls her grill down to the sports court to fill the air with smells of grilling shish kabobs of cow innards, roasted bananas, and beautifully golden brown barbecued chicken wings. On this particular Sunday I as usual had jumped on the offer of a grilled banana, but my host mom left me there waiting for it to finish grilling while he went up to prepare dinner for my host dad who had a meeting that night. Most of the crowd had cleared out of the court except for a few straggling kids and a soccer ball. Well clearly one thing led to another and I found myself on the court running around playing keep away at the same time enjoying my grilled banana on a stick. The game of keep away attracted enough kids to field a full on soccer game and my dreams came true as I was finally playing soccer on a Sunday afternoon, which was quickly turning into night. It was a great game of soccer that filled me with nostalgia for high school organized sports.

                  We didn’t call ’next goal wins’ until 8:00pm to which the girl dominated team that I was leading gracefully drilled a goal into the back of the non-existent net and we ran around screaming goooooaaaalllll, as the boys bowed their heads in an embarrassing defeat. High on my win, a feeling I have never yet once gotten from playing volleyball, I headed back home to where my host mom had already prepared dinner. I drank six cups of lemon water as my host mom explained that we had been invited to a hair cutting party by the neighbors that was going on right then and she wanted to know if I wanted to go. I still don’t completely understand why they have hair-cutting parties for children that are from 1-3 years old, but the tradition is to have a party and cut the child’s hair. My host mom seemed enthused to go but then she admitted that we would have to give money. I was embarrassingly almost out of money as I hadn’t been to town in a long time to withdraw money from the bank and I was left with 7 soles to my name, 5 of which I was planning to use for the car ride into town. We talked it over a while what the appropriate amount to give was at a party like this, and my host mom tip toed around the subject but made it clear that those 3 soles from my end was not going to cut it. At that I committed to riding my bike down to town on Friday and thus I could offer up 7 soles, to which I still received raised eyebrows but she said I could put in my 7 soles and proclaim that I had not gone to the bank and this is all I had. We agreed on this, but I felt a bit nervous about having to make this exclamation, especially coming from the gringa. My host mom also apparently felt a little uneasy about this prospect because just as we were about out of our gate and on our way she offered to lend me 2 soles which I could slip in with my 7 and pretend that it was the acceptable 10 soles which was now clearly the unspoken minimum to give at these events.

                  So off we went my host mom reminding me to zip up my pockets in my jacket so I didn’t lose my offerings as we walked up the steps to the neighbor’s house. We rounded out the party filling up the table with a total of 6 guests. It was very intimate as the hostess served dinner and we talked over the day’s volleyball games, the weather, and the price of potatoes which has plummeted lately. All was very pleasant, except for the fact that I had to stuff a second dinner down, as of course my host mom did not tell me dinner would be included in this event, and she had already served me food at our house. I think it is a pretty normal thing to eat two dinners here, for if you are invited to a party or a meeting during the night they typically also serve food. Fortunately halfway through I was able to proclaim myself full and my host mom slid the rest of my food into a plastic bag to take home for tomorrow morning.  Peruvians are incredibly resourceful with free food that is offered, and for no reason would you ever refuse free food even if you had just eaten a huge meal five minutes before.

                  Dinner finished up and the yawns started to be passed around the table so the hostess went to go fetch her 1 year old daughter from downstairs. Getting the ball rolling on actually starting the hair cutting process fell into the same pattern of what I have observed as the starting of every volleyball game. Someone shouts out they want to play, and they shout around to see who is interested. After there is enough admitted interest this same person collects the money that is the ante up to play the game. It is a slow ritual of eye and chin communication with subtle hand gestures towards someone to imply that they should but their 50 cents into the hand of the organizer. 20 minutes later the money is collected ensuring the commitment of 12 players which leads to some more sitting around looking at the grass. Finally someone gets antsy enough and walks to the court, this draws about two other followers who then stand on the court sporadically calling out for people to get a move on it and come play. In America I believe this delay of action would not be tolerated and occasionally I find myself getting anxious over the fact that nobody is getting up and running to the court to get the game started. Then I realize that this anxiety is perhaps culturally driven, so I quickly fight it down. Finally the slow pokes listen to the calls from the court, make their way down, the teams are debated, and finally after all this the game begins.

And so it went down with getting the hair cut started. There were several calls to start cutting from the guest that proclaimed ready to go home. Then someone else called out for scissors, and there was no apparent response to the request. So we sat there a while longer continuing yawning and talking about how tired we were. Finally someone grabbed a bowl from the center of the table and proclaimed it the bowl for the money. Another call for scissors went out, and we all looked around hoping the scissors would appear out of thin air. The baby started getting fussy so the mother began to breast feed her, while the older daughter reached above all our heads and pulled down the scissors. The next debate was over which side of the table would start the hair cutting process. One side proclaimed that they were just a neighbor and not a real relative, while the other proclaimed that the man of the table should start. Both sides were very adamant about not starting but finally the child who was still breast-feeding was brought over to the man of the table and thus was forced to take up the scissors. We joked about how much to cut, and he made as if to cut off a large chunk, which got the whole table laughing but finally he made the snip, placed the hair on the table and placed his 10 sole note into the bowl. Turned out the bowl was quite wet, and there was more delays in the process as we held up the wet money exclaiming that this bowl would simply not do. A new dry plate was brought out and the nursing baby made her way around the table. Finally it came to me and I made my first hair cut of a one year old, and tried to quietly slide my many coins into the bowl. I was the only one to put in coins, which potentially hid the fact that I was also offering a sole less than everyone else. Well the job was done and it became time to leave. We talked about plans for tomorrow, and soon the two middle school girls came up to see the hair cutting remains. They looked at the bowl and proclaimed that they would count it. At this my host mom jumped up and proclaimed it time for us to really leave not wanting it to become apparent that I had put in less than everyone else. We made our way out with a doggy bag of food to go, and slid out the door just as the girls finished counting the last cent. All in all it was a very enjoyable event. I enjoy the slow pace that things take to get started, even though at times I have to fight back my cultural anxiety that wants things to get going as soon as I step foot in the door. However often my best bonding moments with the community have come from the times we are waiting together for things to get started. I also now know to keep a 10 sole note stored somewhere for the next time I am invited to a hair cutting party.