A stick Adventure

            For a while I have been trying to get in on some of the exciting activities that the tree nursery technician always says he’s going on. Usually he invites me the day before to go to the ‘campo’ to do something having to do with trees that I don’t really understand in Spanish. I always agree, and he always fails to tell me what time, or when the day comes it gets cancelled, or it is not suitable work for a woman. Persistently I continue to ask hoping one of these days he will take me on a tree planting excursion. Finally last week his wife invited me to go with him on Friday to ‘get sticks from the woods.'  Having no clue what this really entailed I of course agreed. All week I announced to everyone I saw that I was going to go collect sticks which received various reactions. Most told me that it was super far from here and I would be walking all day, others said they wanted to go as well, and some told me to be prepared to sleep out in the woods. I tried to get more details on what collecting sticks entailed or what it was for, as I was under the assumption that it was somehow connected to the tree nursery. Piece by piece I started to gather that this was a community tradition, and we would deliver the sticks to the church when we were done. A car would take us to the next town over so we could start hiking from there which was a recent luxury for in the past when there were no card that hike was much longer.

            On Thursday night my host mom labored away to make my lunch for the next day and I slept a bit anxiously as I had no clue what to expect for the next morning. I woke up bright and early to the technicians voice outside my door talking with my host mom. I decided this was probably my wake up call so I jumped out of bed and made myself decent. I opened the door just as the technician was leaving and my host mom turned to me and said I couldn’t go. My heart dropped and filled with pure disappointment. Why I whined to my host mom, and she went off on a rant that the community president proclaimed that this was not a good trip for me and there was no room in the car for me to go. I would have to wait and go with the technician another day to see the area. My host mom was clearly as frustrated as I was, especially since she had spent so much time preparing my lunch to go. Feeling the urge to cry I went into my room and paced around for a while trying to decide what I would do with myself for the day. I could go on my own long hike and take my lunch with me, but somehow that seemed sad and lonely. I put my gum boots back into their home shelf and went to have breakfast where the conversation centered around bitterness toward the community for not letting the gringa go on the community excursion to collect sticks. Just as we were finishing up breakfast my host mom got a phone call, which I could over hear perfectly due to the tendency for Peruvians to shout into cell phones. Turned out the president of the community had decided not to go and I could have her spot in the car. I was told to meet them in the plaza at 9:00am. Overcome with a new rush of emotion I busied myself sewing the hole in my backpack, collecting my things, and putting on my gum boots. Just as I was about to head out my host dad came home from the early morning farm work to have breakfast. He pulled out some twine and gave it to me describing that I would need it to tie together the sticks once they are cut, as they spring apart as soon as they are cut down. As the clock struck 9:00 I headed to the plaza with my host dad saying ‘you have to arrive at 9:00 but I don’t have to arrive until later’ Which I translated as I would be waiting in the plaza for a long time.

            There was one other woman and son in the plaza that seemed to be waiting that I thankfully joined grateful to have company to wait with. We talked about how long the trip would be, and as the time slipped by predicted what time we would make it back by. Slowly more people joined us, mostly women,  and a few men. My host dad came down a half hour later to size up the crowd that would be going. The men tried to convince him to come, as it seemed the promised hoards of people were not showing up. He half committed and went back up to our house to finish getting ready. A garage door opened and out drove a van, that apparently the town owns. The women including me piled into the van while the men tried to laugh off the fact that they were under represented and started desperately calling others to join. The town governor showed up, but the tree nursery technician apparently backed out of the adventure. Anxious to leave we started revving up the engine and they hollered at my host dad to hurry up. Soon enough off we drive with the whole town out waving us goodbye. 

             We drive thirty minutes on a back road to the nearest town over, squeezing past a small house sized rock that had fallen into the road, and screaming past the farmers on horses that were heading out to their crops. We make our way up a road until we can drive no farther signifying the official trailhead. It turns out this is the first time for all of us and the next 4 hours of hiking consist of hiking straight up on a muddy/swampy trail, stopping every 30 minutes to debate which way we should go, and trying to refuse the peer pressure to take shots of ‘aguadiente’ the local hard alcohol that is made from sugar cane and used to cure dehydration, frozen fingers, and lack of energy. My host dad and the other two men run up the trail ahead of us, seemingly in a hurry for unclear reasons. I fall back with the women as we hike up through farm land that transition into bare grassy ecosystems that mark the high elevations in this area. After about 2 hours of climbing we thankfully reach a circular hut welcoming a much needed rest. My host dad jokes that I have arrived very late to which I blame my inability to walk in the mud, and definitely not due to tiredness. Popcorn, fermented cane juice and water get passed around the group as we re-energize and ponder how much farther there is to walk.  All to soon we are off again galloping through the high grasslands that have been ‘reforested’ with non-native pine trees giving it a sense of a christmas wonderland. I desperately look around for what could be the special sticks that we are looking for, but the area seems fairly barren, and I am still left completely at a loss as to what we are looking for.

            Over the next hill side five lakes come into view and I am excitedly told the legend of Levanto. Apparently a girl was brushing her hair at these lakes while watching over her sheep, when she disappeared and they never found her. I'm pretty sure there is more to the legend but thats all I got form it. The lakes were tucked down within the pine tree groves, but yet still there was no sign of native forest filled with special sticks, so on we march. Summating even higher we reach another hut that looks out over a large valley. This valley is the private conservation area that the community owns. The view was quite impressive and it was only when they pointed way down to some native forests and exclaimed that was our destination that my stomach sank.  I realized we would be running deep down into the valley and then have to hike back up carrying these mysterious sticks. But I slapped on my enthusiastic Peace Corps smile and chased after my host dad was we half ran half slid down the muddy paths.

            Once we were near to the native forest they seemed to grow in patches of thick rainforest-esque forest, carved out by grassland where people had deforested the area. There was much debate as to which forest patch would hold the sticks but finally they agreed on one and we delved in. The change in scenery was incredible, with thick vines coming down out of the canopy of trees. Sadly there is only 30% of these forest left in the area that I live it, but it was pretty amazing scrambling through them. I hear my host dad holler my name somewhere deep in the forest, so I Tarzan swing my way over to where he is handing me seemingly brown sticks and instructs me to hold them tightly so it doesn’t open. I quickly see what he means as the stick splits into fine sheets reveling a bright green color in the center. Admittedly they were pretty amazing. The women run the sticks up out of the forest as the men search for more to cut. It was a pretty productive and exciting system, as we all seemed very relieved to find the sticks. Once everyone had a pile to carry my host dad helped me tie mine up with some twine and prepared my pile to be carried. He insured that I only carry three sticks and I don’t argue him on the point considering the steep climb and hike we still have in front of us.

            At three o’clock we lay out our plastic to sit on the wet ground and enjoy our lunches. My host mom has packed me French fries with fried chicken, and much to my delight someone offers some avocado to add some green to my dish. Unfortunately I finish my only supply of water, and wonder what I will do for the trip back just as the sun is coming out from behind the clouds. Now that I have an idea  of what the sticks look like I start asking what they are used for. I piece together that they are for the church and people come to use them as a remedy of some sort. Then a light bulb clicks in my head as I realize that the coming Sunday is Palm Sunday, and this must be their form of Palms. The wonderful and adventurous tradition that they have kept alive suddenly dawns on me. 

            It was a beast walking back up the mountain side in true Peruvian fashion that ignores any switchbacks and goes with the fastest route. I took off first knowing I would be on the slower end, and was quickly over taken by the men but held my own with the women as we complained about the mud but celebrated our success at finding such nice sticks. I was fortunately in the back of the pack when I took an oversized step and came crashing to the ground sticks and all, essentially taking a mud bath. But pretending nothing happened I was able to pick myself up and continue on our trek. By the time we reached the second hut I was almost getting the hang of the mud and joined in on the full paced run down the other side of the mountain, leaping from rock to rock as if I could fly, stopping quickly to drink the water that was streaming out of a tube from the side of the mountain, my thirst overcoming any thought of water borne diseases. I was keeping up with the pack and feeling pretty proud of myself when my cell phone rang deep in my bag. I ignored the first call, but the persistent Peruvians always call more than once, so I had to stop and sift through my backpack to finally catch the phone on the last ring and inform my host mom that we were still on our way back. This sadly made me last in the pack, but I still came in dancing to join the rest relaxing on a sunny patch of green grass. To which I got a nod of approval from my host dad. I am pretty sure this excursion was the Peruvian equivalent of father/son or father/daughter fishing trips, and I had proven myself somehow. We loaded the sticks on the roof of the van and joyfully took off back toward home

            That Sunday my host mom and I went to the church service, arriving a bit late and filing into the last pew. Everyone was holding up the sticks proudly and as the women came to give us our sticks one of them saw me and excitedly proclaimed that she had been saving one of the sticks that I carried for me. I felt pretty special as I received my tall powerful stick and the woman next to me and had to make due with one that was cut in half. Periodically throughout the service we were told to lift our sticks up and shake them causing them to split apart and open up in beautiful green arrangements. At the close of the service we lifted our sticks up one last time for the Priest to take a picture on his smart phone that took him several takes to figure out how to use. We then paraded out following a statue of Jesus and walked proudly around the plaza serval times, completing my most eventful palm Sunday!

Puppetry in Spanish

            Recently I got back from our Early In Service Training (EIST) which is a bit of a landmark in terms of the peace corps volunteer journey, for it means that its about time to get working. Its also a time to listen to the stories from the other people in your training group and although everyone says ‘don’t compare sites’ the human instinctual thing to do is of course deeply pick apart and compare sites. What types of food does your host family serve? Who’s dealing with the most extreme weather? What types of community partners do you have? Is your municipality supportive? Do you exercise frequently? Have you cried? And of course the most enjoyable stories are the have you pooped in your pants stories. There is a deep black hole of site comparison that is like an addiction nagging at you to ask the questions and try and see how your site sizes up, or where you can brag about your conditions being harsher than someone else's. During this reunion I often found myself knee deep in a story about my site and then half way through thinking back to a This American Life episode that talked about conservation topics that nobody cares about and realizing the story I was describing was exactly one of those. My inner voice would scream ‘nobody cares Maddy’ and I would have to find the quickest exit out of my boring story about how I had strep throat for two weeks but didn’t want to call the med doctors. It was an interesting challenge for me to try and find stories from my last three months of an intensively different life, that I really wanted to share with others, but I didn’t want to come off as someone who just likes to hear themselves talk.

            I got back to site re-energized with many new project ideas to get started on. I have always been one for education for as much as I’ve denied wanting to become a teacher it is what seems to come naturally to me. I went into the school and asked the director if I could teach environmental education once or twice a month in every grade pretty much from kindergarten to high school. He immediately agreed and went to arrange a time for each elementary school class for the coming week. Once again I was surprised at how efficient and willing he was to have a random person come and teach in his classes, but I am grateful for the trust in my abilities weather its wise or not! After that meeting I realized I better figure out what to teach as it appeared I was jumping right into this. Our technical trainer during my first couple weeks here was a strong promoter of  puppets and she brought in some amazing puppets that she uses to teach environmental education. Motivated by this, I found a pair of smart wool socks that I have had for over five years, which where the heel should go is just a hole, and decided it was time to re-purpose these socks. For the next three days I vigorously worked on creating characters out of these socks that could talk about animal homes to 5-8 year olds. My host family laughed and thought it was very curious that I had made my socks into animals, and I felt pretty proud of my resourcefulness using plastic bags, an old rubber bouncy ball, and sea shells to make my socks come alive.

            I wrote out a script and then tried practicing it once through right before my first class. I found it impossible to hold the script up, and put two puppets on my hands. This detail I had not thought through fully, but I was out of time to plan so I headed to class realizing I would just have to figure it out as I went. The first class only had 10 students in it and they loved the puppets. They laughed and bared with me as I switched hands of puppets and let the script fall to the floor several times, but we all made it through.

            Feeling confident from my improvisation during the first class, the following day I went into my second day avoiding anymore preparations. This class had 15 students with clearly a lot more energy. I first had them draw pictures of make believe animals, to which they did at a remarkable speed. Then I brought out my puppet friends and I watched as some fell in love and some were deathly scared of these new characters. They listened attentively to the story and my confidence was once again rising. At the end of the story I put the puppets down to sleep and we dove deeper into what it means to have a house and why animal’s houses look different. This is when the train started to derail. The students were eager to answer my questions but were also bouncing off the walls with energy. We drew houses for their make believe animals but when I tried to have a discussion about the essential things that all homes must have there was very little focus, and many requests to wake my puppet friends up and bring them back. After three deep breaths as a whole class, and a bit more drawing I gave into their pleas and brought back out the puppets to teach them Old MacDonald. As soon as I put Rosita, the puppet, on my hand they all went quiet and were entranced by her. She was able to lead them through the wrap up discussion and they all listened attentively, rose their hands one by one, and actually engaged. I found myself standing up in front of the class becoming jealous of my own puppet for being able to get them all to listen. Later reflecting back on this I laughed at the fact the I was envious of Rosita and I suppose that is the beauty of puppets. Now when I walk through the plaza the students run up asking where Rosita is and when she will come back.

Home Remedies

Last week I was in the municipality office trying to blend in as an ordinary worker with a 9-5 job. I sat down at the swively chair to use their extra desktop computer and with good posture began typing up my very important community diagnostic work. Not going to lie it was a pretty fun power trip to greet everyone that came through, as if I was a regular on the scene. Well this glory lasted a good 10 minutes when all the sudden I was over come by nausea and felt that if I didn’t get out of there I was either going to puke or faint and that would just be embarrassing. I jumped up and turned to the secretary reaching my hand dramatically to my forehead I proclaimed I had forgotten an important book at home and that I was going back to get it. She laughed at the fact that I had just settled down and was now leaving as I hurried out the door. I got halfway up the road to my house when I realized in my daze of nausea I had forgotten my house keys. It was pretty awkward to have to turn around and go back to grab them but I also didn’t feel completely present in the world due to the nausea so I followed me feet back up the stairs to the municipality. I once again faced the secretary who gave me a confused look t which I countered with a smile, snatched the keys from ‘my’ desk and jingled them in the air in an action that expressed what I had no words to say. Once again I was back out into fresh air which seemed to help my nausea and I made my way back home. Now I was pretty focused on getting back to the municipality promptly so that I could swivel around in that chair some more and created my presentation that I was supposed to have done by the end of the day. I was convinced this nausea was going to pass right over. I went into my room and sat on my bed for a little while, popped an Ibuprofen and grabbed my Spanish dictionary as proof I had gone back to get a book. I took a deep breath in and tried to get my stomach to settle. This seems to be a frequent strategy of mine as it is one way I can both calm my nerves and convince the rice and potatoes to settle more into my stomach.

On my way out of our gate a vaguely mentioned to my host mom that I didn’t feel well, but I had to go back to the municipality to finish my presentation. I got back to my desk and readjust into my working position. The computer was up and running, my fingers were flying across the keyboard, and I happily greeted the old ladies that came wobbling in to get their pensions signed so they could receive money from the government. But my attention couldn’t be held by my busyness as my mind wondered into a fit of panic, nausea, and faintness. I felt a fever wash over me and I knew I had to get out of there before making a scene, however I also knew that my getting out of there would also make a scene as I came in with a stated purpose of working all afternoon. Running out of time I stood up and started feeling my forehead and breathing deeply. I turned to the secretary who was occupied helping someone but I interrupted exclaiming that I was not doing so hot. She looked up surprised as I walked dazed out of the room. Outside of the municipality I was focused on making it home before puking, but I ran into the town governor who was my original motivation for working at the municipality that day I had to talk to him about our upcoming travels to Lima to a Peace Corps conference, and I knew I would run into him at the municipality. Unfortunately the timing was all wrong, he looked at my face and said I looked really pale, and I merely mumbled yes I must go home now. And that was that, my opportunity to talk about bus tickets and travel plans lost as I stumbled up to my house.

Once home my host mom could see that I was not well so she had me drink warm lemon water. Then she went off and found some herb branches, which she proceeded to lightly beat me with all over my body and started talking to me about the dead. At first I didn’t understand what she was saying and I proclaimed to her ‘No I’m not going to die!’ but apparently she didn’t mean I was going to die, but rather I just needed to talk to the already dead. She hung the herbs above my door as I went in to lie down. I fluttered in and out of sleep still slightly stressed about the fact that I had not finished my presentation.

The sleep and more ibuprofen helped improve my symptoms and finally by mid-afternoon I was able to get out of bed feeling much better. I walked out clearly with more re-vitalized energy and my host mom exclaimed that the dead had given me a hug and I looked much better. I collected myself and headed back to the municipality. I decided the only way to go about my entrance back was to make it a grand entrance, so I pranced in and announced ‘look who’s back and feeling better!’ with a little shoulder shimmy just for emphasis. The secretary laughed and then had to recount the story of my leavings and goings of the morning to the mayor and every one else that was in the room at the time. I made good headway on my presentation, and the governor returned to the muni so we were able to iron out our trip details. Things were looking up as the secretary and I headed home for dinner. The dinner conversation was centered around many re-enactments of my several strategies of leaving the municipality that morning from the secretary, and my host mom filling in the other side of the story about how I thought I was going to die. I provided quite the comic relief for the day, but I relished in being the center of conversation at the dinner table, until the ibuprofen wore off and I had to go lie down for the night. Later that week in Lima I did have to take a stool sample (not surprisingly a difficult and gross task that I successfully completed and then left in the staff fridge at the Peace Corps office in an unmarked paper bag for the doctor. Later that day I went to retrieve to hand over to the doctors and found that the bag had been opened and moved to another fridge…gross!!! Anyways I had a bacterial infection that is clearly up nicely now!)

So far being here I have learned several home remedies, while I provide my host family with various western medicines. This fulfills goals number two and three of the peace corps which are solely about cultural exchange, so you are welcome Peace Corps! Some of the things that I have learned are as follows:

-Pee in open wounds; Once when my host uncle got a nasty deep dog bite they asked if I would pee in a cup so they could pour it on the wound to disinfect it. I unfortunately or fortunately could not pee under pressure

-Sugar in open wounds: On the same dog bite wound a couple of days later my host mom filled the wound up with sugar to help it heal

-Passing the egg: Our dog got very sick the other week and they all said he was going to die. My host mom passed a chicken egg over his body and rubbed it into his fur. Then she cracked it open into a cup and looked for ‘eyes’ in the yolk. We found one which meant the dog would be alright, and to this day that dog is doing better than ever!

-This happened before my Spanish was all that good but I went on a wild black chicken hunt with my host mom and her sister. Finally we found one and then used its feather I believe and pressed them on my host aunt’s baby’s wrists. I am not sure what this helped, but we did enjoy eating the chicken the next couple of days.

-Apple tea is good for sleeping.

I am sure there are thousands more that I will learn but I thought I would share a few with you in this blog. I also witnessed my host mom beat my host dad with the same herbs she used on me when he had a hangover, so it works on any types of nausea.