A Nice Day For Ahuac

This past Sunday we finally found the time to hike up to the lagoon above our site, Ahuac/Awak/Aguak. (Pronounced more or less like “a walk” – get it?) We’d been told it’s around a four hour hike to get there, so we made sure to get an early start. Of course, the week prior Menda planted her vivero (tree nursery), which ideally should be watered multiple times a day until the seeds sprout, so first we had to walk down to Jinua. We finally set out for the lagoon a little after seven in the morning with two other volunteers who had stuck around after the regional meeting the day before. It’s about a forty minute hike up to the cross (of which we’ve previously posted pictures) and from there a fairly level walk... for the next 15 or 20 minutes, after which it’s straight uphill for the next three and a half hours. From our house to the lagoon we hiked about seven kilometers total and gained a total of 1300 meters in altitude. It took us just over four and a half hours, including many breaks for water, snacks, and a little much needed recovery for our lungs. We got there, and while our courage was still sufficiently high, Menda and I swam in the snow and ice fed lagoon (my second polar plunge). We then feasted on PB&Js, mandarin oranges, animal crackers, and cookies – chocolate mint by the way. After sitting around for a bit, we headed back down, moving much faster and taking fewer breaks. It’s easier to lose your balance when going downhill, but the increased oxygen intake as you move lower and lower makes you feel invincible – until you fall, that is.

[PICTURES]

As a side note, the next day is when I usually work in the health post and Menda teaches environmental classes in Jinua. I debated not going, because I was more than a little bit tired the next morning but finally settled on it, because A) I usually just sit at a desk and help with consultations for babies and B) I needed to invite the boss to a conference on HIV/AIDS. I got the invitation to him, but we’re in the middle of a week during which health post staff go door to door seeing if all the children and elderly are up to date on their vaccinations, so I ended up walking up and down hills for over five hours the next day. Yeah. It was good exercise at the very least.

Hey, Fattie, Gimme Some!

Now that I’ve got your attention with that title, let me explain. The culture of Peru is, needless to say, quite different from that of the States. Most differences are pretty easy to adapt to, but there are a few commonly found in casual conversation that are a little further removed. The first I’ll refer to as “calling it like it is.” This means whether you’re skinny, fat, tall, short, light, dark, et cetera, no one will have any problem calling you exactly that. It’s not done to make fun or single anyone out, it’s simply done. Menda remembers learning about this particular cultural phenomenon while in high school Spanish class, mentioning it to her uncle later, and him carefully informing her that even if it’s commonly done, that doesn’t mean it’s not rude and inappropriate. Can’t say I disagree, yet I’ve witnessed a sweet old man greet a teenage girl with the Spanish equivalent of, “Hey, fattie!” and the girl took no offense whatsoever. Imagine even bringing up the weight of a girl that age in the States. You simply don’t do it.

The second shocker is inviting yourself to things. No, not to parties, sporting events, or any other kind of social gathering, but to food, drinks, or whatever else may be within eyeshot. I might be walking down the street with a single piece of chocolate purchased at one of the bodegas by our house – for Menda of course, and a kid passing by would have absolutely no problem saying, “Invííítameee!” I’d actually understand... maybe... probably not... if I was walking around with a giant bag of candy with plenty to share and a kid shouted, “Gimmesooome!” but amount, anonymity, and item have zero impact. If you’re carrying something (anything, really)consumable in plain sight, expect even a perfect stranger to ask you to share. The flip side, of course, is we can invite ourselves to their stuff as well, but I’ve still not quite become comfortable with it yet.

Something else I’ve encountered in Peru (albeit only once) that I’d never seen in the States is a double banana. Don’t worry, you read that correctly. A double banana.One banana peel, two bananas inside. Don’t believe me? There’s a picture included in the linked album below.

In an effort to play a greater role in our community, and because we still understand so little of the situation regarding potable water, we recently attended a meeting in the plaza in hopes of understanding what the issues are that everyone’s always complaining about. Well, we still didn’t find out, because the meeting was focused solely on the illegal use of potable water by the construction company building the new school. First, they took attendance. They called the name of every family from the community to see who was there. Our community’s small but not that small, so we baked in the sun for a good twenty minutes or so. Then, anyone that wanted to speak had the opportunity to do so, with the head of APAFA (PTA minus the T) intervening between every comment to make some minute detail clear. From what I could tell (which wasn’t a ton, because a lot of the comments were in Quechua), everyone there had the exact same opinion, but a good portion of the people wanted to put their own particular spin on it, sometimes two or three times. After a couple hours of this, everyone agreed that the only thing they could do was to cut off the water source for the construction company and let the situation develop from there. So the whole group of people at the meeting stood up and marched to the school where they cut off the water. Of course, in Peru, that doesn’t mean flipping a switch or turning a knob, it meant digging a meter and a half down in two locations and literally cutting the water pipe. We got bored before they reached the pipes, so we didn’t get to see the climactic moments, but this whole situation is case in point one of the “main” (That one’s for you, Tessa) issues found in Peru: an extreme willingness to act but without any great consideration of the consequences. For one, if the company decides to back out of the deal, who’s going to finish the school? For two, the people working for the company are the men of the community, so carrying the water buckets from the drainage ditch to the construction site falls upon their backs. On the other hand, the company had apparently already used several thousand soles worth of water for which they weren’t intending to pay, so maybe cutting the pipes really was the only feasible solution. In the States we probably would have halted construction, taken the company to court, and five years later the school still wouldn’t be finished. But this is Peru: incredibly well-intentioned, not always able to see the big picture, but unwilling to be taken advantage of in the meantime. It has its perks; it looks like the school is going to get finished.

In other exciting news, I had a stomach ache for about two weeks straight. The pain was the only symptom, so it wasn’t a bacterial infection, but after I shoveled some poop into a jar for a lab tech, the test came back negative for a parasite. Still, they treated me for giardia, because poop tests are notoriously inconsistent, and I got better. Either that or the parasite got smarter and decided to lie low for a while.

Menda recently started teaching environmental classes in one of the caserio’s grade school, and this past Monday was Earth Day – as I’m sure you’re all aware. So after some research on what will grow at this altitude and some prep work, we dug out a space with the students for a tree nursery (vivero), and on Earth Day the kids got to plant over 150 cherry tree seeds. Having never grown cherry trees before, we’re crossing our fingers they sprout, but if not, I guess we’ll try another species.

Here are the pictures: [VIVERO AND A DOUBLE BANANA]

Life is Like a Box of Rough Agate

We are now about seven months into our service; we’ve been in site for four. The initial hurdles have been hurdled, and now our real service starts. To be honest, though, I feel like up until actually getting on the plane back to the States, we’ll probably keep on saying that same thing. Now our real service starts. Our close of service conference is less than a year and a half away, and we’re already having to start looking at our future after Peace Corps. I thought this rather strange until I realized this is a major pattern in the way we all live. Driver’s licenses have their permits, college has its tests and applications, weddings – actually, I’m not sure why weddings take so long to plan, jobs are often developed from internships, children seem to be a topic of discussion no matter where a relationship stands. We seem to start everything years ahead of time.

For us, right now, what this means is that I’m looking at how best to get my certification to teach. For those of you unaware of this situation, I’ll sum it up quickly. I was supposed to already be certified, but due to a technicality, I was unable to apply to the secondary education minor while at UIUC and ended up just getting a degree in English. Peace Corps has a wonderful service called the Coverdell Fellows program which wipes out a lot of the time, money, and energy wasted on applications to graduate programs, but there’s a catch: it’s still a master’s program when all I want is a teaching certificate, and the discounted tuition doesn’t mean much when we’re already tens of thousands in debt from our undergraduate education. There are more universities than I care to sort through that offer some sort of incentive to attend their particular brand of higher education, but it kind of seems like they just want your money. Hence the name of this post. There’s maybe something to be polished out of all of this, but it’s really hard to get past the cost.

So what are my other options? Right now, the leader of the pack is moving to Chicago, finding an alternative teaching certification program through a university in the area, teaching inner city high school English for a few years, and walking away with a teaching certificate, invaluable experience, and hopefully not too burned out. The insight into where we’d be living would make it easier for Menda to find a position, and the appeal of being so close to family and friends definitely has its pull, but it still remains to be seen if I can find a program that fits my particular situation. Another option is Teach for America. They eliminate a small amount of previously accumulated debt, they’ve been trying to draw in returned Peace Corps volunteers in recent years, and there’s something exciting about not knowing where we’ll be. It also means we’d potentially be very far from our family and friends, and Menda would have to try last minute to find a job that she can live with for two years. Not as attractive an option, but it’s still on the table. There’s also the possibility of grad school for Menda as well, possibly in natural resource management, applied ecology, or really anything related to environmental science. Or we could go the route of moving to some national park for a job for Menda – not at all unappealing. In both scenarios, I would probably work on a teaching certificate through an online program and find a school locally to get the required classroom experience.

Onto other exciting stuff. We’ve finally started the TESOL course we stupidly signed up for last December. It’s not that it’s a bad idea to get a little training in teaching English; it’s the source and the timing of it. Apparently, the company we’re doing it through is simply the cheapest on the market, but it won’t necessarily be recognized by everyone to whom it will matter (future employers). Still, for the price, it doesn’t hurt to have something else to throw on a résumé, and it seems as though the information will be pretty useful. We’ve done two of the twenty lessons thus far. The course is pretty evenly split between teaching methods and attempting to explain the English language to people who have never had to think about grammar before. As an English major, I have built up a resistance to this kind of instruction, but it’s torture for Menda. I think we technically have until June or July to finish everything, so if we do three or four a week, we’ll have plenty of time to wrap everything up.

Speaking of teaching English, we’ve started up classes in one of the caserios. Once a week we take the combi down to Jinua and attempt to instill some understanding of the language which seems nearly as pervasive as Spanish when it comes to music, advertisements, t-shirts, and other commodities of mass-consumption. Like foreign language education in the States, we’ve given them each a modified version of their name which they will use while in the classroom, or, in the case of our first class, in the street, because no one unlocked the school for us. During vacaciones útiles, we had an open door policy. It served its purpose; people in the community now know who we are. However, this time around, we had a sign up, and the students helped us come up with an attendance policy which will hopefully keep the kids out that don’t actually want to learn.

I should probably say something with regard to my program goals. Just to remind you, I have two main things I should be focusing on for the duration of my service. The first is educating mothers with children younger than four about nutrition, hygiene, prevention and symptoms of common illnesses, and early childhood stimulation. The second is working with youth 12-17 years of age and instilling some level of responsibility in their personal lives. In other words, I’m teaching sex ed. I’ve not so much started on either of these goals yet. There’s a level of comfort I’ve not quite reached with walking into someone’s home and telling them what they’re doing wrong – especially given than I don’t have kids myself – or talking to kids about something that’s still rather taboo for the people of my community. I’ll get there, but there are going to be a few steps in between. This next week I’m starting to help out in our health post. Every Monday, I’ll go and pull patient histories, weigh and measure babies, and whatever else they need that’s within my abilities. Through this, my face will be seen, I may glean some appearance of being knowledgeable from the fact that I’m working there, and eventually I’ll maybe feel comfortable talking to mothers in their own homes. Of course, I’ll still need a translator, because my Quechua is somehow not quite advanced enough to talk about the more detailed issues of infant health.

Menda, on the other hand, is kicking some ass. She got back from her training in Lima with a plan for a community cleanup campaign, and every day she’s been making phone calls, writing up documents, putting together presentations, and scheduling meetings. She’s planning on working with the school in Jinua to teach a weekly environmental class, through which she would start a tree nursery, participate in the G.L.O.B.E. project (www.globe.gov), and convince the kids the world isn’t their garbage can. Basically, she’s already working on all of her program goals. If it weren’t for machismo, I’m pretty sure no one would still want to talk to me.

Apparently rainy season is finally wrapping up, though it’s really not been so bad. It’s like a slightly more rainy Illinois spring, but we got some pretty crazy hail these past few weeks. Water can’t all that easily get into our rooms, but hail can stack up by our door, melt, and then flood part of our bedroom. (There’s a picture in the gallery linked to below.) Still, the rain hasn’t slowed us from getting out and having some fun.

Semana Santa was about a week ago now, and with some of the non-earned vacation days we volunteers get we decided to stay home. Part of this was because Menda had just gotten back from her training in Lima, and the idea of traveling isn’t as appealing after having just done so. However, we primarily stayed because a bunch of volunteers from other departments were coming in to Ancash, and, for us, staying home means staying in one of the world’s premier backpacking destinations. We didn’t end up going with the other volunteers on everything they did, which included Lake Llanganuco (a glacial lake below the highest peak in the Andes), Pastoruri (a glacier which used to have skiing but will be gone in five to ten years due to that much beloved theory of climate change), and Chancos (hot springs in a series of increasingly warmer caves, the hottest of which you can apparently boil an egg – or I imagine burn yourself pretty badly). They also visited the pre-Incan ruins in our site, and I (Menda was feeling sick) got to go with two other volunteers and some nice Limeños who gave us a ride up to the trailhead for Laguna Churup – a glacial lake at 15,000 feet. Of the people with whom I went, I was the only one to make it all the way there. Lonely Planet said it was a beginner hike, but there were three parts where I had to pull myself over steep rock faces with a metal cable – the top one which was frayed and broken – I could barely feel my hands due to the cold, and though everyone we saw told us it was only a couple hours to get there, that was just another example of the chronic chronometric understatement so commonly encountered here. Still, it wasn’t all bad. There’s a competition among Ancash volunteers where the winner (or loser depending on how you look at it) has swum in the most glacial lakes. Well, this was my first. I think I have 26 more to go if I want to break the record – I don’t.

Also during Semana Santa was the traditional Catholic procession, complete with creepy statues and lots of drinking. Regardless, it was a sight to be seen. It was more or less exactly like that scene in the Godfather, minus the gunfire. Even more cool, however, were these giant drawings that were done in the street. There were probably 15 or so of them, mostly religious imagery, with logos of their corporate sponsors in the corners, and all made almost entirely with sawdust. They dye it a bunch of different colors, sketch out the drawing in chalk, and then pour it into the appropriate sections like a giant paint-by-number watercolor. This all goes down the morning of Good Friday. Then, after all that work, the procession comes through with their creepy statues, crowds of people, and four or five marching bands and trample over all of them. There’s probably an Easter metaphor in there somewhere. Also, the Easter bunny does not visit Peru. Somehow they missed out on that particular perversion of Christianity.

I think that’s pretty much it. I’ll add in another reminder to mail us pictures. It’s less than three bucks to send them through the USPS, and you’d have a revered spot on our wall. Only one person has sent any so far (Thanks, dad!), and it means a lot to us. Oh well. Here are some of ours:

[MORE KITTY AND SEMANA SANTA]

After writing this post, we had a very interesting day, so I’ll add it in. We had a meeting at 6:30 in the morning with the mayor, the regidores, and an anthropologist from the district municipality. It was almost three hours, but we talked exclusively about tourism, Menda’s community clean-up plan, and our community diagnostic, which we were able to officially present. In the afternoon we had a meeting with an environmental group comprised of local young professionals. Menda presented her community clean-up plan, and I organized a start date for our English classes in Willkahuaín for the guides. We’re due to start them in about two weeks, and they asked if we could have a traditional Peruvian ceremony beforehand. In this ceremony, people bring offerings to Paccha Mama (Mother Earth). We didn’t really know what to expect, but we soon found out. Immediately following the meeting, the president of the organization asked if we’d like to attend one of these ceremonies at that moment. I guess it just so happened that one was going on. There was a fire in the center, and it took place next to a large, flat ceremonial boulder that far predates the Incans. There are five holes bored into this rock, and in them offerings are placed. Throughout the whole thing four or five types of flutes and a conch shell were played while everyone stood in a circle chewing coca leaves and placing them in the flames – though we of course didn’t chew them, because it’s against Peace Corps rules. Near the end of the ceremony, a man danced around the fire and placed flowers over each of the holes bored into the rock. I can’t say I really understood what was going on – being both unfamiliar with Peruvian tradition and Quechua – but it was definitely quite an experience. We at the very least now understand what they mean when they say mystic tourism. There was a girl from the Czech Republic there as well.

A Quick Update

We finished up our rough draft of our community diagnostic, Kitty is still adorable, I just got back from Early In Service Training in Lima for the health program, and Menda leaves tonight for the environmental equivalent.

The rough draft of our diagnostic is very rough. The Spanish in it must be just awful. We still have a few last data to retrieve, and we should be presenting it to our municipality within the month.

We have more pictures of Kitty, but we´ll have to upload them some other time.

EIST was actually pretty useful. If I´m entirely honest, after completing the diagnostic and summer school, I was feeling pretty unsure what to do next in site. I know my program goals, I know what I should accomplish by the end of my service, but somehow that knowledge didn´t translate into,  "What am I going to do tomorrow?"  I´m still not certain, but I feel a lot more confident in my uncertainty now.

About two weeks into site, I twisted my ankle, not badly, and ever since then have been retwisting to a lesser degree never quite allowing my ankle to heal. Then about 3 weeks ago I really twisted the crap out of it. I was stepping off the stoop of our mayor´s house, couldn´t see the curb that was underneath - and that really needn´t be there at all as it doesn´t do a thing, and right he stepped out of his house I was sitting on a bench howling. Menda delivered our solicitude and then helped me hobble back home - thankfully only about 20 or 30 meters away. I elevated it, stuck it in a tina of ice cold water, and two days later it still hurt, but I could walk without limping or anything. Problem solved... except the swelling that never receded and the constant retwisting that occurred in its weakened state. So I went to see a doctor while I was in Lima, got some x-rays, and now I can´t run or play sports on it for a month and a half, because I guess I broke some tiny bone in there somewhere. I have some cream and pills that are supposed to bring the swelling down, but it´s still not clear if everything is healing right. Regardless, it´s too late now. (Disclaimer: the Peace Corps doctors were consulted the night I twisted it, and they wanted me to go to Huaraz for an x-ray, but I refused. Whoops.) The big bummer, however, is that this weekend is the first annual (that´s for you, John) volunteer 5k, 10k, and half marathon. And ironically enough, I bought soccer shoes while in Lima so I can play pick up ultimate in Huaraz on Fridays and so I can play on my mayor´s soccer team on Sundays. Oh well. I guess I still have a few years.

Map and a Kitty

Not too much different here. We´ve been working hard to finish up both summer school and our community diagnostic, yet, somehow in the middle of all that, we´ve still found the time to paint a 4 meter wide world map with some of our students and adopt a kitten. I think were calling him, "Kitty." Our host brother found him hiding in the corn in the chakra that is our backyard.

[PICTURES]

Carnaval

Most of Carnaval is filled with frequent religoius...ish celebrations, water fights, flour fights, and heavy drinking during all three.

Here are some photos from the celebrations in our town, and we´ll try to add more as we take them.

[Carnaval Pictures]

Also, just to describe a little of what´s going on in some of these photos. The crosses for a couple of weeks are carried from town to town for various celebrations and eventually are walked back up to their respective homes. The people climbing trees are preparing the corta montes. This is where you chop down a tree, dig a hole in the street, replant the tree, decorate it, drink and dance around it, throw water and flour at each other around it, chop it down, and when it falls everyone runs in and tries to grab the decorations they want - which are, from what we´ve seen, limited to your imagination; there were blankets, baskets, and everything inbetween adorning the trees. Kind of a cross between a maypole, a piñata, and Christmas... not sure where the water and flour fights fit in though.

The International Year of Quinoa

For some reason not yet ascertained by Menda or me, in Peru, each year has its own special title. This title has to go at the top of pretty much every official document. A couple of weeks ago we were turning in our solicitude for a space on which to paint a world map mural (which we'll be hopefully doing this coming week) and realized we had no clue what 2013's special title is. We asked our host brother, and he thought he had heard on the radio it was “The Year of the Advancement of Indigenous Communities,” or something like that. Sounds good, but he wasn't entirely certain. So we texted our PCVL and she informed us that it was actually “El Año Internacional de la Quinua,” or, in English, the title of this post. So, go out, buy some quinoa, and celebrate the international year of quinoa.

We previously posted some pictures of us at the cross on the hill an hour or so above our town. Well, we were invited by the mayor to go up to the cross with some other people to reinforce the base and prepare it for the upcoming celebration (Carnaval). Why did it need to be prepared? During Carnaval, each community takes its cross (Yeah, every community has an official cross), and carries it to the local chapel—in the case of Paria and its caserios, the chapel about 50 feet from our house in the plaza. Then, with all the crosses seated in the chapel, the priest has a service for the crosses. I don't think people are allowed to go to it, but in our town there's probably room for some. However, later during Carnaval, all the communities surrounding Huaraz then carry the crosses down to the church there. During this service, there are so many crosses, that even if people were allowed to and wanted to go, there apparently isn't room enough. I tried to ask as non-offensively as possible why the crosses needed a service, and did the priest come up with a new sermon every time, or does he just repeat the last one, or is there a special one said only during that day, but the only answer I got was, “I'm not sure. It's just the custom here.” I suppose there are some pretty weird traditions we have in the States too, but I'm not sure we live up to the craziness here.

Another custom of Carnaval is giant water and flour fights. Right now there are just sporadic groups of kids wandering around with water balloons and buckets full of water, but apparently on “War Tuesday” which I think is the equivalent of Fat Tuesday/Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras/whatever other names exist, there are gangs of 30 or 40 kids a piece that will drench you if you give them the opportunity. This past week, we were walking through one of the tiny parks that hide in the middle of some of the blocks in Huaraz, looking for a Mexican restaurant that supposedly is in there somewhere, and we saw a group of 10 or 12 kids with buckets walking slowly toward us. We started to turn and walk away, but then it appeared to me that they were moving a little faster, so I sprinted. Well, I didn't warn Menda, and as soon as I started running so did the kids, so she ended up getting hit, but she seems kind of proud of it now. “I got hit with water during Carnaval!” I think I'd still rather be able to say, “I avoided getting hit with water during Carnaval.” Either way, the Superbowl is this Sunday, and we're going to head over the apartment of our PCVL with the other volunteers to have a little party, and it just so happens that her apartment building has a roof adjacent to the park where we were chased by those kids. So what are we going to do? Buckets, balloons, hoses, you name it. We'll be prepared next time.

A few weeks ago, we were walking over to the health post to get the contact information for mothers with kids under the age of three (so we can start the encuestas we've been avoiding for weeks now) when we were approached by a guy who I guess had heard of us through our host cousin. His name was Christian, and he heads up a group of locals who work to promote tourism in our communities. We set up a meeting for the following Sunday (at 7 AM) not entirely sure what to expect. A lot of times in Peru, people are really enthusiastic about doing something, but come the time to actually do it, they are busy, or forget, or I don't really know, because they ultimately don't show up. Well, Christian did show up, and so did two others from their group (including our host cousin) and the meeting went extraordinarily well. For one, they acknowledged that Menda was present and directed questions toward her. Not always a given. For two, they wanted to get started on English classes for aspiring guides far sooner than we were able to accommodate. We told them late March, after our community diagnostic, after our “Early In Service Training” in Lima, we could begin classes. This is a huge difference from a lot of other experiences we've heard about from other volunteers. People love to talk big here, make grand statements, but between raising kids, maintaining 4 or 5 chakras, and working other small jobs here and there, no one really has the time to do the things they want to do. This group is young, enthusiastic, don't yet have families of their own, and have the time to work with us, not only on English classes but reforestation, tourism, cleaning up the community, et cetera. Once again, I feel as though we've really lucked out. We also had the teniente gobernador of a caserio of Paria come and visit us at our house randomly in order to set up English classes there as well. Two English classes set up for after EIST and we're probably going to add another in a third location eventually. Maybe that one will fall into our laps as well.

Another encouraging meeting we had was with a technician at a tree nursery nearby. They have three huge properties full of 9 or 10 different species of trees, about half of them native, and it's all funded by the government of our district. If you want a couple thousand trees to plant, all you have to do is request them, and they'll be delivered to the location of your choice free of charge. We went to the nursery with another volunteer who lives fairly close to us, and even with two males present, the technician also paid attention to Menda, answered her questions, recognized she was able and knowledgeable.

After visiting the tree nursery, we visited a guy whom the other volunteer had met in Huaraz who owns a hotel, or owns a property and is constructing a hotel. He's originally from Lima, but recently settled in a little town about a half hour walk from Huaraz, and, with the guidance and encouragement of his wife, started to construct this absolutely gorgeous hotel. The name of the place is “La Casona de Marián,” and there are beautiful gardens, 17 rooms, a chapel, and an incredibly gracious and welcoming owner. There are some pictures of the place included in the link at the bottom, and given its proximity to our site, this will probably be the hotel of choice for any of you who come and visit us. The other great part about this meeting is that he's very interested in exchanging promotions between our site and his. Marián is a small town, beautiful, but without much draw for tourists. It's close enough to our site, that we can have information about his hotel at the pre-Incan ruins in our site, and he can have information about the various attractions at our site in his hotel. Another great contact, and another meeting in which Menda felt included.

So three meetings, all in which Menda had her voice heard. Put bluntly, this is not the norm. The usual interaction, no matter how very little I had to do with planning a meeting, arranging a class, or writing up a report, usually ends in me being the only one addressed. It's not something intentionally done, it's not vindictive or purposefully demeaning, it doesn't happen every time, but it happens frequently enough that changing our community's attitude toward women and their roles has become the center of my focus and my primary goal for the next two years. There's absolutely nothing wrong with a woman staying at home with the kids, taking care of the house, and cooking. Likewise, if a man works Monday through Saturday at a job and Sundays in the chakra, that's his choice. However, the impact that these long-defined roles have had on gender equality is devastating, so even though these offenses are usually done without mean spirit or spite, they still do a lot of damage. It's not outright sexism, just as in the States, most overt racism has had its day and most people are repulsed by it. However, in some ways, the beneath-the-surface, day-to-day, largely-unnoticed varieties are worse, and they're certainly harder to combat.

Apart from meetings, we've been incredibly busy with vacaciones útiles (literally, useful vacations, but, in English, summer school). Four times a week we've been teaching a group of rambunctious, occasionally well-behaved youth with ages between 3 and 13. We originally intended on teaching 8-17, but the older kids don't show, and the youngest ones are usually in the care of their siblings, so if they can't go, neither can their brothers and sisters. We've set up the classes with each week having a different theme. Basic introductions in English, the human body, biology, recycling, and we're going to be doing geography/world cultures, music and dance, nutrition and exercise, and one more yet to be decided theme. We're slowly learning how to teach in this very different environment. Kids here don't learn the same way. Everything is rote. Whenever we introduce a new game or activity, it takes the kids a while to figure out that this is something they can do. We tried watching WALL-E (in Spanish) and they couldn't handle 80 minutes of sitting still. Then again, the next day we made paper beads out of magazines and flowers out of bottle tops, and they worked for two and a half hours straight without problem. Another challenge is the age gap. Eventually, Menda had the bright idea to separate the kids with certain activities, so they're working with others more or less on par with their level. Before, the easy stuff had the older kids misbehaving, and the harder stuff had the younger ones bored and loud. It's been fun though, and I've even gotten pull out the guitar a few times. I found some bluesy chords that accompany “the hokey pokey” quite nicely and wrote a gypsy jazz version of “head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” We play various games with the frisbee on a regular basis, and the kids have caught on quite fast.

Speaking of ultimate, there are weekly pickup games in Huaraz to which I'll eventually start going. Right now, we're too loaded down with stuff we're doing and the many other things we're supposed to be doing. We're in the midst of our second week of Quechua classes, we're teaching 4 times a week, we're supposed to be interviewing people with our encuestas so we can finish our community diagnostic by the beginning of March, we have a correspondence course we're taking on teaching English as a foreign language in which we're yet to start the readings and assignments, and Menda's about to start sessions with a Spanish tutor. Still, it's far better to be busy than idle, and it feels good to be making small amounts of progress here and there. A quick side note, “llamakaa” (pronounced like the Jewish hat) in Quechua means “I am a llama.”

We also went to a wedding this past weekend for a couple at our church. They brought in 5 musicians from Lima and they not only played the wedding, but our church service the day before and a concert at the cultural center in Huaraz. It's the first (and quite possibly last) time we've heard classical music while in Peru. The orchestra of which they're a part is only two years old, and they have to import their musicians, because there just aren't many Peruvian classical musicians. The lead violinist was from Michigan, the second also from Michigan though his parents are Brazilian, and the pianist was from Cuba. (The violist and cellist were from Peru I believe.)

This entry is getting a little overly long, so I'll close with an observation we made after walking around earlier this week in search of a place to eat. Peru: The land where every vegetarian restaurant serves hamburgers and a place called The Mediterranean serves paccha manca and lomo saltado but no hummus or felafel.

[PICTURES!]