Reflections from the Family v 2.0

At the end of May my fellow YAVs and I (with the exception of Sara Alta, sad!) finally made our way toCuzco and hiked the 4 days of the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. It was undoubtedly the hardest physical challenge I have ever faced. But the exciting thing is that my Mom, Dad, and brother Jim (Jack sadly couldn´t come) came to hike with me! They came a few days early to see my life in Peru and my work with the IEP Collique and the Fair Trade Program Bridge of Hope at the Red Uniendo Manos.

So this time, instead of me telling you about vacation (I´m getting tired of my own voice at this point!), I´ve asked each of my family members to reflect on their time in Peru. Below you´ll find reflections from each of them on their time in Lima and hiking the Inca Trail. Each is a little different and offers a wonderful, fresh perspective on my life and work here in Peru.

I must give my warning -- THIS IS A LONG POST! But I really do encourage you to read each reflection because each is different and examines a different facet of the Peruvian experience. Plus, I saved my brother Jim´s for last, and he´s a really good writer (so are my parents, not trying to choose favorites!) :) Enjoy!

Sandy Irby (aka Mom)

Dear Ginna,

I think because our trip to Peru was such a 'first' for me...my first foray into a third-world country...that I still am processing it all and am having a hard time speaking coherently about it all...I tend to ramble...too many thoughts (and, often not very well-formulated ones!!) pushing to the surface at the same time...so, in answer to your request for Peruvian thoughts for your blog, I think I'll do best to do bullet-points...right now, it's the only way I can think about it all. What I'd really like to do is just put a big DITTO on Jim's thoughtful and wonderfully eloquent epistle (below) he sent you before he left for Morocco!! So, besides what I say below, also 'what he said' !!

**My favorite day in Peru: the first one...when we got to meet your 'family' and see how accepted and loved you are by them...when you took us on a typical 'day in your life'--all those wild bus rides !!--getting to see Collique...and all the adorable children you work with...It was so heart-warming and heart-breaking all at the same time...It was amazing to see how much those kids love you, and how much you love them...to see how needy they are, in so many ways, and yet how happy they are in just as many ways...The visit to Angie's house, and then the trek up the mountain amidst the hovels that serve as houses, is one that I will never forget...Angie's mother's elegance and genuine hospitality (even if it was that danged 'Inca Cola'!!) in the midst of poverty touched me on a level deeper than I can express...All around, where I would have expected to see despair, I was touched by unimaginable vitality and celebration of life...truly inspirational!!

Me with a group of Collique kids

**My second favorite day: the second one...going to the 'office'...meeting your co-workers at the fair trade organization...getting a fuller appreciation of what your work there entails and what it means for the Peruvian artisans...I can see why you find that work so fulfilling...How wonderful to be a part of helping the local artisans use their artistic skills and talents in a fair, productive, and hopefully self-sustaining way...an opportunity that we take for granted in the western world!!

**The hardest four days of my life (even beyond childbirth (!!)...and yet, like childbirth, yielding memories that become less painful and more miraculous with each passing day!!): Hiking the Inca Trail!! Having always strived toward physical fitness, I have never been one who enjoys pushing the limit...and the Inca Trail did indeed push me beyond my limits!! It wasn't just the hike itself, but that combined with the whole camping adventure (for me, that means little, if any sleep...which, sadly, is something that I tend to need a lot of!!)...I hate to be such a sissy, but at the same time, I have never been shy about admitting that camping to me is staying in a hotel that doesn't put chocolate on my pillow!! So, yes, this was quite a stretch for me!! All that said, now I must admit what a sense of accomplishment and exhilaration there was in finally making it through and seeing 'Pikachu' (what my mom called Machu Picchu before coming here) in the mist before us!! Would I have ever done this if you hadn't wanted us to do it? No. Am I glad that I did it? You bet!! It really is wonderful to get to a point in life with your children where the tables turn and They are teaching YOU valuable lessons about life...I thank you for that!!

"Pikachu"

**The best part about the trip: SEEING YOU!! We have missed you so much!! It was sheer joy to be able to see you looking so happy, so comfortable, and so at-home in Lima...I can see that you have developed a sense of solidarity with the people and the area...It was heart-warming to see you so proud and so excited about showing us all the aspects of your life there...it was amazing to see you so adept at the language, at the bus system, and all the other cultural nuances of life 'on the streets' there...I pity the first taxi driver that you encounter once you get back to the States...he won't stand a chance if he expects you to pay anything over 8 soles!!

**The next best part of the trip: Getting to meet all your new friends...both the Peruvian ones and the YAV's...what amazing people they are!! I can why you are so attached to them!! The world is indeed a better place with Anna, 'Putapon', Baja, Alta, Joe, Debbie and Harry, and of course YOU in it!! You all are true inspirations to us all!! And, besides that, you are all just plain fun!! I do so hope that you all continue to maintain your friendships with one another once you return to whatever lives are in store for you after Peru...I have not doubt that you will...those ties are too strong not to last!!

View from my new home in Mirones Bajo

**The BEST-EST part of the trip: Seeing how strong and independent a young woman you have become!! You handled the immensely difficult and oftentimes tedious job of being tour guide and translator for us...all the while trying to enjoy time with your fellow YAV's on what was supposed to be a vacation for you all...what a difficult juggling job that must have been!! And you handled it with such grace and poise...and, we thank you for that!! All through the trip, I reveled in seeing your strong sense of moral integrity, your keen intellect, your fabulous sense of humor, and your genuine love for people shine through...from the highest mountains in the far reaches of the Inca Trail to the boardwalk in the heart of Lima to your home here in Richmond, you are a bright light in the lives of all you meet...and, it is an honor and a privilege to be your mother and to watch as you continue to grow into your potential and begin to share your amazing gifts with the world!!

Jim “The Older One” Irby (aka Dad)

Progress! Reflecting back on my two weeks in Peru, my mind keeps coming back to "progress" and how we define it. Living all but about 4 weeks of my 50+ years in a "developed county", I had formulated my definition of Progress by means of a very narrowly focused lens. Order, convenience, efficiency, manipulating the wild, advanced learning all would all be terms that I might use to define progress as I have typically understood it. And when I think of developing countries (or third world countries), my mind typically anticipates that these places "Lack Progress" or "fall behind in progress". It is easy to allow this frame of mind to set in when I keep an arm's length from setting foot in "the Third World."

Two weeks ago, I entered the Third World, (thanks to my daughter who is dedicating a year of her life to live among the Peruvians as a Peruvian) and I had the brief opportunity to experience life and progress through the Peruvian lens. It all became very obvious to me that Progress as we see it in the West cannot be applied or transplanted to developing countries. Progress has been ongoing for just as long inPeru as in the West, if not longer.

One of the paved streets in Collique

Our time exploring the ancient Incan culture along the Incan trail and visiting some of the ruins, quickly showed me that these people had a better grasp of living with the land and it's resources than most cultures that have followed. Ingenuity, working with nature's forms, sculpting the land to preserve it and not to rob it of it resources were very apparent. An ordered and systematic form of community, communications, and supporting one another as a peaceful nation was the way of life for the Incan people. Progress Incan style was productive, calm and beautiful.

Then Incan Progress met Spanish Progress and the latter forced its way on the former in the name of progress. The result was a lost Civilization and a Culture that was dismantled and rebuilt to the Spanish idea of progress. One has to wonder what the Incan empire would look like today if it was left alone to progress in the direction of it own choosing. This idea fascinates me.

Fast forward 500 years, and this land goes through several cycles of outsiders pushing their will and their idea of progress on the people of Peru. The result has its tragedies, its inequalities, and a few surprising victories. In spite of it all, its people are very strong, proud, accepting and gracious. I always felt honored to be in the presence of every Peruvian I met. The city, though very different from the urban fabric that I am accustom to, had its order, efficiencies and ingenuity disguised in well worn structures and brightly painted stucco. The Peruvian progress as I see it is a hybrid of many outsiders who have left their mark on this land and its people.

But, back to my point on progress. It has become clear to me that a culture that knows its environment, its land, and its heritage will more than likely Progress to its highest and best potential if allowed to, and not to be overcome by the will of the outsider. The outsider (even though they may have good intentions) will never be able to fully grasp the best path of progress of an indigenous people, unless he/she chooses to live within them and to become one of them. Only then can true shared progress be made, and the full potential be achieved.

I guess what I am try to say is, we as the developed world really cannot expect to transplant our way of life, our advancements, our progress on other cultures unless we are ready to invest our time and our lives in spending some time living with others to fully understand and appreciate the challenges they face.It is all about "walking that mile in the other man' shoes". In a world that grows smaller each day, I feel we need not to strive for a world that looks all the same, rather a world that embraces, respects and enjoys its differences.

Walking through the Sacred Valley of the Incas

My highest admiration goes out to the Yavs and the other that I met in Peru (Debbie, Harry, Rusty, Wendy and many others) who are doing just this. Hopefully, many more will follow, and through this, we can all progress together in our own individual and best way.

Jim “The Younger One” Irby (aka Brother Jim)

When I was in Peru, one of the kids that Ginna took care of in her church’s after school program asked me (knowing that I’d been to Tanzania) how I felt about Africa. I hesitated. How could I explain my ambivalence—my anger at the gross inequalities of a financial lottery that I had won by being born, but through which, by no fault of their own, the people I met had been relegated to extreme poverty; my bitterness at the stagnation of global policy, at the international lip service paid to helping the poor, but the general unwillingness to enact the policies necessary to improve global living conditions and provide for the general human welfare rather than the general national welfare; my love for the people I met; my (perhaps romanticized) view of their freedom from rampant consumerism; and my desire to meet them on a purely human level, to transcend the bounds of skin pigmentation and wealth and background, but my fear that these differences would always stand in the way? How could I explain this to a 13-year-old, especially one who was in a situation not so different than the children I met in Tanzania, and towards whom I felt this same ambivalence? Playing off my inability to answer the question as a result of my rusty Spanish skills, Ginna, thankfully, fielded the question for me.

But now, two weeks later, my sister refuses to let me off the hook. How do you feel about Peru? she asks. And the answer is no simpler. On one hand I loved Peru. Truly, I expected it to be great to see my sister after so long and to finally experience what she had been living for the past 9 months, but I did not expect to love Lima as much as I did. A huge, sprawling city, home to around 9 million, I felt an odd sense of security walking along the crowded city streets, standing in the aisles of the overcrowded buses, or making my way down the winding mountain roads in one of Lima’s poorest barrios. I liked the fact that as long as we were in Lima, we were very rarely ‘inside’—sure we went through doors sometimes, and there were often roofs above our heads, but almost always, buildings were open to the outside air, a property I found freeing in contrast to the enclosed boxes in which we spend most of our time on the northern half of the Americas. There was a sense of warmth and hospitality almost incomprehensible to my northern mind when the mother of Angie, one of Ginna’s poorest kids, invited us to climb down the ladder into her home (quite literally a two-room metal carton), where she was not concerned with impressing us, but only with making us feel at home. Despite not knowing us, despite the language barrier, despite receiving no benefit from our (with the exception of Ginna’s) presence in Peru, she went out of her way to take us in and give us something to drink (which she had to run down the street to buy).

The hill where Angie and most of my kids live

And of course there was the Inca trail. Imagine the most beautiful southwestern American landscape you’ve seen (I think of New Mexico), make the mountains twice as big and three times as steep, throw in an occasional rainforest and some Inca ruins, and let the mountains extend for miles beyond as far as the eye can see. Truly, it was breathtaking…

And if my feelings stopped there, my view of Peru would be simple. But beneath the beauty, the extreme and widespread poverty remains. Before I ever set foot in the low income parts of a low income country, I thought our goal as wealthy Americans should be to ‘fix’ the poor countries: we had the resources, the education, the ‘enlightened’ ideals, the business models that had generated success within our borders…if only we could get the rest of the world to see eye to eye with us… But as I spend more and more time in areas of poverty, I realize that the people I meet are far from broken, and while many aspects of life are indisputably better in the United States, a wholesale exportation of Americanized life is not the solution. To my knowledge no perfect system yet exists, and until one does, the solution will always require a creative mix of that which has existed in the past and that which we are newly bringing into existence. Taking the current system as it is, what then should be changed?

There was something wrong that led to the years of violence between Fujimori’s soldiers and the militias of the Shining Path; there’s something wrong when an American-owned mining company creates one of the world’s most polluted cities in La Oroya, and the Peruvian government is complicit because it needs the mines as a source of taxable income; there’s something wrong when people have to choose between theft and starvation, between thirst and drinking water that could make them sick, when health facilities are described as places where people go to die. The list goes on. And it’s easy to point fingers: at the exploitive nature of the global monetary economy, where I can only become richer if someone else becomes poorer, and the foundations of one country’s wealth are often the foundations of another country’s poverty; at the terrorist tactics of leftists, rightists, governments, and opportunists; at the poor themselves (it’s comforting to believe that people somehow deserve the conditions they were born into). It’s easy to get angry.

I’ve always been discomforted by the belief that charity starts at home. The most extreme poverty is pretty far away from us—in Africa, Asia, Latin America—and it is in these places that our dollar goes the furthest. But as I spend more time in these places, I realize that the people who say this may be on to something—only I’m realizing charity starts closer to home than I think they had originally meant. Charity starts in our ability to understand, and our understanding can only reach as far as we are willing to question. Travelling to the least developed countries always leaves me with more questions than answers: Why does Angie live in a box? Why don’t I? Why is there so much trash in the streets? Where does all our trash go? Why does America restrict imports on harmless goods? Why does Peru support industries that poison its people? Why is no one willing to clean it up? How many lead-poisoned children does it take to make a bar of gold? Is it worth it? Why did the leftist groups resort to violence? Why did Fujimori resort to violence? Why did the United States take sides? What policies and practices stand in the way of improved well being? Why haven’t they been changed? How am I complicit?

Climbing "Angie's hill" with the carton houses and one of my kids running up to meet us

I hate asking these questions because I hate guilt. I think to the extent that what’s done is done, it’s counterproductive to focus on blame and rekindling old grudges. But we can’t address problems until we understand them, and thus these questions must be asked. For now, and probably forever, I’m still working on the answers.

So how do I feel about Peru? I loved experiencing a way of life and a culture different from my habitual existence. I loved seeing human compassion that reached across wealth and race. I loved witnessing the work that is being done by religious and secular organizations to bridge the gap between the flawed world we live in and their idea of perfection. I’m unsettled that their goal seems so far away. I’m hopeful that in our efforts to connect through the good and to understand the flaws in both ourselves and in each other this goal may be closer than it appears.

Jim and me at Machu Picchu

Buy Buy Buy Buy, Sell Sell Sell Sell

Comercio Justo. Fair Trade. It has potentially been my saving grace in Peru.

That is not to say, of course, that I haven’t had many saving graces in Peru. There are undoubtedly too many to count, and most of them have faces and stories (with the exception of the saving grace of finding The Office on DVD – believe me, it’s a lifesaver!). But today I want to talk about my work with Bridge of Hope, the fair trade program of the Red Uniendo Manos.

I started my work with fair trade in January, when I was looking for a break in my home and work life from the more theologically conservative Peruvian church. I began to spend one day a week day working in our small store in Miraflores and helping with odds and ends around the office. However small my work was, it was really rewarding because it was serving a cause I really believed in and giving me experience working directly with an NGO, which I’ve never done before. In March, when Debbie and I decided to make a few changes with my placement, I added another day to my fair trade schedule, officially making it one of my two part-time placements. And from there, things have gone uphill in a truly exponential way.

Let me first explain a little bit about what fair trade is and what it means in my current context in Peru. Fair trade is surprisingly hard to define, but as I have come to understand it, it is a movement in both consuming countries (Northern Hemisphere) and producing countries (Southern Hemisphere) that aims to assure that producers receive not only a fair price for their work but also are able to live and work in a dignified manner. Fair trade aims to achieve social and environmental justice, both on the side of the producer and of the consumer. It’s about challenging our current efficiency-based and more often than not exploitative market system and creating a space in which the value of the products comes second to the value of the lives of the human beings behind them.

Before coming to Peru, I had always thought of Fair trade in regards to coffee, chocolate, and sometimes clothing. With the exception of the latter, these objects have nothing to do with my work this year in fair trade. While the Fair trade coffee and chocolate markets are wonderful, important, and have recently become very popular, “the cool thing to do,” in the US, I am working this year with the Fair trade market of artisan handcrafts. Artisan products are all over the place in Peru – this is a country of brightly-colored fabrics, exotic-looking patterns, and hats, scarves, and gloves made from delightfully soft alpaca wool. And in the midst of the thousands upon thousands of artisan groups, my program, Bridge of Hope, works with 14 artisan groups from Lima, Huancayo, Huancavelica, and La Oroya. We strive to help them develop products not only for the souvenir market but also for the competitive export market to the US and Europe while still preserving the integrity of their handmade products. We facilitate the formation of groups and exportation of their products to Northern countries and search for ways to help meet their needs both in and out of work. It’s a beautiful, sacred process to be a part of.

And what is my role in this whole operation? Some days it’s more glamorous than others. Sometimes I translate documents and communication between our Spanish-speaking staff and our English-speaking clients. Sometimes I help sell products at fairs. Sometimes I brainstorm with artisan groups about ideas for new products that would find their place in the international market. Sometimes I clean and reorganize the store. Sometimes I put price tags on hundreds of hats, socks, and stuffed llamas when a big order comes in. Sometimes I sit in meetings. Sometimes I march in parades. During the month of April, I had the incredible opportunity to serve as a translator for a seamstress and designer from the US who came to work with three different artisan groups on new techniques. It’s a job that feeds me and gives me a real sense of purpose for why I am here in Peru.

Visiting groups and meeting with artisans as they come into the office, I’ve begun to hear stories that show me what it means for fair trade to be about dignity in the lives of the artisans. Yes, as a fair trade organization, we help our artisans set prices that are based on the cost of their materials and the amount of hours spent working, a fair price, in contrast to simply trying to beat out the competition by offering the lowest prices. (Just for the record, the prices still remain incredibly reasonable. A winter beanie or skiing hat costs between $5 and $10.) But this technically “professional” relationship does so much more. A lady from one group told us the story of how Bridge of Hope helped her buy herself a home, where the 5 women in the group have now set up their workshop. Another lady shared how she had met a member of the Bridge of Hope team through a Compassion International program in which her daughter participated. Knowing that she desperately needed work, the member of the Bridge of Hope team helped her assemble a group, purchase the necessary equipment, and found a friend who could teach these women how to sew, something they’d never done before but that would soon become their profession. When the rains this year flooded Huancavelica and several of our artisans lost their homes and possessions to uncontrollable mudslides, other artisan groups in Lima organized a clothing drive so that these women and their families would have something to wear and keep them warm as the rain and cold continued.

Bridge of Hope is so much more than just a business, a marketing program, an operation based on competition and sales. It gives me hope and reminds me that commerce does not have to be an exploitative and dehumanizing process. We can buy and sell and participate in the international market with love and respect for the real people behind the products we consume. It’s not always easy and it’s not always cheap, but it is, I think, the only not to mistakenly give to Caesar what belongs to God.

To find out more about our artisan groups and products, visit www.fairtradeperu.com. However, know that this website is old and has a great update coming very soon. I will notify you all when the site is updated!

Wake Up, Dead Man

I spent Holy Week on a retreat with Debbie and the YAVs in Huanta and Ayacucho. Alissa works and lives at a radio station there. It was an incredible cultural experience on many levels, but there’s one bit in particular that I want to share with you.

In past blogs, I’m sure I’ve alluded to the “Years of Violence” in Peru, from 1980 to 2000. It is, sadly enough, a pretty typical Latin American story. The Sendero Luminoso (“Shining Path”), a violent leftist group started by a professor at University in Ayacucho, began an insurgency fighting for a new leftist government that would end the extreme poverty that ravished the country and bring about financial equality. Good intentions, I think so, but they really just became a violent terrorist group. The military retaliated with violence and also carried out an inquisition, if you will, in search of leftist sympathizers that makes the McCarthy years in the US look laughable. Once again, I want to hope that good intentions were there at the start, but in the end the military killed more civilians than did the Sendero terrorist group. People today are still waiting to find out what happened to their loved ones as their bodies are uncovered in mass graves from when entire villages were killed because of rumors of terrorist connections.

The violence was felt in all corners of Peru – my host family has told me stories of walking over dead bodies in the streets of Lima – but the province of Ayacucho undoubtedly suffered the most. Alissa has told us that literally everyone in her community knew someone who was killed either by the Sendero or the military. These people have experienced violence, pain, and deaths in a way that I cannot even imagine.

Our first day in Huanta, Alissa’s family took us up to the “Mirador” (“look-out-point” from which you can see the entire city…these seem to be pretty popular in the mountain cities of Peru) where we, along with a HUGE white Jesus statue (think Jesus from the movie Saved times 10!) watched the town of Huanta in the valley below, a beautifully peaceful landscape. Gazing at the beauty before us, it was hard to imagine this area torn apart by violence only 10 or 15 years before.

On the way down from the Mirador, we stopped at a quaint, but fairly non-descript church on the side of the road. Alissa’s host-dad told us that during the Violence, a service at this church was interrupted by army officials bearing orders to detain and interrogate six young men. While the “terrorist suspects” were escorted out, the rest of the congregation refused to acknowledge the army’s presence and continued singing their hymns in an act of protest. After the service, the bodies of these young men were found not far from the church itself. It was evident that they had been brutally tortured before they were murdered.

This is just one story of many. One tragedy suffered by one community. But similar stories abound all over Peru. Last weekend I visited fellow YAV Anna in Huancayo, another “red zone” during the years of violence. In a conversation comparing the general behavior of people in Huancayo versus in my home of Lima, Anna commented that people in Huancayo tended to be more socially reserved and hesitant, more independent and inclined to fend for themselves. She attributed these behaviors to the effects of the Violence, when no one knew whom to trust and survival often entailed looking out for oneself and one’s family only. I forget too easily, I think, the immense impact that the Years of Violence still has on the lives and actions of my friends in Peru.

A few days later, we found ourselves in Ayacucho watching and waiting for the famous Good Friday procession over the alfombras, carpets made of colored sawdust and natural materials created solely to be trampled on in the holy procession, over which residents had slaved all day. We ate homemade ice cream, we browsed artisan markets, and we waited for the ceremony to begin. A fun day in a beautiful city.

But as the procession began and I watched the statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, accompanied by hundreds upon hundreds of devotees, walk solemnly around the Central Plaza, I was struck by the juxtaposition of Holy Week and the deaths of so many innocent campesinos at the hands of terrorists and government authorities. Because if we strip away all of the fancy theological trappings in which we have dressed him, who is Jesus but a political revolutionary killed by the Roman government? Martyred for his social ideals of justice, love, and equality that by their very nature threatened the concept of empire. Jesus, the one that we as Christians call Lord and Savior, the one in whose honor this procession was taking place, was just like those young men tortured and killed on the hill by the church. And in turn, those men, and the countless other men and women who suffered at the hands of the government without cause are just like Jesus. To blatantly steal imagery from the liberation theologians (I’m allowed to do that, I dedicated last year to researching and writing a thesis on the current state and theological validity of liberation theology), in the suffering, the deaths, the hunger, the poverty, the exploitation, the unjust detainment of each of these men and women, Christ was crucified again and again. And it continues today, in the Peru, in the US, in every part of the world. People are killed and exploited, poverty and dependence are the ever-enforced norm, and in each of these moments, Christ is crucified de nuevo.

My Peruvian friends understand Good Friday in a way that I may never be able to. But I leave you (and myself) with this question: Have they seen resurrection? Have we seen resurrection? What does resurrection in this situation look like? Is it the recovery of the remains of loved ones “disappeared,” a final answer to the question that have been lingering for so many years? Is it the conviction and imprisonment of Fujimori for the human rights abuses he committed? Is in the restoration of, at least relatively speaking, “peace?” Renewed relationships? Or is it, perhaps, an end to the social situation that fostered the violence in the first place? Liberation from poverty? An end to the imperialist policies of nations like our own that keep countries like Peru in an interminable state of dependence? Have we seen and taken part in this resurrection, or are we still crouched outside the tomb, waiting? Is it possible that this time, we’re going to have to work together to roll away the stone?

Just An Ordinary Day (And It´s All Your State of Mind)

So I’ve written about highs and lows, anecdotes and full-blown stories, the theological and the political, vacations and retreats, but I realized recently I’ve never just given you all an idea of what I do on a normal day. Now granted, I have a lot of different versions of “normal days” seeing as I’m currently working in three different places, but I’ll do my best to describe “just an ordinary day” link (last Thursday, actually) working in the Compassion Program at the IEP Collique.

My alarm goes off at 7:00 AM. I snooze it, wrestle with it, and eventually manage to turn it off – consequently I oversleep until 8:00. My roommate and next-door-neighbors from last year (Hi Bizz, Sarah, and Abby!), who probably still have nightmares about my alarm going off every 5 minutes in college, may note that there are some things about me that just never change.

I reluctantly get out of bed and try to motivate myself to do some sort of devotional. I’ve tried several different strategies for personal devotionals since I arrived in Peru and have had a hard time finding one that clicks. I’ve tried reading through the Book of Acts (felt irrelevant to what I’m doing here), daily journaling (kept falling asleep), selecting random passages from Scripture (felt aimless and unfocused), an Advent journaling devotional from the PCUSA(was awesome, but ran out at the end of Advent), reading from a book of John Bell sermons (excellent devotional material, but book only lasted me 12 days), following devotional tracks in The Green Bible that Andy gave me for Christmas (wonderful material that I will definitely use for devotionals in the future, but didn’t provide the personal comfort and encouragement I’ve been needing recently), etc. My most recent attempt is re-reading Henri Nouwen’s link travel journal from his time in Peru and Bolivia, Gracias, and reflecting on what he has to say in light of my experience in living here nearly 7 months. It seems to be working pretty well…relevant, lots of material…I’ve got a good feeling about this one!

I make my way to the bathroom for my bi-weekly shower before work. As the heat of summer set in, I abandoned my old bucket shower using boiled water and now just take a straight-up cold shower. I still haven’t gotten used to it, but it’s much quicker and helps me face the heat of the day.

I make myself a quick breakfast - a roll of bread that is standard breakfast food here, sometimes with some cheese or jam. Eduardo has already left for work, but Flor hears me awake and comes out to talk with me for a few minutes over breakfast before going back to take care of Fabián. I brush my teeth, gather my things, and head out the door to work.

To get to work I first catch a colectivo, a taxi that goes to a specific location and fills up with as many people as possible, who only have to each pay part of the fare. I get out, cross the street and take a little blue combi, a variation on the Volkswagen-hippie-van that my brother wants to drive one day, the rest of the way to the church where I am greeted by shouts of “Hermana Ginna” (Sister Ginna), the title used for pretty much everyone within the churches here. It originally made me feel like I was either a nun or part of some cult, but I’ve gotten used to it by this point. It also makes life TREMENDOUSLY easier when you can’t remember someone’s name…you can just greet them as Hermana (sister) or Hermano (brother). I can’t tell you how many times that has rescued me in an awkward church situation!

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I alternate between all different ages and levels, but on Thursdays like today only the youngest level, the 3-to-6-year-olds, come in for the whole day, so I’m always with them. This makes Thursday the most cuteness-filled and also the most exhausting day of work. There are about 10 to 15 kids in the morning and then a different group of about the same number in the afternoon!

Walking into the room of kids is always one of my favorite parts. They all stop what they’re doing, yell “Hermana Ginna!” and run as fast as they can to hug and kiss me. I honestly don’t know what I’ve done to warrant that kind of love…is it just because I look different? Talk funny? Am only with them on certain days? I don’t deserve their affection nearly as much as the other teachers there who run the classes and work so much harder than I do. But it’s love, and I’ll gladly receive it, especially in a culture where hugs are rare and showing emotion can be taboo. There’s something incredibly beautiful and refreshing about kids this age.

They start the day playing among themselves, and then eventually the teacher rounds them up for some singing (I feebly try to help with this part), a little bit of Jesus-talk (considering the great differences between my theology and that of the teacher, I try to keep quiet for the most part in this, not wanting to confuse the kids by arguing theology and ethics with the other teacher. It’s hard…as most of you know, I’m not very good at keeping quiet!) and some sort of education time – today it’s reviewing different symptoms of different sicknesses, how to take care of ourselves, and when we should ask our parents to take us to the doctor. I can always get excited about some good public health education. And the pictures they use to demonstrate the sicknesses are straight up hilarious!

Diarrhea. In case you couldn´t figure that out...

After this we join hands and walk to the park several blocks away. It’s a pretty humble park – a slide, some monkey-bars, and a set of seesaws, only one of which actually works the way it was intended – but the kids love it! Today I’ve got monkey-bar-duty: I hold the kids up as one by one they make their way across the monkey bars…I can only hope it’s a good arm workout!

When we get back from the park, it’s time for lunch, so we get the kids seated, say a prayer, and I start passing out the food while the other teacher leads them in a resounding chorus of a song called “Los Alimentos”, basically explaining how we eat. It’s become out of my favorites.

The kids eat (and so do we, between some combination of refilling cups, cleaning up spilled drinks, feeding the kids when they’re being picky eaters, and dolling out toothpaste when they’re done) A flurry of cheek kisses and they’re gone, leaving us with a little peace and quiet and time to clean everything up before the afternoon group arrives.

Often the afternoon group has the same activities as the morning group, but not today. After a LONG lunch (these kids don’t want to eat today…I think I end up having to feed at least 5 of them their lunches. However, it is canned tuna…so can I really blame them?), the kids play among themselves for a bit and the teacher informs me she’s leaving to go talk with one of the parents but will be back in a few minutes. This sentence always puts a little dread in my heart as 1.) It’s hard to control 15 kids period, especially when I’m operating in my second language and 2.) “A few minutes” or “A little bit” in Peru usually means anywhere from half an hour to an hour.

So we carry on for awhile, until Pierro, who I love and adore but has some anger issues, gets upset about something and starts throwing chairs around the room (honestly, this is really a weekly occurrence with him). I finally get to him and wrestle him into a chair (one of the ones he was throwing, ironically enough) and tell him that we’re just going to sit there for 5 minutes until he calms down and has had some time to think about what he’s doing. Time out is not used her as a punishment, but the kids have learned to expect it from me…it’s really one of the only ways I know how to discipline these kids. I am not comfortable administering physical punishment, they don’t take me very seriously when I talk to them because I will inevitably make some language mistake that discredits me in their mind (at this age they don’t really understand the concept that I speak another language and had to learn Spanish, they just think I’m stupid), so time out it is. Pierro’s pretty resistant today, continues trying to struggle out of the chair, and eventually bites me, but gives up on that when I don’t react. My pain tolerance has definitely increased since coming here. While I’m still trying to sit with Pierro, the other teacher comes back, I explain what’s going on, and she takes him over to talk with her. After literally one minute, he comes over in tears and apologizes. She’s got a magic touch with those kids that I can only admire and try to learn from.

Pierro, pretending to be a lion, about an hour before he bit me. I should have seen it coming...

A little later, we turn on some music and a few of the girls who were in a “choreography” (can’t use the word “dancing”) workshop over the summer do their dances to the music. They’re super cute, and honestly at the age of 5 are better dancers than I will ever be. We dance until they finally get tired, when the teacher rounds them up and sends them over to the tables to finish the day with a craft.

To my surprise, even though the class is both boys and girls, we’re making bracelets. But the boys don’t seem at all phased by this – they’ve got soccer balls and Indian beads for their bracelets, so all is well. Much to my relief, no chairs are thrown this time.

The kids finish their bracelets, their parents come to pick them up, and after another round of clean-up, the teacher and I are free to go. I take the combi most of the way home, but stop at an internet café to check emails (mostly copy and paste them to my USB drive so I can read them when I get home!) and, inevitably, g-chat with the other YAVs. As much as we laugh about it, it really is good for us to be able to be there to support one another and share crazy stories of the day (today I am super excited to share the story of getting bitten!).

The afternoon girls doing their dance

I leave the cabina and walk about 20 blocks or so to my house. I always love this walk – it gives me some time to clear my head, get some exercise, people watch, etc. When I get home, Flor and Fabián are there, but Eduardo still hasn’t made it back from work (his new job with the Presbytery has him working pretty far way), so I greet them and then head to my room to actually read those emails I picked up at the internet café and relax by myself for a little bit. Later, when Eduardo gets home, Flor calls us in to dinner where we chat some and watch “Al Fondo Hay Sitio”, the hit Peruvian prime-time soap opera (and INCREDIBLY popular song of the same name), on the small kitchen TV.

After dinner I wash the dishes (this has become my dinner chore since we all know me cooking is a bad idea…), kick the soccer ball around in the living room with Fabián for a little bit (not sure that’s really a good idea either), and we head to our separate rooms. I listen to music, read, do more emails, and sometimes watch a movie before falling into an exhausted sleep, often still dressed and with the light on.

I’m startled out of my sleep by the alarm going off at 7 AM. I immediately reach to snooze it, and we start all over again!

Wanderin´ Around

Finally, my friends, after much waiting, catching up on old blogs, and a lovely bout with the Giardia bacteria, I’m excited to bring you some stories and pictures from my December/January vacation! I, along with the other YAVs (in shifts…oh and also Anna’s mom!) gave ourselves a little “coastal tour of Peru,” if you will, that included visits to Arequipa, Paracas, Lima, Trujillo, Huanchaco, and Huaraz. The trip was a wonderful break from my regular routine and a great chance to get to know more of Peru (before our vacation, I had only been in Lima, where I live, and in Huánuco for a long-weekend retreat…remember climbing the waterfalls?). I was very excited to get out of town! There’s no way I’ll be able to describe all of our adventures or post all of my photos (though I am going to try to post at least some of them to facebook…I’ll make sure I make a link on a blog so that you guys can see them even if you aren’t on facebook!), so I’d like to give you a quick look at each place we visited: the good, the bad, and the absurd.

Arequipa

Plaza de Armas in Trujillo

The Good: Arequipa is a beautiful mountain city in the South of Peru. It’s the second most populated after Lima, but is considerably cleaner and has a nice little coast-meets-mountains charm about it. It’s also situated around some beautiful dormant (we hope…) volcanoes and has beautiful hiking nearby. We had the opportunity to go to the very old and famous Monastery de Santa Catalina that’s a full city block full of historical relics and vivid colors! We also went to the museum where they keep “Juanita” the Ice Princess, the frozen mummy of a girl sacrificed in the mountains near Arequipa!

The Bad: Because we only had two days to stay, we didn’t get to hike into the famous and beautiful Colca Canyon. Looking at pictures from Joe and Alissa, who did, we really missed out on some pretty incredible views!

The Absurd: We couldn’t find typical Arequipeña food! Here we were smack dab in the center of a big city famous for its unique spicy cuisine, and all we could find was fried calamari! Oh well, I guess I’ll have to save my cravings for ocopa or ricotta rellena for the occasional special days at the corner restaurants in Lima!

Paracas

The Good: A beautiful beach town a few hours south of Lima in the region called Ica, where you can also find the famous Nazca lines. Very close to Pisco, a town where the famous Peruvian liquor of the same name originated, best known for its use in the Pisco sour (think a small, strong margarita made with whisky instead of tequila and with a touch of cinnamon!). Paracas itself is famous for the Ballestas Islands that you can tour early in the morning and see all sorts of beautiful wildlife, including beautiful tropical birds (according to Brian I should be looking out for “incredible birding” down here), manatees (which I ate for breakfast the other day without knowing it! I feel like a terrible person!) and of course, Andy’s favorite, SEALS!

The Bad: Well, we never actually made it to Paracas. We had everything lined up and reserved, but when we got to the bus station in Arequipa, the lady at the desk calmly informed us that the bus had never shown up in Arequipa and therefore would not be leaving for Paracas. We’d have to wait til the next night (not really much of an option, since we only had one day scheduled in Paracas!), so after some serious spur of the moment rebooking, we were refunded our money (with a fake S./200 bill…good thing yours truly has become an expert at spotting the fakes!) and got on another bus line taking us directly to Lima, our mid-trip destination. Bummer! I guess the seals will have to wait!

The Absurd: News abounds about the terrifying, fatal Peruvian bus crashes, and while in Arequipa, our site coordinator Debbie sent us an article about some particularly bad crashes that had just occurred with a not-so-subtle reminder to only take the best and most secure bus lines, since these crashes happen more often on the cheaper bus lines. But of course, in line with the absurdity of our vacation, while on the nicest, fancy-schmanciest, gringo-flooded Cruz del Sur bus line, we experienced our first (and hopefully last!) Peruvian bus crash! Well, Anna and Sarah Alta did, at least. Baja and I slept through the whole thing! It was pretty minor and only held us up for about an hour or so, but Baja and I were pretty bummed to wake up the next morning and find out we’d missed the adventure!

Lima

Parque de Amor in Miraflores

The Good: Delicious food, an exciting night-life, and lots of restaurants that give you a free pisco sour with your meal! We spent New Years’ (and the day before, since we didn’t end up in Paracas!) in Lima so that we could switch off Baja, who’d been travelling with us for the first half of the trip, for Alissa, who would join us for the second half. We stayed in a really fun (maybe a little too fun…) hostal in Miraflores within walking distance from the beach, the Parque de Amor (a free park by the water of beautiful mosaics intertwined with quotes about love), the “Central Park” area of Miraflores, and an incredible, fair-trade organic coffee shop with the only Chai Latte I’ve found in Peru!

The Bad: While we were in a different part of Lima (Miraflores…about a two hour bus-ride from Carabayllo, where I live) from my usual neck of the woods, it was still a bit of a bummer to spend more of our vacation time than intended in Lima, my home turf. We certainly had a good time, but nothing was new and exciting, it was all stuff that I, at least, had seen and done before.

The Absurd: On the way to the airport to meet her parents, Baja and I had a super-talkative taxi driver (always the most fun!) who was very interested in our lives, what we were doing in Peru, and what kind of men appealed to Baja, particularly if she had a thing for midgets (important note…this man was not a midget! He just legitimately wanted to know if Baja was into them). In the end, he told her that she was going to end up marrying a midget but losing him on her honeymoon because he’d be so small she wouldn’t be able to find him. I’m telling you, absurd.

Trujillo

Ruins from Huaca de la Luna

The Good: Famous Northern coastal city with lots and lots of ancient Incan and pre-Incan ruins. Of all the ones we visited, my favorite was certainly Huaca de La Luna, which means Temple of the Moon, a lesser-known temple than the more famous Chan-Chan, that in some places has up to 7 or 8 layers of excavation exposed! It was pretty amazing to see different layers/different epochs of old murals displayed right next to each other...really gave me a sense of the complexity of the history of this country!

The Bad: Trujillo is actually not that interesting of a city. A Peruvian friend advised us that it would be much better if we spent one night there instead of our intended two and spent the extra night in Huanchaco, a beach town about 15 minutes from Trujillo. Trusting our vast knowledge of Peruvian tourism and guidebooks over native advice, we spent two nights in Trujillo and did end up regretting that use of our time. The ruins were fabulous, but could have been done in one day. Lesson: Always trust the locals!

The Absurd: Trujillo is where I began to show the symptoms of what, I would find out a month later, was Giardiasis. In the mist of this, we came home from touring one day and I found myself wanting nothing more than a serious butt massage. When I said this outloud (not sure I really intended to), Anna’s mom immediately offered, and minutes later, I found myself receiving a butt massage from my friend’s mom that I had met, under rather strange circumstances, less than a week ago. Oh geez.

Huanchaco

Sunset in Huanchaco

The Good: Absolutely gorgeous beach town with a really fun hostal! We ended up staying two nights after all (and just cutting one night from our Huaraz stay) and enjoyed the relaxing pace of sleeping in the morning, heading to the beach for the afternoon, eating a delicious dinner (especially at an amazing vegetarian restaurant with $3 piña coladas and a wonderful view of the sunset over the water (that’s right kids, we’re at the Pacific ocean where the sun SETS over the water! Crazy!), and staying up late at night playing cards on the hostal porch. Great seafood and just a relaxing visit.

The Bad: The second morning, while everyone else was still in bed, Anna and I decided to be brave, get ourselves out of bed before 10 AM, and go read and talk on the beach. Which we did, and it was wonderful. And we even put on copious amounts of sunscreen. Or so we thought…that afternoon with both found ourselves painfully sunburned, me in a strange pattern on my legs where I must have missed several pretty large spots. That sunburn didn’t even begin to fade for about a week! Bring on the aloe!!

Just a little glimpse of my sunburn...

The Absurd: Our hostal had a turtle for a pet just chillin’ in the main lobby area, along with tables and hammocks. Best hostal mascot EVER!

Huaraz

My first glacier!

The Good: I saw my first (and hopefully not last, but you just never know at the rate we´re going…) glacier! It really was an amazing sight! You know if you’d asked me before I came here if there were glaciers in Peru, I’m not sure how I would have answered. But it turns out yes, there are in fact glaciers in Peru, and I had the privilege to “hike”/walk around the glacial silt and lake of one. It really was a wonder of nature….and HUGE! We walked in for over an hour, hoping to have the opportunity to touch some of the actual glacial ice, but no matter how much we walked, the glacier itself seemed just as far away! We did get some great pictures, though, and the opportunity to dip our toes in the ice-cold (literally!) glacial lake.

The Bad: Altitude sickness: apparently it’s a real thing. Huaraz in the Andes at an altitude of 10,000 ft, and the point where we went to start our glacial walk was considerably higher than the city itself. Anna and Alissa live in Huancayo and Huanta, respectively, both mountain towns of high elevation in the Andes. Alta had sent the last 4 months living in Huancavelica, another mountain town high enough that, I believe, you can actually just walk onto the moon. And then of course there was me, who has lived in the swamp that is William & Mary and am now living in Lima, a costal desert, whose altitude is más o menos the same height as Baja’s future midget husband. I found myself very easily tired/out of breath, dizzy, and basically just feeling like I was constantly drunk. This was particularly hard on our walk, as I felt bad for being so weak and slow and didn’t want to hold anyone up. However, every time I mentioned that I felt bad for being the “weakest link,” Anna reminded me that 1.) It was really ok, they were acclimated to the altitude from their living situations and I simply wasn’t, and 2.) I needed to suck it up and let them know when I was getting lightheaded so I could sit down our I was going to pass out, fall down one of the ledges we were walking along, die, and then be, excuse the terrible pun, but “dead weight” to carry back instead of just the “weakest link.” I found this argument rather convincing.

The Absurd: We left Huaraz on an overnight bus ride back to Lima, our fifth one in the course of two weeks. Speaking as someone who’s never been very good at sleeping in moving vehicles, those bus rides will take their toll on you! Fortunately, I’d had some success in the past popping a Dramamine pill (thank you Alissa!) that, even though I don’t get motion sickness, does a pretty good job of helping me get at least a few hours of sleep. However, the night of this bus ride, I found out that you can actually take two Dramamine pills at a time, and I figured hey, it’ll just make it an even better sleep! I could not have been more wrong. I became a crazy, half-asleep zombie of sorts. Well, a cuddly zombie. Anna, who had the great misfortune of sitting next to me during this bus ride, swears that at some point in the night I confused her for Andy link and kept cuddling up to her and just throwing myself across her seat. While the possibility that I had Andy on the brain is certainly very high, I’m sure my high school and college friends can attest to the fact that, especially when I’m already at least somewhat asleep, I can be rather indiscriminate in my cuddling attacks and am pretty horrible at sleeping in a small, confined space.

But that’s only the beginning. Along with becoming the cuddling zombie, I began to do absolutely absurd things in my sleep. Sleep talking is pretty normal, but when I started to sleep direct an orchestra, with my arms flailing everywhere, Anna became a bit more concerned. Then at some point I ended up leaning forward in my sleep and, every time the bus moved, banging my head rather hard into the food tray on the back of the seat in front of me. I’m sure whoever was sitting there was thrilled. I’d say, though, that it all culminated when I woke up with Anna staring at me, very concerned, and my seatbelt in my mouth (apparently I was hungry?).

So two lessons were learned from that trip. 1.) I will never take more than 1 Dramamine pill at a time, and 2.) Anna will never, as long as she lives, sit next to me on a bus again.

So there you have it – my Christmas vacation! These stories here can’t even begin to describe all of our adventures, but let’s just say it was pretty hard to get back into settle back into my daily routine in Carabayllo after such a great little “Tour de Peru”, if you will.

Now there is, I’m sure, at least one of you, who is very concerned that I did not go see Cuzco and Machu Picchu during this vacation, especially since the news has probably reached you about the mudslides that have wreaked so much havoc on the area. Rest assured, the other YAVs (minus Sarah Alta…sad!) and I will be going in May to hike the Inca Trail as part of our May vacation. And the most exciting part of this: my parents and brother Jim are coming! (We will greatly miss brother Jack, but it’s his final Freeman Jazz Band Concert and, as the only bari sax, he really couldn’t miss it.) So don’t worry, I will not spend a year in Peru without seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the World. But for now, I’m off to work and will soon head to a beach retreat in Máncora, a city in the north of Peru. When I get back, expect news on that, my new job working with Fair Trade link, some thought-provoking conversations, and a whole lot of bugs. So for now, my friends, chau, cuíadensen mucho!