On the first day of training, Kathy (part of the wonderful training staff) compared their ten weeks in training to going to the beach. Her logic was that things are easier on the beach, you can prepare and train before you have to get in the water (their future posts). One week in, Becca did feel like she was at the beach...well that she was swimming...ok, drowning. At the beginning of week two, Becca was slowly suffocating on a constant stream of health information, Peru information, informaccion de Espanol, safety and security tactics, medical policies, and every time she turned around she was getting a vaccine for something.
“Today you get typhoid, tomorrow rabies,” the doctors told her and she laughed an exhausted, hysterical laugh.
“¡Si Se Puede! Poco a poco,” her Spanish teacher repeated as Becca filled page after pages of her vocabulary flip-book.
Enrique warned them harshly about the advances young men would no doubt make and what implications their behavior could have. “We don’t have 1st, 2nd, 3rd base here...we play futbol, it’s goal or no goal,” he warned.
The cars honked and the dogs barked and everyone talked far too quickly. Peru was absolutely and entirely...wonderful.
Living in Peru was kind of like falling in love with some one so awesome that they scare the crap out of you. Sometimes literally...as it turned out much of Peace Corps medical training was poop-related. The volunteers were promised that they would poop their pants at least once before leaving. They were told a story of a guy who woke up one morning, did some stretches, bent over and....well. Aw, Peruvian food.
“Don’t trust your farts,” was the advice from Jorge, a highly esteemed medical professional. “You’ll think ‘oh, I’m ok,” and then you’ll need to change your clothes...”
Mixed into the stresses of digestive anxiety, language immersion, and huge communication barriers with her host family, was a wonderful dose of perfection. Even with the world seemingly held together by threads, this was where Becca needed to be.
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