Oh no, Chancho!

        

    Something was making the worse noise Becca had possibly ever heard, something loud. Something was screaming in horrible bursts of terror.

            These were Becca’s first thoughts as she awoke on that Friday morning. As she swam into consciousness she recognized the sound; one of the pigs was pissed. Wait, no, not pissed, scared. She checked her watch, 6:03 am, too early for scared pigs. She rolled over and tried to ignore the sound but the pig just got louder and louder until Becca was certain it was actually inside her room.

            And then the sounds swiftly changed; screaming, screaming, gurgling, gurgling, nothing. Her early morning world was silent again but she found herself laying wide eyed on her bed unable to drift back into peaceful slumber.

On a completely unrelated note...

            Chancho* was served late that night at her Aunt’s birthday party, Becca could only stare at it in the bowl blankly. Luckily, the night was mostly consumed with dancing, drinking and making faces at her niece, Grace. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

            Like most really important events, Becca was informed during lunch that there was going to be a party that evening and she had to attend. That night, her sister grabbed her arm and pulled her outside without explanation. When they reached the door of her aunt’s house, Mireli whispered excitedly,

            “Mariachi,” she pointed down the street and sure enough a Mariachi band was walking toward them; two guitars, two trumpets, and a female singer all dressed in black and gold. As they started playing their first song, Becca found herself grinning wildly. Somehow, this music that she’d at least heard a few times in her life, felt so good, felt so...familiar. She laughed softly to herself at the fact that Mexican music felt like home.

            They played for an hour and then the food was served. Becca avoided dinner by playing with her niece who bounced back and forth between being her best friend and crying when she got too close. This was a typical dance they did. When Grace’s love ran out, Becca’s aunt insisted that they drink whiskey and jonki in celebration of her birthday; a proposal no one could say no to. After some imbibing, Becca’s Uncle Alex asked her to dance, and then another uncle, and then her aunt, and then another aunt until she finally had to sneak away and find a seat.

            One of her cousins offered her beer and feeling just fine, she drank a glass. At this, Becca’s host mom who had been watching decided it was time to go and pulled her outside.

            “I’m worried about you, hijita, that was a lot of beer, you should go sleep now,” she said. Becca looked at her watch; 11 pm and she’d danced, drank, and said her thank yous and happy birthdays. She smiled, hugged her mom and went upstairs. It was hours before the music stopped and at least three episodes of How I Met Your Mother before Becca slept but the next morning, she found that she wasn’t woken until eight.

*Pig

(Pictures: aunts and cousins. the famous sobrina Grace, mariachi!)

New Years (or: doll burning 101)

Becca’s New Years was...well, it was weird. Much in the same manner as Christmas Eve, Becca waited around most of the evening while everyone drifted in and out of sleep (including her). By 11, she’d had it and went off to the park where there was some kind of show.

When she arrived, Lily and some of their local friends were waiting, she greeted them all.

“You didn’t miss much, I can’t understand the woman at all and they just made fun of me for being the only gringa in the crowd. Welcome to the party!” Lily said with a big fake smile.

Becca looked to the stage and saw a man and woman dancing and drinking beer, however she quickly realized the woman was in fact a man in a dress and wig. He was indeed talking in a voice that Becca couldn’t understand at all. Feeling a little confused, Becca turned to their friend Karina who quickly explained.

“El es el año viejo y a las doce el va a morir por que el año viejo ha terminado,” she said. (He is the old year and at midnight he’s going to die because the old year has ended.)

“Y ella?” Becca asked. (And her?)

“Su esposa, estan hablando que ella esta ebarazada pero es una broma,” Karina said. (His wife, they’re saying that she’s pregnant, but it’s a joke).

“Por que?” (Why?)

Karina shrugged and laughed a little before turning back to the show. The “couple” danced around a few more times.

“They said that the old man was going to run away with me because I’m a gringa,” Lily added.

“Well of course,” Becca agreed. 

“Hola Rebecca!” startled, Becca turned to see her thirteen year old cousin, Alex grinning at her.

“Hola, que haces aqui?” she grinned back. (What’re you doing here?)

He didn’t answer, instead put his hand in his pocket and, his grin extending even further than she thought possible, he pulled it out showing her a hand full of small fireworks. He tossed one toward the stage and it went off with a loud crack startling several people. He grinned again and waved a quick wave,

“Chao,” he said and ran off.

Just before midnight, they all parted ways and headed home, agreeing to meet up later at the concert in the park. When Becca arrived home, her mom was passing out grapes, to be eaten for good luck, her dad was finishing dressing up the life-sized doll he had made for the family, and her sisters were preparing the silly string and spray snow. And as the clock struck 12 (or the cell phone blinked 12 as the case may be), the grapes were eaten, the doll was set aflame in the street, and silly string and fake snow flew through the air.

“Feliz Año,” he sister said and hugged her tightly. She was followed by Becca’s other sister, her brother, her mom, her dad, her aunt, her uncle, her cousin, her other cousin, her neighbors...and so on.

Becca gazed down the street, now littered with color and burning dolls and wondered just what the year might bring her.

La Navidad: Not a Popular Holiday Amongst Pigs

            When Becca told people in the states before her departure about her impending adventure, the topic of the holidays always seemed to come up. The holidays are going to be really hard. When she met people in Cruz del Medano and the surrounding area, the topic came up again. You’re here for two years, but are you spending Christmas here? What about your family?

            For as long as she could remember, Christmas had been Becca’s favorite holiday. Surrendering to her least favorites like Thanksgiving and even to the more beloved like Fourth of July and President’s Day, even to her own birthday, Christmas was in short, the bomb. When she was a little kid, she adored the candle-light singing at church on Christmas eve, spending time with her family, opening presents, and sitting around all day on Christmas doing a whole lot of nothing. In high school, every day from December first to the end of school, she wrote out cheerful notes to her closest friends and included little treats and presents. In college, she braved the icy mountain passes year after year to make it home for singing, present, and more than anything else, her family. But this year, Christmas was very different.

            Noche Buena (Christmas Eve), which was always the more celebrated of the two days in her family, started decently. She woke up feeling well for the first time in a week, at least well enough to shower. Of course then she got stung by a bee. Luckily after that came breakfast with her  host family and helping to make the final Paneton.* As the afternoon wore in she became increasingly less sure of the day’s plan and purpose and got different answers from everyone. But evening she returned to her home to find her family milling in and out of the kitchen to the front of the house. Making a crucial error in stopping where some of them had crowded by the oven, she found the chanchito* she thought was missing from the back yard, though she didn’t at first recognize it without fur or skin...

            The evening brought a lot of...well, waiting around and confusion. Around eight they had a small dinner, around nine Becca’s sister, Sandra, and her dad fell asleep, around ten, she found herself in the living room watching the news while her family either slept or ran around with cousin. At eleven, her sister Mireli and her cousins brought her to a misa (mass) in the church by the park. The service was a little confusing but she was happy to spend time with her family and see a lot of her friends from the community.

            After the mass they walked home and found a house of sleeping family members, which they promptly woke up because it was officially midnight and la navidad! Confusion struck again as Mireli grabbed three baby figurines and led Becca into the front room to be the Madrina. She quickly learned that this meant placing each baby on each level of the nativity scene. Her father prayed afterward, dedicating the moment to their newest family member and they all clapped.

            Fifteen minutes later they had moved the table outside near the giant Christmas tree, filled it with food, and taken their places around it. The ate, the talked, they slept sitting upright at the table, Becca had her first taste of jonki* and then the kids (Becca included) went inside to take a few pictures. By three AM, Becca was relieved to hear Mireli say that she was going to bed and so was their mom, Becca took herself off to slumber as well.        

            Sitting in her bed the next morning at six, listening to the silent house around her, she couldn’t help but feel like something was entirely off. Usually by six, she was feeling guilty about being in bed while her mom cooked downstairs and her dad started making the bread. This guilt typically roused her by 6:30 (7 on a rough morning) but on Christmas Day, everyone slept until 9. They had a breakfast that included her mom downing another shot of jonki, which she lovingly rose in toast to Becca.

            The rest of the day was quiet, so quiet that Becca had to ask more than once what they were going to do today. Each time the reply was the same: it’s Christmas. In the afternoon she watched 17 Again with her sisters and sitemate, overjoyed that they found it funny and commented on just how guapo they think Zac Efron is. Evening brought dinner and a visit to a friend’s house and by 10 Becca found herself climbing the stairs up to bed once more, her first Peruvian Navidad behind her.

*See: Peruvian fruit cake, except everyone loves it...

*Baby pig

*Possibly some form of grain alcohol

What Am I Doing Here?

Sitting in the back room of the health post amongst the old exam tables, desks, and stacks of folders, Becca thought about her life decisions. Every morning she awoke with the same thought: wha, where am I? Oh Peru, right, ok. I need to brush my teeth. I live in Peru. Cool. It’s almost time for breakfast, I need to get downstairs. I live in Peru. What the hell did I do? Who decides to move to Peru? Two years.

But as she descended the stairs each morning or her new home, having changed into her scrub top, jeans, and hiking boots and was greeted by her host mom, Estefa, those wonderings began to evaporate. The questions weren’t answered so much as simply forgotten as she carried on living her life. 

“Hijita, toma tu leche,” he mom told her, handing her a large mug of fresh, warm milk that had been mixed with bananas. “Hace frio, necesitas tomar tu leche, no quieres un resfrio,” she said and she watched Becca down the drink. (*difficult to translate term of endearment,* drink your milk. It’s cold, you need to drink your milk, you don’t want a cold.)

Becca had considered explaining that it wasn’t all that cold and that she wouldn’t get sick from not drinking milk in the morning, but given that she’d gotten sick the day she arrived, on a day she hadn’t had milk in the morning, she decided not to argue. Host mother knows best.

She had a quick meal of bread, eggs, and “coffee” (Peruvians in the north like their coffee weak and sweet, Becca referred to it often as brown sugar-water) and then walked back to the kitchen and thanked her mom. 

“Voy a la posta pero voy a regresar a las doce y media para almuerzo,” she told her mom. (I’m going to the [health] post but I’m coming back at 12:30 for lunch.)

Her mom reached up and put an arm around her, hugging her close, “Ya, te quiero, mi hija, te quiero mucho,” she said. (Ya, I love you, my daughter, I love you a lot.)

As she rocked back and forth in an old wheelchair in the health post much later, waiting for her coworkers to arrive, she grinned. Who’s thoughts are rational when they first wake up? These two years were going to be good.

And There Was No Toilet, No Toilet

       Becca had received her assignment, visited her site, graduated from training and sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). Her site was Cruz del Medano in the district of Morrope, Lambayeque, had roughly 4000 people, her friend Lily was her site mate, and they were the first volunteers in the area. Her new host family included her host mom, Estefa, host dad, Francisco (more commonly known as Keiko), one brother, Anibal (19) and two sisters, Mireli and Sandra (18 and 15). Her host was a baker and made amazing empanadas, her mom helped and worked in the home, Anibal was weeks away from finishing a degree in Graphic Design, Mireli was set to start school to become a chef in March, and Sandra had another year of secondary. Even after only a few hours with them, Becca realized she’d gotten incredibly lucky again in the host family department and promptly thanked the host family gods for her continued good fortune.

Her house included a store in the front room where various items were sold along with the different types of bread her dad made. There was also a living room/dining room/office/Sandra’s room that was a general hang out area, a large curtained off room that served as a big closet and changing room for the entire family, and in the back of the house was her dad’s bakery. Outside, under a tin roof was the kitchen, an area for chickens, laundry drying, and chicha* making, and a small brick room that served as a bathroom when you had an empty bucket and a shower when you had a full bucket. Becca’s room was upstairs, the only room with a door. Her host parents and brother slept upstairs as well. 

As she painted her room a pretty pinkish color and hung up photos of family and friends, Becca thought about this commitment she’d made, this long term agreement she’d been so excited for, so willing to fight for, and she wondered if perhaps she had lost her mind. Two years was a long time.

Becca couldn’t really get her head around it and remembered a conversation she’d had with her best friend, Jaime, days before.

“Two years is not that long,” Jaime explained. 

“Jaime, there’s no toilet,” Becca replied.

“Ok, true, but I mean two years of service, two years of doing something great is going to fly by.”

“I guess, I mean it’s not like it’s twenty years, right?” Becca reasoned.

“Exactly,” Jaime paused for a second. “I don’t think I would ever sign up for something for twenty years, like that commitment is insane. Twenty years of something you’ve never done before, ridiculous.”

“Oh my gosh, seriously. Wait, isn’t that basically what marriage is?” Becca noted.

“Yeah, I never want to get married...” Jaime said, sounding suddenly terrified.

“But with marriage, you get a toilet...” Becca pointed out.

She laughed to herself as she reached to cover part of her ceiling in the last drops of paint, leaving a small chunk of the corner paint-less, oops. There was a soft knock at her door and she turned to see Mireli smiling at her,

“Bajamos?” she asked. (Want to go downstairs?)

“Si,” Becca answered and they wandered downstairs together chit-chatting. Two years without a toilet, but at least it wasn’t two years without a loving family, thank goodness.

*chicha is a drink common in Peru made from corn, there are different variations some of which are sweet and others fermented, these the PCVs had been warned extensively about as they are quite strong.

Despedidas

In the 10 weeks since she’d walked into their home, wide-eyed and practically unable to communicate, MamaGloria, Lucho, and Felipe had given Becca more than she could say. She couldn’t say that they’d even been strangers when she arrived. Perhaps it was their kindness or patience, maybe their eagerness to make her feel at home (or that one time that didn’t laugh too hard when she locked herself in the bathroom), but no, they had never been strangers. They’d been her family from the very beginning.

And so when the final week of training came and her visit to Lambayeque was finished, she was both excited to see her family again and dreading the following goodbyes. Her final week had also been changed around in order for more training time so she didn’t get to live with her family the last week.

On Wednesday, she visited them so that she could spend a little time with them and pack her things. Being gone for so long, the house felt strange, like maybe it wasn’t hers anymore. She greeted MamaGloria, had a quick chat and then went to her room to pack up her things. After about an hour, she returned to the living room where MamaGloria was ironing. They both smiled.

“Quieres cafe y un pansito Rebecita?” she asked. (Would you like coffee and bread, Rebecita?)

They sat for the remainder of her time there, just over three hours, and talked about everything they could think to talk about. As she felt the tears forming in her eyes, Becca reminded herself that she would see her family again. Though it wouldn’t be quite like this again.

Just after six, Lucho entered the dining room and told them that the taxi was out front. They helped her with her bags and MamaGloria packed her a bottle of water and an orange. She hugged both parents, who she’d see at the going away party the following day and then Felipe, who she had to say a real goodbye to. Her wished her luck and told her she’d do great. They took a few pictures and then she jumped in the cab, waving and trying not to cry. 

On Thursday, the group returned to their training center for a Dia de Accion de Gracias (Thanksgiving) lunch with the staff and then a Host Family party in the afternoon. The entire afternoon was a blur of kind words, good food, hilarious commentary, and awful goodbyes. Becca sat with her parents and they all laughed through a talent show and chatted to each other, trying to ignore the impending goodbye. 

In the end, it was pretty quick, hardly painless, but at least quick. Knowing they Lucho would be attending the Swearing In Ceremony the following day, she focused on saying goodbye to MamaGloria, a woman who had been a mom and a friend to her for almost two months. The woman who had packed her amazing decorated lunches, who had taught her how to properly hand wash her clothes, and who had taken the time every night to talk with her, help her with homework, and watch whatever was on discovery. 

MamaGloria hugged her, kissed her, and told her a lot of wonderful things. They both had tears in their eyes but smiles on their faces as Becca watched her host parents walk out of the center. In a lot of ways it was like ripping off a bandaid; it was quick, for one, but there was also a delay. There’s always that delay, that couple of seconds where you don’t yet feel the pain, just a strange kind of shock. 

On Friday, the entire Peru 20 group traveled to Lima with all of their luggage, checked in to two hostels, stored their bags, and went to the residence of the US Ambassador for the official swearing in ceremony. They entered in a line, greeting program directors, language facilitators, fellow volunteers, and finally took their seats in the front of a long room, closest to the podium. Becca turned around to inspect the audience and immediately found Lucho, sitting in his suit, hands folded. She caught his eye and they both smiled and waved.

The ceremony was a blur of recognitions, speeches, and good thoughts. Afterward, the group took photos with their program departments, and as a whole with the Ambassador. And after that their was time to talk, time to spend with family, time to say goodbye. Becca stood with Lucho for a long time, talking about little things, talking just to talk. Friends came by and said their goodbyes, everyone ate delicious, tiny foods served on big silver trays.

Becca felt a stroke of panic when host families started filing out, knowing it was time to say the last goodbye. She was thinking it was kind of silly, all of these goodbyes, knowing that they would see each other again in a few months when she came back for a few days of In-Service Training. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it would simply never be like this again, never so perfect. That thought mingled with the feeling that she didn’t really know how to say thank you to her perfect family. She had imagined that the language barrier would be her main issue, but it turned out to be a lack of words in any language. Sometimes the words don’t exist and there is no long speech to give to tell them thank you.

And so Becca hugged her host dad and he kissed her on the cheek. When they pulled back, they were both crying. 

“Gracias,” Lucho said and Becca peeped the same in reply. She had a feeling that was all that could really be said, as she watched him walk out the door.

Balloons: Friendship Bait

On Tuesday, Becca and four of her classmates taught a high school class a 45 minute lesson on Self Esteem from a Sex-Ed series. The day before, they had been informed of their future teaching endeavor, picked groups, and planned their lesson. Any regular volunteer would have panicked at the prospect of one day’s planning for a lesson in another language but Becca...well Becca was actually feeling pretty regular and thus quite panicked.

Nonetheless, on Tuesday morning, at 7:30, she found herself sitting on a bench with her classmates desperately trying to blow up the nearly fifty balloons they would be using during their lesson. Apparently, self esteem is a lot like a balloon and this point needed to be illustrated at least twice. By 7:40 am, Becca was realizing how much she hated blowing up balloons.

It was then that a small girl, a student, probably eight years old walked over to her, grinned, looked at the bag of non inflated balloons in her lap, took one, and walked away. Becca stared after the girl and then turned to Lily,

“I think I’ve just been robbed,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” Lily said and Becca followed her gaze out toward the playground. There she saw the little girl talking to a crowd of other kids, after a few moments, they all turned and walked toward them. Becca’s first instinct was to hide the balloons, but she decided against it.

At 7:45 the little girl returned with her group of friends and they all crowded in around Lily and Becca. They didn’t say a word, they simply reached in and took one balloon each. They then began to blow them up one by one, tie them off and hand them to Lily and Becca.

“Gracias,” Becca said in disbelief and they all smiled, some giggling.

“Eres de Cuerpo de Paz?” the first girl asked. (Are you from the Peace Corps?)

“Si, sabes Cuerpo de Paz?” Becca responded. (Yeah, do you know of the Peace Corps?)

“Si, si, vivo con un otro voluntario, Sep,” the girl replied. (Yes, yes, I live with another volunteer, Seth). Another girl, close to the same age, moved in closer to Becca,

“Puedes ensenarme ingles?” she asked. (Will you teach me English?)

Becca laughed out loud, turned to Lily, who shrugged and then turned back to the girls. The others were crowding in now, having finished blowing up the remainder of the balloons.

“Ya, ok,” Becca replied. (Yeah, ok). She racked her brain for a second and then asked, “Saben los colores?” (Do you know the colors?)

“Yellow,” one girl said.

“Si, y blue,” a boy jumped in.

“Red, green, y violet,” another added.

“Violet?” Becca asked. “No purple?” This question received a whole host of blank stares. “Morado es purple,” she said.

“Si, violet,” the first girl said. Becca laughed and moved on.

“Ok, saben animales in ingles?” she asked. (Do you know the animals in English?)

“Cat!” three of them said in unison.

“Dog,” another added.

“Chick-on,” said another.

“Wow, muy bien, como se dice vaca in ingles?” Becca asked, she was impressed by the amount these kids knew. (Wow, very good, how do you say “cow” in English?)

“Cow!” one boy yelled excitedly. This was becoming a game show. 

“Y caballo?” Becca asked. (And horse?)

“Horse!”

“Muy, muy bien, pienso que hablan ingles,” Becca grinned. (Very, very good, I think that you all speak English)

“Noooo,” they replied, laughing. The class went on for several more minutes and Becca found that her class already knew a lot of basics as they said good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and wished her luck.

At 7:59, Becca looked at her watch in surprise, time sure did fly when you were gaining a new fan club based solely on your ability to speak English. She felt like Justin Beiber as she looked around at her new posse. 

“Cual clase tienen a las 8?” she asked them. (Which class do you have class at 8?)

“No hay clases antes de 11,” one girl responded and they all grinned at her innocently. (There aren’t classes before 11).

“No, ustedes tienen clases,” Becca replied. (No, you all have classes). “Cual clase es primera?” (Which class is first?)

“Matematicas!” one girl answered in excitement. She had just joined the group from her spot on the playground. They all turned and shushed her.

“No hay clases el dia de hoy,” one boy turned back to Becca and said sweetly. (There are no classes today.) As if cued, a teacher walked around the corner at this point, saw all of the students and told them to get to their classes. They all quickly said goodbye and ran off gibbering to each other. 

The Crimes of Napoleon (Or How She Lost Her Underwear)

Becca had had some great excitements and challenges in the two weeks of continued training, Spanish interviews, chats with all of her bosses, and Field Based Training (or FBT) in Huancavelica. She’d learned in her language interview that her language level had improved two levels and she would only need to improve one more level in the following five weeks. During chats, she found out she as doing pretty well in health and was apparently one of the most prompt people in her group.

Field Based Training was a new monster, throwing mass food poisoning, motion sickness, cold, and 12,000 foot elevations at her. Huancavelica also crushed her dreams of her first hot shower in five weeks with a malfunctioning electric shower that only produced cold water and minor electrocution. However, Becca found herself talking to current volunteers in their various sites and getting more and more excited about her site and her two years of service once she got there. Oh, and she had quite an amazing view:

But through everything training had thrown at her in the past couple of weeks, both the fun and the frustrating, she had had one encounter that brought her to her knees. 

It had happened a couple of times before that morning, but was never this ridiculous. Napoleon, the four month old puppy in her house, had entered a “stealing things from people’s rooms and hiding them around the property” phase. He liked taking socks from Felipe’s room, and various sweaty clothes from Becca’s room. After a run, Becca had to be careful to put her clothes away and shut her door or her host mom would be handing her back her sports bra and shorts again.

On a breezy Sunday morning, after Becca had gone on a long hike with some friends and enjoyed a lunch of the most amazing ceviche she had ever tasted, she was ready for a long nap. Instead she started on a presentation due later that week, but was interrupted only a few minutes later by her host mom.

“Rebecita, discuple, su ropa interior es en el bano en una bolsita,” she said, looking a little concerned. (Rebecita, excuse me, your underwear is in the bathroom in a bag).

Becca looked at her with obvious confusion. After several minutes of confusion, MamaGloria was able to explain that Napoleon had stolen her underwear* and dragged them out to the driveway where Felipe had found them earlier that day. Becca’s host mom looked at her with worry but Becca burst out laughing and from where she stood, dropped to her knees on the couch with the giggles. Her host mom laughed as well while Napoleon stared at them, confused, through the glass door to the dining room.

*It should also be noted that while Becca’s underwear was a little too big to start with (due to last minute shopping), after five weeks of hand washing and no dryer, they had grown exponentially. The underwear in question were more like shorts really...giant, giant shorts...

It's Not Easy

Difficult is of the word that grown ups use to describe a situation or series of situations that are completely unbearable without having to use the word unbearable or seem weak. Becca had had a difficult week.

She wasn’t entirely sure what started it all or set it off and by the time she realized she had fallen into it, she didn’t really care. There was the health part, where she always felt behind. There was the time part, where she didn’t feel she ever had enough. There was the physical toll, the emotional toll, the slow deterioration of her sanity. And there was the language issue, the one where she didn’t speak it.

Perhaps it started when she started a week by getting locked in the bathroom. Or perhaps it was when she tripped and fell in the street, pulling a muscle and crushing her confidence.

After a relaxing Sunday including a hike in the hills with beautiful views, time to wash her clothes, and skype with her mom, Becca hoped she could simply begin the new week, start fresh and be positive. That worked for a few hours and then quickly fizzled and she found herself back at square one.

By Tuesday afternoon, she was frustrated, emotional, and feeling like a burden to every person she spoke too because she couldn’t seem to stop worrying and complaining. It was only fitting that she have an interview and performance check in with Narcisso, one of her supervisors, that day. 

At 2:17 pm, she entered Narcisso’s office, apologized for being a little late and sat down across the table from him. He went over her performance evaluation with her, which was overall pretty good. To her credit, Becca held it together pretty well even through the difficult parts of the conversation, that was, until Narcisso asked,

“Do you have anything else you want to talk about? How’s your language going?”

Becca looked at him, looked out the window, looked down at her hands and bit down hard on her tongue, desperately fighting the tears. “Umm,” she began, feeling angry at herself. It was then that the dam burst and she put a hand over her face. She wondered how long it would be before this stopped happening. Before she could stop biting holes in her tongue trying to fight back tears. Before she felt emotionally stable again. She guessed it might be two years...

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to pull herself together. “It’s language, I just always feel like I’m behind, like I can’t learn it,” she explained in a choked, hurt voice.

“No, no, no, it’s ok. Learning a language is really hard,” he paused for a moment and looked at her but Becca was certain she couldn’t speak without losing the little control she had. Thankfully, he continued, “When I first started studying English, I could read and write pretty well, but I was really scared to talk. It’s scary. But when I started working, I had to talk to people in English and talk on the phone sometimes...oh that was the worse part. I hated the phone. But I got better. I sounded stupid sometimes and didn’t understand and I still make a lot of mistakes, but I finally get rid of my fear. You’ll stop being scared and just start talking, because you’ll have to.”

Becca nodded, how she had forgotten that she was sitting across from some one who had done the exact same thing the other way around, she didn’t know.

“Everybody learns differently, some people learn the language slower, but they still learn it,” he added. Becca, having been in education for a few years now, was surprised that she was so quick to forget this fact. Sure, it applied to kids, to other people, but she couldn’t seem to cut herself any slack.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you’ll get there,” Narcisso said, reading her mind. Now she found herself grinning. With that he looked at his watch, “well I think we’re out of minutes now, but I’m happy I got to talk to you,” he smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, Becca found herself faced with her presentation on breast feeding which she was expected to give entirely in Spanish. Confidence still askew but attitude improving quickly, she stepped to the front of her class (which consisted of four other students and Pilar) and began.

“Buenos tardes, me nombre es Rebecca y hoy vamos a aprender sobre de alimentacion de los ninos menor de seis meses,” she took a deep breath and began, feeling that old comfort of teaching set in. (Good afternoon, my name is Rebecca and today we’re going to learn about food for children under six months old.)

The feedback from her group and Pilar was helpful to her learning and overall positive which boosted her confidence in Spanish just enough. It was this tiny encouragement that pushed her forward. Well, in reality it was probably also the hilarious language blunders of her classmates which she learned about not long after class ended.

“Yesterday, when your host dad asked how I was, I told him I was married instead of saying I was tired,” Jane told her.

“I meant to tell Pilar I was hungry and told her I had a man instead...,” Amanda added.

“Oh! I also tried to ask a nun on the bus if she would like to sit and instead I said ‘would you like to feel?’” Jane continued.

Becca laughed recalling how many times she had failed to conjugate her verbs correctly and told her host mom she was going to win Yo Soy.* There was something here, something in this joking, something in these stupid mistakes that made her giggle and which might just save her the trouble of negativity. Or at least she hoped it would.

*Yo Soy is an impersonation show in Peru.

Tornillos (or, How She Got Locked in the Bathroom)

It was one of those splendid nights where Becca had finished her homework, studied her flash cards, talked with her host family, and was generally free to go to sleep by nine. While normally she would have stayed up to watch TV with her host mom, Becca decided that with the increasing number of volunteers getting sick, she would opt for more sleep.

And so she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Minutes later she tried the doorknob and realized she might be in trouble. She turned it to the right and the door unlocked but refused to open, the turned it left and still it wouldn’t budge. After several quick movements back and forth, she heard her host mom on the other side of the door,

“Rebecita, estas bien?” she asked. (Rebecita, are you ok?)

“Si, pero, la puerta...,” Becca replied. (Yes, but, the door...)

The response was something Becca didn’t quite catch followed by the presence of her host dad and brother, Felipe, on the other side of the door. They talked amongst themselves for several moments and then her mom spoke through the door,

“Rebecita?” (Rebecita.)

“Si?” (Yes?)

“Felipe va a subir de la ventana.” (Felipe is going to climb through the window). Becca glanced at the tiny window six feet up the wall that linked the bathroom and the master bedroom, unsure how anyone, even a small child, would fit through that window.

Suddenly, Felipe’s face appeared in the window,

“Hola, estas bien?” he asked. (Hi, are you ok?)

“Si, estoy bien...y tu?” she replied, unsure what else to say. (Yes, I’m ok...and you?). He grinned at her and then began to pull himself through the tiny window. After several moments of trying to squeeze through the exceptionally small window, he backed out and considered their options. Finally he held up his index finger and then disappeared.

Becca stood for a moment giggling to herself at the complete ridiculousness of the situation. The worst part of it all was that this was not her first rodeo; she’d been locked inside a bathroom twice before; once in Austria and once in Canada. This was shaping up to be a habit she didn’t appreciate. Before she could consider her deeply rooted issues with locks and bathrooms, probably due to some unspoken trauma in her childhood; Felipe’s head appeared in the window again. 

“Los tornillos,” he said. (The screws).

Becca stared at him blankly and then, considering context and logic, pointed to the doorknob and then herself. Felipe nodded. He then very slowly listed instructions which Becca later learned were how to successfully remove the doorknob from the inside of the bathroom. However, in that moment, all Becca heard was unfamiliar words with “tornillo” mixed in several times. It seemed that her brain was rejecting her second language entirely in favor of relying on pure panic instead. 

“...que?” Becca replied after he had finished his sentence and stared at her for a few moments. (...what?)

“Los tornillos,” he repeated slowly and with a calmness she appreciated more than she could say in any language. (The screws).

“Si! Los tornillos!” Becca replied with excitement. (Yes! The screws!)

Again Felipe rattled off instructions, using motions to illustrate his points and again, Becca missed all of it entirely. He stared at her blank expression for a moment, sighed, grinned and then spoke,

“Ok,” he said and disappeared again. (Ok.)

The situation was now quickly turning from funny to a little worrisome. Becca was  certain that she would eventually get out, but she was concerned about the damage her family was willing to do to their door in order to rescue her. As she listened to them speaking outside the door, so was fairly certain she heard the words “just break it.” On the heels of this thought, Felipe appeared again at the window.

“Hola, que tipo de tornillos?” he said very slowly, clearly dumbing down his words. (What kind of screws?) 

Becca looked at him for a moment, she had understood this time but didn’t know the words to respond.

“Estrellas?” he continued. (Stars?)

“Si! Si! Si! Estrellas!” Becca exclaimed. (Yes! Yes! Yes! Stars!). 

Felipe smiled and held out a Philips screwdriver which she quickly took and walked back toward the door. However, Becca quickly realized that she could not position the screwdriver in a way that allowed her access to the screws. This thing simply wasn’t made to be taken apart. 

She turned to Felipe and frowned. He frowned back.

“El...no se la palabra...puerta...no...no tiene...no esta...,” Becca began. (The...I don’t know the word...door...no...it doesn’t have...it isn’t...). She made large motions to show him what she meant. The following minutes were consumed by Becca’s hand motioned and Felipe’s instructions but in the end, neither understood the other; the broken door wasn’t the only barrier at hand. Eventually, Felipe disappeared again.

“Rebecita? Cuidado,” her host mom told her from the other side of the door. (Rebecita? Careful.) 

She quickly backed away from the door and a second later a series of loud bangs knocked the doorknob inward. Removing the doorknob took about thirty minutes, the entire process took at least an hour, but as Becca looked through the hole in the door at her family, she hardly cared about her dashed dreams of going to sleep early that night. 

Upon seeing her clearly distraught face, her family immediately stared to comfort her,

“No te preoculpes,” he host dad said. (Don’t worry).

“No hay problema,” her host mom added. (It’s not a problem).

Her family then spent the next several minutes patching up the door and telling her stories of all the other volunteers who had broken something. They ended with a story about Ruby, her host sister who was currently living in Chile and had broken the bathroom mirror during colegio. The stories didn’t make her feel any better, but the fact that they were telling them definitely did.

When everything was cleaned up and back in its place (except the doorknob of course) Becca went off to bed, moderately concerned about the now knob-less door, but mostly happy that she had a host family who could rescue her from any circumstance, even the most ridiculous.

An Outing

If New York was overwhelming to Becca, Lima was overwhelming’s big brother. Lima had 10 million plus people and even more cats in its parks. But there was something beautiful in every second of Becca’s Saturday there; it seemed that even in the honking cars and bustling sidewalks, there were kind faces, helpful people, and beautiful architecture.

Becca had always been a nerd for architecture and though she didn’t feel a huge spiritual connection to the churches, she could spend hours in them examining the fine details or each stone, each wooden balcony, each golden line of a statue’s face. Government buildings were much the same; whether it was a dictatorship or a democracy, she felt nothing but admiration for the beauty of the standing art in front of her.

Becca met her classmates on the steps of the Catedral de Lima as they all stared up at the craftsmanship of the carvings. Their teacher, Pilar, assembled the group of four students and began giving them instructions. As they listened, however, they were approached by several students from and English class who asked them several questions about themselves in order to practice their English. Aw how the table had turned...

After the quick interviews, Pilar led them through El Centro de Lima, taking pictures of the girls in front of various buildings with all four of their cameras. Though they thanked her numerous times, she always told them it was not a problem because it’s important that they have the classic Lima pictures. Finally, they made their way to La Casa de Gastronomica Peruana which was several rooms with informations about Peruvian food in various regions and it’s history. Here the group learned many new food related words and Pilar showed them her favorite dishes. In the biggest room, their was rubber replicas of various foods that they could pick up and ask questions about. Though by eleven thirty, the girl were mostly just feeling ready for lunch.

The group made its way next down a long road of various shops, stopping into one to look at “authentic Peruvian goods,” and knowing that they’d be charged a fee for authenticity in Lima, a huge tourist center. Eventually they came to the church of the lady of mercy which they all marveled at. The walls were lined with tons of gold accenting various scenes and wooden carving stood all the way to the high ceiling. Natural light flooded in through large domed ceiling windows, and rained down upon the heads of those that prayed there. 

After several pictures and even more “wow”s, the group found a taxi (after a lesson about taxi safety in Lima) and made their way to Mira Flores*.  Here they found more modern buildings, beautiful houses, and a Starbucks! And another Starbucks! And another...and another...However, they also found a beautiful park with a very helpful guard who directed them to the market.

They ate lunch with another group in the food section of the market, all trying new foods such as Arroz con Pato (Rice with Duck), Papa Relleno (Potato with this amazing meat stuff inside), Arroz con Mariscos (Rice with Seafood), Chicha Morado (delicious sweet drink) and many other things. By two, Becca was stuffed and ready for a nap. But, Pilar pushed on.

While many of the other teachers said goodbye to their students and ended their day, Pilar introduced the group to her husband and son and then piled them into her car to go to the beach.* She took them first to El Parque de Amor (The Park of Love) which held not only a giant statue of a kissing couple, but also outstanding views of the Pacific. Upon seeing the ocean, Becca felt a lot of things she hadn’t expected; first excitement and then anxiety and finally a pang of homesickness that it took her several minutes to shake. 

The group viewed the sea from hight above in the park and then drove down to the actual beach and watched surfers while they explored. Pilar pointed out various sites and animals, Becca noted how flat the crabs were when they sat on the rocks. By three-thirty, the girls were exhausted and Pilar took them to the collectivo* stop to get them a ride back to Chaclacayo. 

By four-thirty, the girls were back in Chaclacayo and headed toward their houses, the long day of excitement behind them. They were all ready for bed.

*It should be noted that Mira Flores is the name of the area, but in Spanish the name literally means “look at flowers.” Earlier in the day, when Becca’s friend, Jane, who was from a different language group, had asked her what her group would be doing in Lima, she’d replied that they were going to see some of the sights. Jane had told her that her group was going to look at flowers. This was quickly followed by the realization that Mira Flores was in fact the place they would be going and not the activity they’d be engaging in. Oh Jane...

*Pilar is awesome.

*A Colectivo is like a taxi but much cheaper and better suited for long distances. Unlike a taxi, the car for a certain destination must be full before the driver is allowed to leave, but if you have four people, they will leave right away and take you to a stop near your house. The cost of a regular taxi from Lima to Chaclacayo is 35-50 soles ($12-$18), the cost of a colectivo from Lima to Chaclacayo is 8 soles ($3).