Bastante Calor

There had been a lot of walking that week. A lot of walking and a lot of sun. Becca and her site-mate, Lily, found themselves on the road yet again without sign or sound of a combi, mototaxi, or colectivo for what felt like hours. They’d been visiting the surrounding caserios for days and while travel to each site was simple enough, catching any sort of travel back was rough. And so, they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Until finally Lily had had enough.

“Shade,” she murmured and crossed the dirt road. She plopped herself down on a log and closed her eyes. “It’s so hot.” Becca nodded.

They waited for a few minutes, happy to sit in the shade, but no combis passed and eventually dogs from one of the farms started to approach. Becca immediately feel panic flood through her even though they appeared to just be playing.

“So maybe let’s walk,” Becca said already turning to speed walk down the road. Lily dragged herself up and followed. But there was a lot of walking that week. And a lot of sun.

“I think my brain is melting,” Becca remarked.

“There’s dust in my eyes...and my nose...and...just...everywhere,” Lily replied.

Becca perked up as she saw a horse standing nearby. Oddly, the horse stood in a ditch about four feet deep on the side of the road eating the grass that was growing at the bottom of the ditch.

“Horse,” Lily said. No response.

“He doesn’t speak English, caballo,” she waited, but still no response.

“I’m a little concerned that he’s only tied to a bushel of grass...” Lily noted.

“He’s not going to jump out of a ditch that deep,” Becca replied. The horse blew air from its nose producing a deeply horsy noise. Becca imitated the sound and Lily imitated after. They carried on like this several times, but fairly certain the sun had instead melted their brains.

Then, without warning, the horse turned to them, Becca cooed at it and before their eyes it leapt from the ditch and onto the road. Without a moment’s considerations both girls screamed, turned around, and took off running, their arms waving wildly above their heads.

When they looked back, the horse was standing solidly, eating grass from the side of the road, though Becca swore she could see a glimmer of a smirk.

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.

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.

(Host) Home

Becca stood next to another voluntario, Jessica, whom she’d only met moments before. They had instantly bonded over their lack of Spanish speaking skills and nervousness to meet their new families. Suddenly Becca leaned to Jessica and whispered,

“I know who my family is,” she looked out at the small group of host parents.

“How do you know which ones they are?” Jessica asked in surprise.

“I don’t know, I have a feeling,” Becca replied and at this moment a friendly looking older couple stepped forward. “That’s my family,” Becca whispered to Jessica and before she could respond, the woman introduced herself.

“Mi nombre es...” the woman began, a kind smile spreading across her face as she gazed at the shell shocked volunteers. Becca looked down at the information page in her hand and read the name in her head over and over; Gloria de Luna, Gloria de Luna, Gloria de Luna...

“Gloria de Luna,” the woman said and Becca practically jumped in the air. Becca stepped forward and greeted her new host mama, Gloria and host papa, Luis, or Lucho. They hugged and kissed and immediately lead Becca to their car to load her numerous bags. Both being under five feet tall, her new host parents nearly fell over lifting her backpack but they would not allow her to help.

On the way home, Gloria and Lucho spoke in happy tones that made Becca feel far too mucho like a dog for her liking, though she did understand some words: Cuerpo de Paz, Voluntario, muy alta, que bien, no entienda. Becca mostly smiled and nodded.

As they pulled up to her new home, Becca was amazed at the size and the beauty of the house. Gloria and Lucho lived within high brick walls which housed a spacious garden, driveway, the main house, and the internet cafe they owned. Not long after the vehicle stopped, Becca met her host brother, Felipe, who was 22, and her host and aunt and uncle.

After moving her bags into her room with the help of the entire family, a very long lunch, and a broken conversation about September 11th with her host uncle, Becca began unpacking her things and was finally alone with her thoughts. However, finding that her thoughts were most saturated in fear, confusion, and a drizzle of homesickness she was trying desperately to suppress, she quickly unpacked her bags and rejoined her family in the dining room.

The conversation was limited at best, and exhausting beyond compare but Becca had never fallen so in love with a group of people so quickly in her life. They had invited this exhausted, illiterate, and probably smelly volunteer into their home and more than that, into their hearts and that was a debt she’d never repay.

Staging, Travel, and Bienvenidos a Peru!

As she sat in the internet cafe telling her mom via Skype all about her last few days, Becca had a massive amount of trouble believing that she was in Peru. That she lived in Peru. That she was, in fact, now a part of a Peruvian family, granted she was the non Spanish speaking kid, but still a part.

Somehow it seemed entirely impossible that she had left her family with a tearful goodbye in the Spokane Airport on Wednesday, been in DC on Thursday, and then Peru on Friday. Wednesday's travel had been easy; baggage fees were waved, window seats were given, the taxi wasn't overly pricey and in the end so made it to her hotel room exhausted from travel.

On Thursday, Becca had coffee with a friend from high school she hadn't seen in several years. They talked for a couple of hours and then Becca walked her to work and went on to see the White House, the Reflecting Pool and the Lincoln Monument. By noon she was in a large meeting room doing paperwork, getting to know her fellow voluntarios and getting entirely overloaded with information. By Thursday night when she had to say goodbye to a boy she cared quite a bit for over the phone, Becca was exhausted emotionally and physically. Though she tried to reassure herself, tears couldn't be entirely dammed up that night.

Friday morning, Becca was up at five, in the lobby at 5:30, on the bus at 6, through boarding information and bag checking by 9, and in the terminal by 9:30. At 1:30, she was in Miami. At 9:10 pm, local time, she was in Lima, Peru. By midnight the bus had taken her to a retreat center about 90 minutes out of Lima and by 1 am, she was asleep.

Saturday contained a whirlwind of paperwork, introductions, questions, and Spanish. Spanish which Becca did not speak. At the end of the day, she went for a walk on the road with some new friends, talked with more new people, and then had a nice dinner and played cards - it was the perfect end to a very long day and she was feeling very good about her group.

Sunday morning, Becca and her training group moved to Chaclacayo, the home of the training center and where they would later meet their host families. After more information and introductions, they saw their host families walking into the grounds and braced for the most important introductions of all.

The Night Before

‘Twas the night before Peace Corps when all through the house,

The computer was still clicking, especially the mouse.

The bags had been packed and set out with care,

In hopes that somehow she’d find room to spare.

The PCV was nestled all snug in her bed,

while nervous excitement danced in her head.

Hoping she remembered a tooth brush and slacks,

she trying to calculate Peruvian tax.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

she sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the front door she sprinted in haste,

but still with a worry she’d forgotten tooth paste...

The moon shone down on late summer’s lawn,

and as she stood there she uttered a yawn.

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,

but a man dressed in Chacos and light camping gear.

With a worn wide brimmed hat and a polo of white,

A returned volunteer stood in the moonlight.

More rapid than eagles her service had come,

So of his experiences, he said he’d name some.

“First a plane from my hometown and onto DC,

then Pre-Service training to become a great PCV.

Language and other skills they taught in 10 weeks,

to fill up your brain and then check it for leaks.”

He was kind and patient, a vision of help,

She laughed when he’d spoken and gave a small yelp.

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread.

He sprang from the yard, clicked up both his heels,

And away he flew, off to chase pro-deals.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he flew out of sight,

“Dude you’re gonna be fine, it’ll sure be all right.”