Semana Santa in Ancash

As she sat in the combi on the way to capitol city Becca felt two things; 1) a rush of excitement that her very first vacation was finally starting and 2) a horrible need to urinate and an intense wish that the altitude medicine she’d started that morning didn’t double as a diuretic. 

After possibly the longest hour and a half she’d ever spent in a combi and a half speed walk/half jog to the bathroom in the post office while carrying two huge backpacks, Becca was finally on her way to meet Jane, who’d taken a bus from her site in Tumbes the previous night, have dinner and get on a bus to Trujillo.

They dined on giant burgers, soda and chocolate cake and waddled onto the bus feeling a little nauseous but mostly excited. The four hours to Trujillo were quiet. Becca stared out the big windows, watching the light fade from the earth as they traveled south out of Lambayeque and into La Libertad finally arriving at the capitol city there, Trujillo. Trujillo was touted as a beautiful but dangerous city, particularly at night, so Jane and Becca decided on a more expensive but safer taxi to take them to their connecting bus station across town. There they met up with Sophia, Alice and Geraldine and boarded their bus to Huaraz, Ancash, where a wonderful vacation from the heat, dust and work awaited them. 

It should be noted that during the seven hour, overnight bus ride, Becca had to buckle herself in tightly so she wouldn’t be thrown to the ground on their commute through the Andes, she awoke twice convinced that she had frostbite and at least five times certain they were about to plummet to their deaths over the edge of the some thousand foot cliff. Suffice it to say, her sleep was less than peaceful.

They arrived just after five in the morning and in the dark, cold early evening Becca promptly put on most of the clothing she’d packed and wondered when exactly she had lost her ability to cope with the cold.

“So does anyone know the phone number of the hostel...?” Geraldine asked as they stood in the bus station looking as rumpled as they felt.

“Or the name of the hostel?” Sophia asked. They looked at each other and laughed at their complete inability to be grown ups.

After some creative finagling, checking in to their room, sleeping for a few hours, and eating breakfast, the girls met up with Becca’s site-mate, Lily, her brother, Chuck, and his girlfriend, Sue and headed out to explore the city of Huaraz.

They chatted with Chuck, Sue, and Lily about their adventures in the previous days, and then visited the archaeological museum which featured a beautiful garden of sculptures. Afterward they headed off the chancos, or hot springs, just outside of Huaraz. However, while they envisioned deep caves with natural hot springs, what they found was a long building surrounded by a fence with closet-like rooms that had been constructed. They also discovered that the cost was five soles per person to enter a room with a hot spring. Standing in the sprinkling rain and peering creepily into the fenced off area, they decided it might be more fun to walk the two miles back to town along the river. They were right.

Upon return to Huaraz, the group headed directly for a restaurant they’d discussed and chosen on the way. They navigated through the crowded, damp streets in one mass group until Sue came to an abrupt stop and stared into a restaurant.

“It’s the crepe place,” she said and turned to the confused group.

“Oh yeah we’ve heard about this place, apparently they’re amazing but rarely open,” Chuck explained.

“You kind of have to go when you happen to stubble upon it,” Sue added. The group looked at each other for a moment but it didn’t take much to sway an already hungry group standing outside in the rain. That night they dined on delicious crepes and creamy soups of epic proportions, happy to have stumbled upon such a little blessing by chance.

Later in the evening, they realized not everything would be so easy. Planning a trip out to a glacier required a tour agency and some serious bargaining skills. The groups split into two. Becca, Lily, and Sophia tried to talk one company down and they felt pretty good their price. That was until Alice walked in touting a better offer for fifteen soles less, the girl had serious skills. After what felt like days of bargaining and making reservations, they had their plans, their tickets, and a wake up call for five.

Cold, tired, and quiet they convened in the hallway of the hostel the next morning and went out on a search for coffee and breakfast. Only when they’d found at least one cup of coffee per person and adequate breakfast foods did they make their way to the tour bus which drove them hours through the stunning scenery of Ancash. Finally they reached the end of the road. Some decided to take horses part of the way, while Becca, Lily, Geraldine, Chuck and Sue began the forty minute hike to the glacier. At 16,000 feet, it was a rough one, but the group took it slow and eventually reached the huge glacier. 

A day of pictures, amazing natural sights and hiking behind her, Becca and the group headed off to a pub in Huaraz where they sat bundled up, playing cards and drinking delicious home brewed beers. 

The following day, the group awoke early again, acquired coffee and breakfast and then took a car to Llanganuco, a glacial runoff lake that changes colors depending on the temperature and time of day. They sat by the lake for a while, soaking in the beauty of it and then hiked a couple of hours down through the forest all the while snapping photos and chit chatting about everything from skin diseases to YouTube. By the time they reached Huaraz that evening, they were all hungry, cold and exhausted and so ended another night in a cafe with good food, good beer, and good conversation. 

The last day of the trip was Easter and involved a lot of processions and services in and around the city center. After saying goodbye to Chuck and Sue who were returning to the US, the group decided to relax for the day. Becca wandered around Huaraz for a while, bought some local cheese for her host family and purse for herself, and then hung out with some volunteers from the region and ate home made carrot cake with them.  On the way back to the hostel, Becca, Sophia and Alice stubbled across a party in the street. Alice and Becca were invited to dance huayno and both accepted while Sophia filmed. Neither could have looked any sillier, but everyone told them they would get it eventually.

Unfortunately, the relaxed tone of the day was obliterated when the group reached the bus station that evening to board their night bus home. All of the buses were running late and there were so many people crammed in to the tiny station that Becca had to shove through just to get her bags checked and herself on the bus. Finally though, they all made it on. When they reached Trujillo, Becca and Lily said goodbye to the other volunteers and boarded their bus back to their site, hardly believing the wonderful week of vacation was over.

Stirring

Becca felt a stirring inside her, something was happening in there. For the first time in a long time though, this stirring did not trigger a call to the Peace Corps doctors or a sprinting sort of dance to the latrine. This was different, this wasn’t an illness but a slow cure. Things were changing.

This was after all, part of why she had joined the Peace Corps, why she had left behind family, friends, opportunities, and running water to live in the desert and misunderstand 75% of what is said. It wasn’t all of it, but change was a part of the reason. She wanted a growing up experience, a lesson in humbleness, a chance to appreciate the smallest things (like a loving hug from her two year old niece who mostly just screams, cries, and hits people - usually Becca). It was all well and good, the growing and the changing, except for one thing. She’d somehow forgotten that change is no easy process; that all of those gears and cranks inside her, constantly shifting around and transforming was going to hurt a little. It simply couldn’t be avoided.

She’d been told a million times that this experience wouldn’t always be fun, and in fact sometimes it would seem downright unbearable. There would be times when she sat in her room and cried, feeling like she simply wouldn’t survive two years of it and times when she would be frustrated, angry, and exhausted to a point of near madness. But every last bit of it, every second of pain, tears, excitement, happiness, hope, and change was important. Important in ways she understood and a lot more she didn’t yet, but eventually would.

For now, Becca sat back and tried to keep in mind that two years was a long time, plenty of time to let the gear grind until she came out the other side.

Morose

            Becca was feeling morose and perhaps a bit deflated. Maybe it was the holidays, or the lack of snow, or maybe it was receiving communication from some one at home she wasn’t yet quite ready to talk to, or the heat, or the language barrier, or illness that had persistently ravaged her digestive system for over a week. The Peace Corps doctors had a theory that with all of the factors of daily life in the campo, it was nearly impossible to figure out what exactly made you sick. Becca was beginning to think that applied to her mental health as well.

            She could already feel herself burning out hard; feeling that she couldn’t get anything accomplished, that she’d never learn Spanish, that she wasn’t going to be a good volunteer. How could this all be hitting her during month four...when she still had 23 more to go? Rationally, she knew it was likely normal, that nothing she was feeling was new, but the rational part of her was tired.

            She resigned herself to creating a new work plan, talking to more people, finally running in the mornings, talking to other volunteers, and remembering that time is all relative. It wasn’t a total fix but it was going to have to work. And in those moments when she really struggled she remembered the words of another volunteer; that everything passes in a few days, if you’re sad for a few days, wait, it’ll get better. She believed it would.

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

Ode to My Stomach Bug

To my dearest stomach bug,

I hope you’re feeling oh so smug,

I still don’t know what brought you here,

But I can’t wait until you disappear,

My darling stomach bug

You came upon a weekend eve,

Now a week gone, you will not leave,

And so I try every kind of pill,

To see my luck and hopefully kill,

My darling stomach bug

I’d heard about you long before,

In stories of volunteer lore,

But not until you came to me,

Did I understand you, horribly

My darling stomach bug

Fever, fatigue, a whole lot more,

With me you had to start this war,

And so I feel like a useless zombie,

Mainly when I’m on a combi,

My darling stomach bug

I tried the cipro to kill you off,

But after three days I heard you scoff,

“The fever and fatigue, it might be dead,

But I’ll never leave your aching head,

Love,

Your stomach bug”

And so you stayed true to your word,

And left me without a solid turd,

As I sit at dinner trying not to puke,

It’s you, my friend, I would rebuke,

My darling stomach bug

But just you wait, oh stomach friend,

Tomorrow it will all come to an end,

Because I’m planning to place a call,

Doctor Jorge will solve it all,

My darling stomach bug

Las Mayas!

On the morning of the end of the world, Becca awoke to a house without electricity, only she didn’t realize it. She awoke to a house without water, but didn’t realize that one either. It was well into breakfast before anyone mentioned these things. Her father told her matter-of-factly that both had been out since nine the previous night. Becca laughed at herself for failing to notice either resource was absent from the house as she spent the morning washing her clothes in buckets of stored water.

            Conversation the entire morning centered on the impending doom of the day, December 21, 2012. For weeks people had been asking her if she believed it and she always laughed. She thought of explaining the leap year argument but always opted for a joke instead which was typically well received. She wondered if things might be different if the prediction was Incan and not Mayan...though they probably wouldn’t be.

            At breakfast her host mom turned to her,

            “Rebecita, es el ultimo dia del mundo, no?” she asked. (Rebecita, it’s the last day of the world, no?). Becca turned to her without skipping a beat,

            “No, mami, solo es el electricidad, no te preoculpes,” she grinned and they all chuckled. (No, mom, it’s just the electricity, don’t worry).

            At the end of breakfast, Sandra, Becca’s sister, caught a serious case of the giggles and nearly spit her apple juice all over the entire family. This set the rest of them off except Becca’s host mom who looked at Sandra, straight faced and told them all that it was the last day of Sandra being sane if nothing else.

            The rest of the day, besides being hotter than the inside of a feverish cow, went along as usual. The power and water eventually returned. At the end of dinner, they all sat watching news coverage of what was now being called “the beginning of a new era” rather than the end of the world. Suddenly a loud crashing and banging started above their heads and they all turned to the ceiling.

            “Las Mayas!” Becca’s sister, Mireli cried in feigned terror and they all laughed.

            “Solo gallinas,” her other sister whispered seeing Becca’s confusion. Thank goodness chickens didn’t bring the end of the world and neither did the Mayans, two years cut short of this hilarity would be tragic.

Broken Bread

There are few things in the world worse than being sick, and not just kind of sick, but “actually concerned about having to confront the grim reaper about staying on the planet” sick. It was on a lovely, sunny Sunday afternoon that Becca was harshly reminded of this and learned of new things: one of those things in the world that’s worse is being that level of sick in a foreign country on an outing with your sisters and not being about to explain it to anyone effectively.

Saturday night ended with stomach cramps but Becca ignored them thinking they’d pass, Sunday brought worsening pain, headache, and eventually fever and complete deliriousness. And so she told the doctor over the phone what was happening and he prescribed her medicine which he said would make her nauseous but farther from death, though Becca wasn’t entirely sure what he said for certain because the human brain doesn’t do well over 102 degrees.

This was how Becca’s week began. On Sunday, her body broke.

And on Monday, her watch broke.

Promocion

It all started with an unlikely invitation. Becca and her site-mate, Lily dropped in to visit Gustavo, the computer and records specialist at the health post and ask him a bunch of questions and he invited them to the Promocion de Inicial*. Having been taught to say yes to everything and overrun with curiosity, they gladly accepted. Gustavo told them there would be dancing and a lot of food, though he told them he was a Padrino (godfather) he made his part seem small. It wasn’t until much later that they realized what a big deal being the Padrino of a promocion really is, but we’ll get to that.

Becca woke up, took a bucket bath*, ate breakfast, and threw on a clean skirt and shirt. She studied the invitation and came to the conclusion that it must be in the colegio closest to her house. Just before nine she set out and minutes later when she arrived at the colegio she found workers still putting up the tents and and sound system. She pulled out her cell phone and called Lily.

“Hey,”

“Hey, I’m at the colegio, the one by the park and they’re still setting up,”

“Yeah, my sister is in this thing and she’s not even dressed yet, we just finished breakfast,”

“Of course,” Becca replied remembered just how real Peruvian Time was proving to be. “Is it ok if I just hang out at your house for a while?”

“Sure, see you in a bit.”

Becca made her way to Lily’s house, buenos diasing and holaing everyone along the way. The waited around for a half hour and then, thinking perhaps it was starting now, they made there way back to the colegio where set-up was still underway. This time, however, Gustavo was present and gladly greeted them, introducing them to the teacher of one of the graduating classes.

“Aw, mucho gusto, gracias por venir...para las preparaciones...una hora mas, solo una hora,” she told them with a sweet smile and then excised herself and went back into the madness. Gustavo followed. (Aw, nice to meet you, thank you for coming...for the preparations...an hour more.)

Lily and Becca looked at each other and shrugged. They returned to Lily’s house and killed more time. But when they returned in an hour, it was a similar story. This time the music was playing (at an insane intensity) and everything seemed to be ready but the kids were not all present and so they wandered to Becca’s house and killed even more time. By noon, three hours after the original starting time, the girls had returned and were met by the teacher who seated them at the head of the room.

In the center of the room was a long, narrow, green and white tent lined by fancy chairs where the children sat. The outer perimeter was lined with tables and chairs for the families and other invitees. And at the head of the tent were three beautiful tables donning green and white tablecloths. At these tables sat Lily, Becca, Gustavo, who was now decked out in a black suit, and some others. Gustavo explained that he was the Padrino which basically meant that he donated the funds for this shin-dig and they quickly realized that they were his invited guests, hence their place at the fancy tables.

A voice came over the loud speaker announcing that they were ready to begin. They all rose to sing the national anthem of Peru and then the graduation ceremony began. Each child, dressed in either a lovely green party dress or a suit with a green shirt, was introduced as they walked down one outside edge of the tent, their pareja shadowed them on the other side of the tent. Each child had a pareja, a sort of date for the event, typically a cousin or neighbor. Each pair walked the outside, came together and walked up the middle together, waving until they reached the head tables and grinned.

After all of the introductions were completed, Gustavo gave a toast about the importance of parents and teachers in the lives of children and they all drank to the success of the children (the adults champagne and the kids Inca Cola). Afterwards lunch was served: this was when the real fun began. Lunch was a corse of rice and a leg of something that was too tough to really tear apart or chew for that matter. By this time Becca, Lily, and Gustavo had been joined at the nutritionist from the post, Liwi, her friend, the Madrina, and the directora of the primary, Marleni. 

They all watched and giggled as the girls tried to eat their meat, Becca spilled her rice, got sauce all over her face, and generally struggled until Marleni looked at her and said something that sounded like a quick coaching in Spanish. Becca, in sheer panic didn’t get it.

“Damelo,” Marleni said and held out a hand, that one was clear. (Give it to me). Becca was unsure what exactly that was supposed to mean though; the meat? Like, hand it to her? Marleni then reached over her and grabbed the meat from her plate. In one swift motion she tore it in half and handed it back to Becca. Everyone around the table laughed except for Lily who hadn’t let given up on fighting her own battle with lunch.

“Dude, the director of the secondary just tore my meat for me,” Becca said to Lily, who chuckled at the thought.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with more food, drinks (which the girls refused more than just a sip of), photos and dancing. When she got home, Becca sat down on the couch and wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep or run around the block.

*Literally translated to Promotion of the Initial - “Incial” is sort of like preschool and kindergarten; kids from ages 3-5 attend for early education. 

*Though it’s fairly self explanatory, it’s when you take a bucket of warm water (warm thanks to your loving host mother’s insistence that she heat it up because she’s afraid cold water might kill her little gringa) into the little brick room with a makeshift drain and splash around until you’re clean.

No Tengo Mama

Estefa had seemed down the night before as she tried to explain to Becca her plans for the following day. Becca understood that she needed to be home a little early for lunch because her mom was going somewhere. She thought she heard her say something about visiting her mother. And so she didn’t think much of it but made sure she was home a half hour early the next day.

“Hola hijita, quieres tu almuerzo?” she asked as Becca as she hugged her tightly.  (Hi term of endearment, do you want your lunch?). Without waiting for an answer she shooed her to the table and told her to sit. Second later she appeared with a large bowl of soup, a plate of rice and a smaller bowl of ceviche. Having gotten used to a work schedule that only allowed her to eat with her family a few days a week, Becca was used to eating a alone but was overjoyed when Estefa joined her. Until she saw the slightly deflated look on her mom’s face.

Estefa threw her a small smile but the sadness lurking just behind it pulled at Becca’s heart. She pointed toward the picture on the wall of Becca’s host grandmother and host grandfather, Estefa’s parents. Becca had never met them.

“Mis padres,” Estefa said. (My parents)

“Aw, si,” Becca nodded, not entirely sure what was going on, a feeling she often had. “Donde viven?” (Aw, yes. Where do they live?).

“No,” Estefa said, an interesting look of surprise dawning on her face. “Son muertos. Hoy dia es cumple de mi mama, muerta diez anos.” (No, they’re dead. Today is my mom’s birthday, she’s been dead 10 years). 

“Oh, lo siento,” Becca said, she was always unsure what to say in these situations, in Spanish it was even harder. (Oh, I’m sorry).

“Ya, ella es muerta, no tengo padres ahora, no tengo mama,” her throat caught on those last words and Becca saw the tears in her eyes. (She’s dead, I don’t have parents now, I don’t have a mother). She stood and excused herself, walking into the other room.

A moment later she returned, she downtrodden but looking a bit brighter. When she sat back down, Becca touched her hand and Estefa grabbed it, holding it for a few minutes.

“Gracias, hija,” she said and smiled something that looked a little less like sorrow. (Thanks, daughter). They sat together while they ate lunch and when they finished, they carried their dishes into the kitchen. When they set them down, Becca hugged her mom,

“Tu familia es bonita y tienes tres hijos biencarinosa y tienes una otra hija ahora,” Becca said. (Your family is beautiful/wonderful and you have three very loving kids, and you have another daughter now).

Estefa grinned and hugged her back in that wonderful tight, mom-hug sort of way. Becca had seen her mom struggle like this before, having lost her father, Becca;s grandpa, too soon. As she stood in the kitchen hugging her host mom, she thought of just how very similar completely different worlds could be sometimes, how very human.

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.

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.