September 14

Note to English-speaking readers: until now my blog has been only in English, something that I did solely out of a lack of Spanish skills. I’m still learning Spanish, but from now on my blog will contain an English entry first and the Spanish version below.

One of Becca’s favorite activities had always been looking back exactly one year into her life and considering how much things had changed. This was something she’d enjoyed since early high school, using journals, hand-written notes, and later emails, blogs, and smart phones to track past-Becca. September 14th for most people was just another day, but on this day Becca looked into her past and saw something pretty darn cool.

From this point forward when Becca looked back a year, she wouldn’t see the US, she would see her lovely new home of Peru.

One year previous: September 14, 2012, Becca had woken up at 4 AM in a hotel in Washington DC, packed up her things and wandered into the lobby where 55 other Peace Corps Trainees were waiting. They boarded buses, made there way to the airport and spent hours going through baggage, customs, and any other checks you could possibly imagine. Becca ate breakfast in the airport while chatting with her future site-mate and pal, Lily and then boarded a plan to Miami. In Miami the group waited a bit more and then boarded a plane to Lima, Peru where they landed that evening.

It had been an entire year.

It felt like 40 years.

It felt like a week and a half.

Funny what time does to a person.

Happy September 14th!

Una nota para mis amigos que hablan castellano: hasta ahora, my blog estaba solo por inglés. Esta es por una falta de idioma para mi, pero ahora intentaré a escribir cada blog primero en inglés y abajo en castellano. Mi blog es por tercera persona, sobre una chica que se llama Becca (yo). Disculpa mis errores y disfruta mi blog.

Una de sus actividades favoritas de Becca siempre ha estado para ver exactamente un año en el pasado y como cambiaron las cosas. Desde secundaria, ella disfrutó esta, utilizando diarios, correos, emails, blogs, y smart phones para seguir su vida. Para muchas personas el 14 de setiembre solo es un día normal, pero cuando Becca miraba a un año anterior, ella mira algo bien chevere.

Desde ahora, cuando Becca mira un año anterior, no mira los Estados Unidos, mira su tierra nueva, Perú.

Un año anterior: 14 de setiembre 2012, Becca se despertó a las 4 AM en un hotel de Washington DC, hizo las bolsas, y caminó al vestíbulo en donde fueron 55 otros aspirantes de Cuerpo de Paz. En buses, se pasaban al aeropuerto para hacer todos los cheques del gobierno. Becca desayunó en el aeropuerto con su compañera, Lily, y entraba el avión a Miami. En Miami el grupo esperaba mas y entraban otro avión a Lima, Perú en donde se terminaban su viaje en la noche.

Todo un año se pasó.

Se sintió como 40 años.

Se sintió como una semana.

Oye, como pasa el tiempo.

¡Feliz 14 de setiembre!

My Toenails Aren’t Growing (And Other Concerns)

One evening after a far-too-long long day,

I stretched out on my bed to drift away,

Then looked down at my feet,

A strange thought I did meet,

My nails haven’t changed since last May...

Surely the polish had started to chip,

But all sign of growth had taken a dip,

When I glanced at my fingers,

Where polish yet lingers,

I found the same thing on those tips.

For that matter where did these bumps come from,

And my ears have developed a permanent hum,

My knee hurts when I hike,

My shoulders when I bike,

And my tailbone’s now permanently numb.

Some days there’s a quick sprint to the bathroom,

On others I long for the need for that zoom,

When with other PCVs*

It’s topics like these,

Make me wonder if I’ll ever find a groom.

In the mornings I wake with a sore throat and back,

I think that I’m shrinking from the calcium I lack,

Do I have a parasite,

I think that I might,

The cure will surely be watching TV on my mac.

All of my hair is turning grey or falling out,

I have six new moles from cancer no doubt,

Host mom says it’s the cold,

Or that my coffee’s too bold,

Oh and I’m sure I’m developing gout.

It’s crazy though, each day I’m sure that I’m dying,

But if I said I’d like to go home, I’d be lying,

Toenail growth or no,

Toilets as friend or foe,

When I leave here I know I’ll be crying.

*Peace Corps Volunteers

Higado

It was no secret that Becca had had a rough start to her Peace Corps service, or perhaps it was to some, either way, times had been less than desirable in those early months. But a strange sort of shift had started within her that she couldn’t have seen coming. 

The day that she did finally notice it left her in a brilliant mixture or glee and total shock. Sitting at lunch with two friends, Monica and Gina, during vacation, Becca ordered a menu which consisted of soup, a main course and a drink. As they chit-chatted, the truth came out.

“I really like this place and it’s so sunny, I feel like I never---,” Monica began.

“Score!” Becca exclaimed staring into her soup. Sifting through with her spoon for a moment, she revealed a small, smooth, brownish blob. “I got higado*! I love higado!” She plopped it in her mouth and grinned wildly as she chewed.

“Becca...” Monica began, but stopped short, running out of whatever thought she’d had as she watched Becca, still enjoying her soup while bopping about to the loud peruvian music playing in the street.

“Oh sorry, I cut you off, what were you saying?” Becca said innocently.

“Are you dancing?” Monica asked, still confused.

“How can you not dance to this music? It’s so catchy, I love this song,”

“Becca...” Monica began again. “Who are you right now?”

Becca paused for a moment and looked at her grinning friend and found herself confused for a moment as well. In a matter of months the girl who never danced and would have blanched at the thought of higado was...well, this...? “I have no idea, I’ll keep you posted,” she answered and finished her soup.

*Higado = Liver

Frazzle Dazzle

She felt it coming on slowly, crawling under her skin and scratching at her senses every day until she could no longer deny it. Her slightly lumpy bed had become the ultimate destroyer of comfort and rest, power outages turned from daily distraction to grand ruiner of work, slight aches and pains transformed to debilitating diseases and undeniable ailments, delayed home-skype dates ate away at her sanity. There would be no more denying it: it was time for a vacation.

Luckily, the final days of July brought a long awaited return to Ancash where Becca would trek, explore, and generally laugh her face right off with her two amazing friends, Gia and Michelle. As the final days passed, she tried to finish strong. She presented her project plan to the schools and formed a committee to move forward her teen health promotors project and she visited the houses of the moms in her healthy homes project, which lucky for her meant some seriously cute kids. And nothing helps a frazzled mind more than adorable children:

Except of course....a vacation.

The Sugar-less quest to Find the Ghost Alcalde

Tuesday. A day of hope, of nervous excitement, of wonder. Tuesday. A day of disappointment, of hurt, of broken promises. Tuesday was of course the one day out of every week that the alcalde (mayor) was supposed to be in the municipality, the one day that volunteers could meet with him to discuss their goal, projects, fear, hopes, dreams and above all else, their budgets. Tuesday was a magical day that Becca would rise extra early, eat a quick breakfast and catch a combi (bus) to Morrope, the district capitol. Tuesday was a day that Becca would jump off the combi at the stop and practically skip to the municipality. 

Unfortunately that Tuesday morning journey to the municipality had ended the same for the previous two months:

“Buenas dias, el alcalde esta?” Becca would ask the secretary, looking doubtfully at the empty office but hoping that he was simply in the bathroom. (Good morning, is the mayor here?)

“Buenas dias, oh no, el no esta, se fue temprana esta mañana,” the secretary would respond. (Good morning, oh no, he’s not here, he left early this morning).

“Oh, va a regresar hoy día?” Becca would ask. (Oh, is he coming back today?)

“No, no, pero el proximo martes, si,” (No, no, but next Tuesday, yes). And Becca would smile and say goodbye always waiting until she reached the park outside before she began muttering angrily to herself.

But this time Becca left with a different feeling. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d told her host mother she didn’t like sugary drinks and since received everything without a drop of sugar, or perhaps it was the decaffeinated coffee she’d been served that morning, but Becca knew she finally had the answer. The alcalde was obviously a ghost.

How he’d been elected when no one could even see him, she didn’t know, but suddenly understood his secret. Having seen enough movies and read enough books to fuel a glimmering imagination, Becca hoped he was more like Moaning Myrtle than well any of those other paranormal beings that had caused her to cover her eyes and weep like a child. Lost in thought, she turned the corner and entered the internet cafe, he had some research to do.*

*This last part is of course completely fabricated, but hey I haven’t written fiction in a while and the story of how I keep missing the mayor isn’t that interesting.

**Also I’m sure the mayor is actually out doing a lot of great things for the community, there are a lot of wonderful projects happening in the region. 

***OR HE’S A GHOST!

Learning, Failing, and Carrying On

If she was being completely honest, English class, at least as far as comprehension and any actually education, had been a bust. Though she had a suspicion at mid-term exams, the final exams confirmed it with average scores of 50% on a test of only easy vocabulary review.

It was a lesson that education is not the same in different countries, it was a lesson that a lot of parents don't put their children's education's first, it was a lesson that sometimes things fail. Hard.

The good side was that the kids were cute, a couple of them did learn a lot, and Becca remembered that teaching is a learning process too.

¡Sillas Musicales!

After nearly two months of teaching English, Becca had learned three very important things about Peruvian students.

1. They can outlast even the most resilient kid from the United States in refusing to answer questions and creating an awkward silence.
2. They do not respond to games the same way that US students do.

Becca had tried Capture the Flag with brooms instead of flags, which had resulted in two minutes of madness and running around followed by the mysterious appearance of not one, not two, not even three, but four brooms...

She’d tried Pictionary with vocabulary words which had resulted in a lot of guesses to quiet to hear and a few more loud enough but only spoken in Spanish.

She’d had high hopes for English Jeopardy, but that had only brought on long silences and confusion.

Finally, in a fit of frustration, Becca had pulled out her computer and ordered her students to take their chairs outside and form a circle. 

“¿Conocen en juego...Sillas Musicales?” she asked, ready to explain when the answer was no. (Do you know the game Musical Chairs?)

“Yes!” many of the students said at once and grins began to spread around the circle like wildfire.

“Yes?” Becca was surprise. “Ok, vamos a jugar y cuando una persona falta una silla, tiene contestar una pregunta sobre vocabulario de inglés.” (Ok, let’s play and when some one doesn’t find a chair, they have to answer an English vocabulary question.)

The music started and each students started walking cautiously around the outside of the circle of chairs. When the music came to a stop, the frantic scramble of chaos went on until only one was left standing, Erika. Becca motioned her over and Erika stumped a bit, walking begrudgingly toward her.

“Como se dice cama en inglés?” Becca asked. (How do you say bed in English?)

“Como?” Erika asked. (Excuse me?)

“Cama,” (Bed)

“Como?”

“Cama,” this set off a round of giggles they’d all done so well to hold in, even Becca found herself fighting a terrible case. When they’d finally calmed a bit, Erika seemed to understand and thought about the question, obviously trying to conjure unpracticed vocabulary into her brain.

“Eehhhhh,” she began and the noise turned into a half sigh, half panicked hope for an answer that finished off with the beginnings of a fit of giggles. The other students followed suit, again giggling themselves silly and again Becca couldn’t help but join in. 

Eventually the silliness died down a bit, a few questions were answered correctly, but the activity accomplished more in saving some of Becca’s sanity than anything else had in the last three months.

Un-Posed Facebook Statuses

Becca didn't regularly update facebook anymore and statuses were generally a thing of the past. This was largely because of her lack of consistent internet but as she considered the statuses that had run through her head as possibilities, she thought perhaps internet wasn't the only reason...

What's on Your Mind, Becca?

If you're not sweating, I'm mad at you

If you're cold, I'm mad at you

If you don't have sand in your teeth, I'm mad at you

If you aren't eating rice, I'm mad at you

If you understand everything people around you say, I'm mad at you

If you don't wake up with confusing bug bites, I'm mad at you

If you're a rooster and don't know that 11 pm is not sunrise, I'm mad at you

If you're a donkey, I'm mad at you

If you sleep under a blanket, I'm mad at you

If you're a pig...I'm so so sorry....

It had been a rough month...

What´s Your Name?

            “I’m going to speak in English and Spanish today. I’m going to...speak...in English...and...Spanish...today,” Becca said the words slowly and precisely, trying not to laugh at the panicked expressions staring back at her. She explained twice more in English and then broke down each word with the Spanish translation.

            In the day of English Teaching training they’d had, the point had been brought up that language classes should always be taught in the language, but that that was extremely difficult and possibly not realistic. However, Becca had had an amazing Spanish teacher in the beginning of her training, Pilar. Pilar had never once broken into English to explain anything, she’d painstakingly explained and reexplained, used hand motions and generally done everything possible to pound Spanish into her brain. So standing in front of a bewildered class of eleven to fifteen year olds, she pushed forward in what she thought of as 80% English (she wasn’t as good as Pilar, but she’d try to get close).

            Whenever she got frustrated or they got frustrated or it was just too hot or the day was too long, Becca had one thought: What would Pilar do? Of course, this usually meant dancing around, yelling, singing, or miming but hey, those kids were going to learn English.

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!)

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

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.

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.