Lambayeque Living

I survived. I have made it through site visit, and here’s hoping it only gets less awkward from here. But all in all, I had a really good week. I really like my town and my new host family. I can already see a number of interesting work projects. I think I made two potential friends, and I’m only a 45-minute combi ride from the departmental capital, Chiclayo. But let’s start at the beginning.

I arrived in Chiclayo Monday morning with the four other Peru 13ers that will be living in Lambayeque. We had Monday free to explore the city, so some current volunteers came into meet us and give us the official Peace Corps tour, i.e., the good/cheap grocery stores, restaurants and bars. Chiclayo has everything you need (post offices, banks, cheese store) and a lot that I probably don’t – there’s a Starbucks and a movie theater! I imagine I’ll be treating myself to a movie and a latte at least once a month. I’m pretty sure I’ll have earned it. The city is really nice, it’s all walkable, much cleaner than Lima and the people seem really friendly. The only downfall is the aggressive macho behavior. It doesn’t bother me as much as it does some of the other girls, but I think we’ll all welcome the day when we’ve learned to yell back in Spanish. So Monday was pretty chill: we walked around, ate some ice cream, drank some coffee, ate some pizza, drank some wine.

We had an all-day meeting on Tuesday with our counterparts. My two counterparts arrived on time, which I took as a very promising start. (La hora peruana can leave you waiting for long stretches; I’ve already learned to bring a book with me everywhere I go.) One of my counterparts turned out to also be my new host dad. Don Papy, as everyone calls him, works for the museum in my town and is also a part of the artisan group (he sells honey). He seems really motivated about improving the town and we’ve already talked about a number of potential projects. He’s also lived in and around the town his entire life, so I feel pretty lucky to have him as a personal and professional resource. My other counterpart, Carlos, is vice president of the artisan group. He’s more reserved but also seems like a hard worker. The meeting was led by PC staff and was a basic introduction to Peace Corps, the roles of volunteers and counterparts, etc. I’m replacing a volunteer, so my counterparts were already familiar with the basics of Peace Corps.

After the meeting, Don Papy said he needed to run by the market before we headed back to site. Fine by me, I said. Off we go to the market, me with my giant gringo backpack traipsing through the narrow stalls, stepping over buckets of fish, around live chickens and dodging the ever-present taxis. We get to a glasscutter’s shop and order a piece of glass, which will be ready in 20 minutes. Back into the market we head, fearlessly knocking over Peruvians with their sacks of potatoes. Big Blue is back. Armed with a fresh chicken, some limes and a few green beans, we arrive back at the glass store. Ah, bad news. The glasscutter sliced open his hand and had to go to the hospital. There will be no glass for Don Papy today. I had a sneaking suspicion that this glass was for my room, otherwise I didn’t understand the urgency. Defeated we head off in a combi to my new home.

45 minutes later, and a world away, I step off the combi and walk up the dirt path to my house. There are two shirtless men in my room installing a lock, the window is missing a pane of glass, there is no curtain, and two (!?!) mattresses wrapped in plastic are sitting on the floor. I’m instructed to drop my bags and am shuttled off into another room to watch TV with my new host sister. The TV cable is dangling from the ceiling, I try to make conversation with Cinthia by asking what we’re watching (I can’t make anything out from the fuzz) and I get a one-word answer: “television.” Things were not off to a promising start. But 30 endless minutes later, I’m called back to my room. The door has a lock, the window had been taped over for now, a bed sheet serves as a temporary curtain and one bed has been unwrapped and made up for me. Peruvians are nothing if not resourceful.

My room is actually really nice. It’s separate from the rest of the house and is a new construction. It’s huge, a little barren now, but once I get all my stuff in there, it’s going to be great. And, best of all, I have my own bathroom! Granted there’s only running water a few hours a day, but still, the luxury of having my own bathroom cannot be overstated. Having my own door and separate entrance is also key, it goes a long way to restoring feelings of independence that have been sorely lacking the last couple months.

I met the rest of my family a bit later over dinner. We eat dinner outside, sort of; the main room is closed in by adobe walls and has a partial tin ceiling. The stove is open-flame, so there has to be somewhere for all the smoke to go. All the other rooms of the house are built around this little kitchen courtyard. It’s all very Peace Corps. I love it; it’s communal and cozy and familiar in a way that all family dynamics are. Everyone sits around a big wooden table under the stars, being served from ancient cast-iron pots and kettles. There’s a cage with about 25 cuyes (guinea pigs) squealing in the corner. And the dog, Oso (bear in Spanish), curls up under the table, lazily keeping one eye open for scraps of rice or potatoes. I have two host sisters, one host brother and a nephew. All of whom are really sweet and welcoming. We spent a lot of time sitting around that table talking about Peru, my family, the U.S., futbol…I foresee many hours around the old campfire, as it were.

I spent most of the rest of the week walking around the town, meeting some artisans and just generally talking to whoever would look my way. There are two ancient pyramids in my town from the Moche civilization (which pre-dates the Incas by more than 1,000 years), and it’s a live excavation site. I got to tour some of the dig sites and meet the archaeologists. There’s also a new museum that houses all of the recently found artifacts. I will soon be an expert in all things Moche.

This is already getting unbearably long, so I’ll leave off here for now. But suffice to say, I’m happy with my site and excited for what’s to come. One last mental image (it was too awkward to take many photos): one morning I came out for breakfast and noticed that there were several pieces of meat hanging from the clothesline. By dinnertime they were no longer there, our dinner contained some unidentifiable meat. I ate it all. It was good. My stomach is officially made of iron.