Back to Basics

I’ve spent a lot of time and space chronicling the amusing oddities of life in Peru on this blog. Recently feeling reflective, I skimmed over some previous blog entries, and it was both horrifying and enlightening to see how my writing (which I suppose is an extension of me…hey, cool, I’m “evolved”…) has evolved over the last two years. Reading early entries I'm struck at my own naiveté, my confusion, my awe. I thought everything was so strange, so funny. About a year or so in, I started to become a little more analytical; no longer confounded by drinking circle etiquette I focused more on the differences between here and there, between us and them, and realized that maybe things weren’t so different after all. And then all the things that had delighted and confused me in those early months started to annoy me in their repetitiveness and predictability. I was desperate for escape and set my sights further afield.

And now?

In my own banal predictability, I’ve come full circle and am again charmed by this place, by these people. The little things that became invisible in their familiarity are now blindingly apparent. Like the smell of the adobe stove that clings to your clothes after lunch, the spicy-acidic taste of fresh ceviche, the gurgling sounds the faucet makes every morning around 11 when the water turns on, the thwacks of the soccer ball outside my open window.  I am trying desperately to commit to memory these images, smells, tastes, and sounds. Trying to linger a little bit longer in my daily routines absorbing what makes them so familiar and, at the same time, soon-to-be so foreign.

I know I’ll never forget this experience, but I also know that these comforting sensations will someday soon be relegated to far reaches of my memory. I’ve started carrying my camera with me everywhere, taking random pictures of dirt paths and doorways because I know one day I’ll forget the way the sun reflects off the tempered glass of my neighbor’s window every afternoon.  Even my daily runs through swaying sugarcane fields seem profound from this perspective of almost-hindsight. Will something that has been such a part of my daily existence be easily forgotten?

And the people. Argh. The people. How do you say goodbye, most likely forever, to the people who have been the one constant in your rollercoaster emotions? Their laughter and conversation sustained me on days when there was little else keeping me here. How do you thank someone for literally keeping you sane? I can only hope to carry a little of my host mom’s sly wit and boundless capacity for mothering with me, to sear the sound of Bryan’s high-pitched giggle to my heart, to hold onto the optimism and generosity that so many people have shown me over countless lunches and lazy afternoons. Sitting beneath my open window on a typical afternoon, I can look up from my book and identify the neighborhood kids by the tones of their shrieks, the chords of their laughter. Will the new soundtrack of my life ever hold this much innocence, this much promise? I doubt it.

It’s becoming all too real, friends. Goodbyes suck. 

Saucy Seniors

It's a Peace Corps tradition to put together a "yearbook" for the outgoing "seniors," and I'm a senior, baby! Much like anxious 17 year olds suffering from a severe case of senioritis,  my friends and I have spent the last few weeks bandying about our "senior quotes" and "senior superlatives" over rambling phone conversations and extended weekend getaways. As with any graduation, I'm feeling a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. As I keep telling my friends, I'm ready to look back on this experience fondly. I am undoubtedly ready to move on and start the next great chapter of my life, but I am equally sure that there is a great deal I will miss about Peru, Peruvians, and this crazy Peace Corps lifestyle. I'm sharing an excerpt of my COS profile (COS = close of service) with you in an attempt to summarize some of these feelings.

Description of your service in 100 words or less:

Jessica spent two years trying, unsuccessfully, to learn the names of all 723 other inhabitants of Huaca Rajada, playing hours of Uno and hide-‘n-seek with neighborhood kids, and gossiping around the kitchen table with her host family. In her spare time she helped develop a new product line for the costura association, gave general marketing and accounting talleres, helped construct a cockfighting ring, and taught some English. She is an unapologetic fan of drinking circles and campo bailes, where she is heads above the rest on the dance floor. All in all, it was a weirder and funnier two years than she ever could have imagined.

Was it worth it?

Without a doubt. For all the long and boring days at site, there are just as many hilarious and fun memories. I’ve learned more about myself, and the world, than I ever imagined possible.

Favorite peruano en tu sitio:

My host family for teaching me the true definition of generosity. Special shout out to my chanchito nephew, Bryan, for always finishing my leftovers and for letting me play hours of Super Mario Bros with him.

What do people in your site consider your strangest behavior?

Sleeping with a fan every night, exercising, and drinking cold water. Frankly, even I am surprised to still be alive.

What's the longest amount of time you spent in site?

15 long and sweaty days.

TV/Movie character who kept you company in site:

Josh, CJ, Toby, and Sam were the best friends a girl could ask for.

Worst movie you’ve watched on a bus:

I once watched three Hillary Duff movies in a row. You say worst, I say awesome!

Longest you've gone without bathing:

5 or 6 days, which is a little excessive considering I have my own bathroom (sans agua) and live in the very hot desert.

Arroz y papas. A necessity or a burden?

Rice is only good for soaking up oil or masking the taste of unidentifiable meat. I will gladly eat 5 kilos of potatoes if it means I never have to eat yucca again.

Weirdest medical issue:

That would have to be the heretofore unknown mango allergy, which resulted in eyes swollen shut, face expanded to three times its normal size, and an unpleasant stint in a Peruvian ER.

Thoughts on cumbia/huayno:

I used to be annoyed by the sameness of every cumbia song, but like many other things in this country, it snuck up on me and I now find myself requesting cumbia songs at parties and adding Grupo 5 songs to my running playlist.

How many cell phones/bank cards/hats/sunglasses/cameras/girlfriends/boyfriends have you gone through? 

4/2/1/15/2/and depends who you ask.

Did you pick up any new hobbies or activities?

Sweeping, Nokia Snake game, and watching entire television series I’d never heard of before from start to finish.

Favorite wall décor in your host family’s house:

The Avon poster with Reese Witherspoon and Patrick Dempsey. They kept me company during many an unpalatable meal.

Combi story:

I was coming back to site on the Sunday of the presidential elections and the car was more crowded than I’d ever seen before, which is saying a lot. I spent the better part of two hours with one baby on my lap, another awkwardly sprawled on my shoulders/head, and a woman’s lady parts melded to my left arm. I quite literally couldn’t move a muscle. Oh, and the woman sitting next to me had propped her broken ankle across my legs, effectively pinning me to the seat. Did I mention it was 9,000 degrees?

Most amusing misconception you have heard about the U.S.?

Everyone is rich and drives two cars. We eat everything, especially meat, out of cans.

Have you been robbed?  What did they take?

Peru robbed me of my dignity, modesty, and any sense of shame very early on.

What’s the most creative thing a Peruvian has said to you in English?

“I love you but I don’t know what to do about it.”

Best/weirdest gift from a Peruvian:

On my second day in site, my host brother gave me a framed picture of his recently deceased grandmother. In her coffin.

Most embarrassing story:

As I said, I lost any sense of shame early on and, as a result, don’t realize many of the ways in which I embarrass myself daily. But this one still stands out: I had come back from an afternoon run and was playing tag with some kids outside my room. After about 15 minutes, I reached into my running shorts to get my key, but I couldn’t find it. I jumped around a little and felt the key move. After a couple awkward minutes groping around, I realized the key had somehow worked its way into the lining of my underwear. There was no way to get it without pulling down my pants. I tried to get the kids to walk away but they refused to leave my side. So I walked around a corner and discreetly pulled down my shorts only to look up and see several concerned parents starting at me. One hand in my underwear, five kids around me, and a terrified look on my face. Awkward.

Biggest lie that you’ve told:

To my host family: “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Meltdown story:

Toss-up between the hospital stint and the 18-hour canoe ride. Or all those times my community completely bailed on my meetings and/or projects … but I kind of got used to that after about a year.

How has Peace Corps changed your future plans?

It’s actually made me less certain of what I want to do or where I want to be – after this anything seems possible.

What Peruvian article of clothing or accessory are you planning to rock when you return stateside?

Graphic tees are the new black.

What will you be sad to leave behind?

My host family. The unwavering generosity of Pervuians and their amazing ability to feed however many people show up with whatever is in the pot. The rambling conversations. The freedom to do whatever and be whomever I want. The serenity of campo life. Huancaina sauce, tacu tacu, and ceviche.

What will you not be sad to leave behind?

The complacency and machismo. Not fitting on combis, collectivos, taxis, or buses. Public urination. The way drunk campo men smell.

What has Peru taught you?

Not to take myself too seriously. To go with the flow. To find beauty in the most unexpected places.

What scares you the most about returning to the States?

The 2012 election.

First meal you will have when you get back to the States:

Chips con queso, chicken enchiladas with sour cream and guacamole, veggie fajitas and ice cold beer out of a can. My stomach is growling as I type.

Any advice for current/future PCVs?

Don’t take anything, especially yourself, too seriously. Sure there are down moments and times you want to kill your host family, counterpart, etc., but being able to laugh at your situation is the only way to stay sane. And, c’mon, it’s funny.

And my superlative? "Most likely to bring Papy." :-)