Mamma Mía

To those of you who follow this blog (all five of you), it will come as no surprise that Peruvians love any excuse for a party. Mother’s Day was no exception. Before I tell my tale, I would like to give a special shout out to my real mom – I wish I could have been with you on Mother’s Day. I miss you and I love you.

Mama numero uno, Liz.

Mama numero dos, Lucha.

Our celebration began on Friday with a trip to Saltur for the school’s Día de la Madre celebration. The show included a number of dances and performances, including poetry, by the students. But the big moment was when they handed out the canastas of prizes for a few lucky moms. Bryan’s mom Cinthya (my host sis) is now working in Chiclayo so she couldn’t make the party. Right before the drawing, Lucha (my host mom) had to duck out to attend an Avon conference. Papy leaned over and asked if I would escort Bryan if they called his name for anything. Not really sure what that meant, I of course said yes. Immediately after this mumbled conversation, we hear Cinthya’s name being called. Everyone around me starts shoving me and yelling for me to go up there. Turns out we won the goodie bucket and I had to go up and collect it, in front of everyone. Like several hundred people. There were a lot of confused people in attendance as Bryan and I sauntered up to collect the Mother’s Day prize. Skip to a few minutes later when there is another raffle for the moms. Lucha had handed me her ticket before she left asking me to collect the prize if she won. Well, guess what? We won. Back to the stage goes the gringa to collect her second Mother’s Day prize. Needless to say, my family got a big kick out of this. And several people asked me if I was Bryan’s mother. I’m still not sure if I should be insulted.

The stage where I received my prizes.

A portion of the entertainment.

After the show was over, and a very pleased Lucha returned to discover her loot, we headed to a restaurant (I know, crazy times) for a little snack. Papy then informed me that he had scored us invitations to the post-party luncheon for all the teachers. He’s the president of the PAFA (kind of like PTA), so he’s got friends in high places. On to our second lunch of the day! And I had been fed a sandwich at the school (only the moms got sandwiches -- I think Peru is trying to tell me something). Anyway, off we go to the private staff party. Papy was clearly disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm shown by the teachers, who were busily sucking down Pisco Sours and exchanging gifts, so he arranged for a little speech, as Papy is prone to do. His speech turned out to be an introduction of me, meaning I in turn had to make a little speech. I mumbled some variation of my usual “Hi, I’m Jessica. I live and work here. I also work for the U.S. government. Hopefully we can work together. Yes, I’m single. No, I don’t want to marry your son/cousin/nephew/brother/husband. Thank you so much for having me.” Business taken care of, we turned up the music and started dancing. I think I left the party with a few new friends, or at least I took it as a good sign when several teachers asked me when I was coming back.

Teachers fleeing after my ¨speech.¨

We had plans to leave bright and early Sunday morning for Pacherrez, where the majority of Lucha’s family lives. At dinner on Saturday night Lucha asked me what time I would be waking up the following morning. Unsure as to what was the correct response, I hesitantly said 8am. After a few whispered sentences, she and Papy decided I could come later, at 9am. Clearly this was going to be a big day.

I arrive around 10 the next morning with Pierre, Cinthya and some random dude with a car. The majority of the women were already in the back getting lunch ready. Luckily I got there just in time to participate in the killing of the three ducks. A quick snap of the neck, a precise knife strike to the jugular and the deed is done. My job consisted of de-feathering the steamed ducks. I lasted about 20 minutes before the elders decided that I was slowing them down. So I took up my usual spot, in the corner with the men, passing around a bottle. Despite my brief appearance, I’m pretty sure I made my grandmother’s month. She is incredibly old but surprisingly spritely. Every time I see her she grabs my cheeks and pets my hair and mutters incoherently about “mi gringita.” After the duck incident, she really took a shine to me and would turn and stare at me every so often and then burst out laughing about her crazy gringita. Everyone also got a big kick out of an uncle referring to Lucha as my mother-in-law. Apparently Pierre has been spreading the word around the family that we will soon be married. It’s the joke that will not die. Seriously, Peru what are you trying to say?

So basically the entire day consists of the women preparing an elaborate lunch while the men sit around getting drunk. Good to know that Mother’s Day doesn’t really change anything. Though I will say it was heartwarming to see so much of the family together. A few aunts, uncles and cousins had come up from Lima and everyone who lives in the Chiclayo area was there, probably close to 30 people in total. After stuffing ourselves silly with duck and more duck, I was finally invited to join the cool kids, i.e., all the twentysomething cousins. Usually I get stuck with the adults, which is fine, but I’d secretly been dying to be part of the hip group. Only took me nine months to get in. Who’s cooler than this girl? We hung out in the park, listening to American music, taking pictures and sending the younger kids to fetch more drinks. Out of nowhere the random dude with the car returned to drive us back to Huaca Rajada, where there was to be a baile. A baile just like any other baile – drinking circles and cumbia dancing. The band was a new group formed by some local Huaca Rajadeños, aptly called “Son del Barrio.” I think they still have a few kinks to work out since I heard them play exactly one song and the rest of the music came from a stereo. This serves as an appropriate metaphor for the town itself – we’re trying, sort of. Poco a poco...

Hanging out with the cool kids.

Campo Crazy

So, it’s been awhile. I am now writing to you as a real volunteer. No longer a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee), I have entered the realm of the illustrious PCV world (I’ll leave you to figure out that acronym). We swore in last Friday and the whole group spent one last, crazy night together in the posh parts of Lima, eating non-Peruvian food, drinking wine and just generally drinking away our anxiety.

I’m not going to lie this first week in site has been tough. It’s a weird adjustment to go from having every minute of every day planned for you to having absolutely nothing planned. To go from a group of 36 to a group of one. To go from our gringo bubble to the wide-open campo. To go from…you get the picture. And to do it all from inside a foreign language, that adds a whole new dimension. In Spanish I am reduced the simplest of sentences and expressions. Forget being funny and charming, I struggle with simply talking so as not to appear mute.

I can’t begin to explain the awkwardness of the past few days. I arrived to my site (after spending an extra day in Chiclayo, our regional capital (my excitement about heading to site quickly turned to “I-don’t-want-to-go-let’s-stay-here-together-and-eat-and-drink-and-speak-English-and-not-go-to-site-today-please-stay-with-me-please-ok-great-let’s-go-out.”)), on Monday afternoon only to find that no one from my host family save for my 6-year-old nephew was at the house. Brian gave me the key to my room so I started unloading my stuff. One of my host sisters showed up and helped with some bags and then told me she’d leave me alone to unpack. So I sat in my room for a couple of hours until they called me for dinner. I did get a cookie and some cake though, so clearly they love me. We’re saving the ticker-tape parade for another day.

I had a nice long chat with my host dad, who is super-motivated and has a lot of ideas for projects and opportunities. I really like him. Anyway, we were chatting and I look over to see mom pull a goat’s head out of a pot on the stove. My face must have given me away because they all started laughing and telling me about the goat they killed earlier that day. I went to bed with an uneasy feeling about the next day’s meals. Sure enough I was served goat intestine over rice for breakfast the next morning. Breakfast. Those of you who know me well can attest to my former picky eating habits. Well, there’s no room for picky in Peru. You eat what you’re served. And eat it I did. It tasted like what you would expect goat intestine to taste like, if you are so sadistic as to imagine such horrors. I think it says a lot that rice is my favorite part of many meals. I’ve since started running in the mornings and telling them I prefer to just eat a piece of fruit by myself in the mornings. For now I’m safe from future innards breakfasts.

Aside from plotting ways to avoid goat meals and forcing down mystery meats, I spent a good deal of the first couple days in my room, reading and watching movies on my laptop. I’ve taken the “slow adjustment integration” approach. And I think that’s OK. First order of business is to make myself comfortable and as happy as possible, and if I need some alone time to work up the will to pasear through town desperately searching for conversation, then that’s what I’m giving myself. Talking to all my PC friends it seems like we’re all in the same boat – doing a lot of sleeping, reading and free calling with our new cell phones. But I have been getting out more and more each day.

Yesterday I walked over to the artisan complex to talk with some of the artisans. I plopped myself down and started asking questions. It actually went really well. I got myself invited to a birthday party (where I had to dance with all the 17-year-old boys in the middle of giant circle…and pee outside while the mom watched me to make sure I didn’t fall down), got several free snacks, talked about some project ideas and coordinated with one of the artisans to go to a fair next weekend at a nearby university. I’ve also met with the director of the local school, who seems very willing to work with me. I’ve tentatively set up several meetings for next week. I’ve also already had several “meetings” cancelled or rescheduled. Oh, and I met one of the local political bigwigs, a municipality employee of some sort. My host dad and I went to his house one afternoon and he invited us in for a drink, in his underwear. Oh, Peru. How you taunt and tease me.

And I’m headed into Chiclayo today (or am actually already there by the time I post this) to do some shopping for my room and possibly go to the beach with my PC friends. So things are looking up. I keep telling myself it can only get less awkward from here.

I don’t mean to sound negative or down, I am excited to be here and I know these next two years are going to be full of amazing, enriching experiences. But the adjustment period is just that, an adjustment to a completely different life, far away from anything familiar. I am happy though and taking each day as it comes, content in the knowledge that I can do whatever I want because I’m already the weird gringa and they expect me to be odd. And I’m still laughing at all the little things, even if I have to laugh silently on the inside.

I miss you all, please write or call. I’ve updated my contact information on the right side of this page. We don’t have Internet in my site so be patient and keep reading and writing!

Oh, and no pictures for awhile...my camera was stolen a couple weeks ago in Lima. Sad times. My words will have to suffice for now. Paz afuera.