My volunteer friends and I jokingly like to put together lists poking fun at Peruvians, a tongue-in-cheek way to let out some steam. I’m not going to publish “Things Peruvians Like” or its companion list, “Things Peruvians Are Scared Of” here because without understanding the context or the spirit of the lists, they seem a little harsh. We laugh because we love.
Instead, I've decided to share with you another list I've been working on:
Reasons I Like Peruvians:
Their unwavering generosity;
That no matter how many unexpected guests turn up at the dinner table, there’s somehow always enough food to go around;
The women have a surprisingly raunchy sense of humor;
They love to dance and do so completely unselfconsciously;
They will tell you their life story immediately upon meeting you, which might be heartbreaking or heartwarming, but is always honest;
Their lack of body image issues;
And hand-in-hand with that, their rich culinary traditions;
They love to throw a good party or tell a good story;
That despite all the hardships they endure, they love to laugh – at themselves, at each other, at their country – and their humor is infectious;
Because they welcome me into their homes as a friend, a sister, a daughter.
Some of my favorite relatives showing off their hospitality (and adorableness).
To me, Peru is like that kooky friend or aunt or cousin we all have. The one we roll our eyes at and laugh a little about, but who we secretly, passionately hope never changes because we love her for being exactly who she is with no apologies, and because when you break through the surface barriers and see the essence of the person (or place), it’s startlingly beautiful.
January is a slow month around these parts. The kids are out of school, the artisans are taking a break, and lots of Peruvians spend the month visiting family around the country. I've spent the past few weeks re-acclimating to Peace Corps life by lounging in the hammock and cranking my fan up to high speed. I've read a lot of books and watched more movies than I'd like to admit. The days are long, lazy, and hot.
My favorite part about the summer here is Sundays. On Sundays everyone puts down their machete (for hacking down the sugarcane) or aprons and spends the day relaxing. Last Sunday, my host fam and I attended the opening of a "beach" bar across the river. We rolled up our pants and waded through the pebbly water to the sandy shores of Pucala to while away the afternoon enjoying ceviche and cerveza, and do a little dancing, of course.
The river is a big summertime destination. Peruvians aren't big on bathing suits, so men and boys alike splash around in their tighty-whities (sorry ladies, no pictures), while the women sunbathe in tank tops and shorts (though one day I saw a brave exhibitionist wearing only a bra -- scandalous). On the weekends there are literally hundreds of people playing in the shallow waters of Rio Reque.
Papy has been busily constructing a coliseo de gallos (cockfighting ring) over the past month and yesterday was its inauguration. The last week has been a flurry of activity with last-minute construction, the arrival of out-of-town family members (and their chickens), and cooking. The day was a big success -- tons of people came from all over and all 100 cases of beer were consumed. I dusted off my bartending skills and served lukewarm Cristal the thirsty masses. I also served as the event's madrina (sort of like a guest of honor/patron) and presented a weird plaque/statue to a famous gallero.
Performing my duty as madrina.
With the other VIPs.
I watched a lot of fighting gamecocks but couldn't get the hang of the betting system and ended up losing 10 soles to a drunk old man wearing a cowboy hat. I had better luck on the dance floor where all the Peruvians got a big kick out of watching my gringa hips swaying and shimmying. I'll do anything for a laugh.
A full house.
Watch the action live!
I'll be the first one to admit that I've struggled with finding meaningful and sustainable projects as a volunteer, but I consider my relationship with my community, especially my host family, to be my real success. I never tire hearing my host family refer to me as their daughter or sister. I don't know when it happened, but I really do feel a part of this family. We've even reached the point of good-natured ribbing. This morning my host mom handed me a huge plate of ceviche (the national hangover cure) with a knowing wink and the first thing Papy said to me was "Wow, Jessica, you sure made a lot of new friends last night." Love it!
The intervening days might be long and sweaty, but these summer Sundays are welcome reminders of the many reasons I do love this country and its people.
“Time keeps on slipping into the future” – Steely Dan
Time has a funny quality here. There are days that seem endless and months that pass in mere minutes. I at once can’t believe I’ve lived in Peru for all of 2010 and also feel like I’ve been here much, much longer. There’s a sense of sameness in small towns like Huaca Rajada, a feeling that time is somewhat irrelevant. People come and go, easing in and out of our lives as they seek work in Chiclayo, Lima, or further afield, but they’re always welcomed back as if no time has passed at all. Conversations veer to the familiar – the weather, family members, the latest town gossip. One doesn’t have to be here every day to understand the cycles of the seasons or the small family dramas that play out similarly in households around the world.
We tell time by the cars leaving for Chiclayo. It’s time for lunch with the “Rápido” (even after 16 months, I have no idea why this particular car is so named, they all seem equally slow to me) lumbers down the dirt road, Chiclayo-bound. I know it’s Saturday because Jackey (my other host sister) and her son come spend the day with us. Otherwise there is little difference between a Monday and a Thursday, or a Tuesday and a Sunday; the days blend together in a lulling rhythm broken only by the occasional campo baile.
When I return to site after a week or two of travel, I’m always a little worried that my artisans or family will have had some important meeting or participated in some big event without me. But every time I come back, they greet me as if I’ve always been here. As if my absence was a fleeting second. Sure, there’s a little friendly guilt-tripping – “Jessica, it’s been years,” they say. But I get this snarky retort whether I’ve been gone two days or two weeks. No, they respond, nothing new is going on here, nothing new to report. “Aqui estamos,” they reply day after day.
In many ways this blasé attitude toward the future is incredibly frustrating. It’s hard to motivate people to work when they are convinced that this is their lot in life and little they do will ever change their situation. Granted, there are a few incredibly motivated people in my town, but two or three people, mighty as they are, can’t carry an entire population forward. So from a development standpoint, time works against me.
But on a personal level, it’s been comforting to realize that I’ve woven myself into the fabric of this town, of it’s unique pace and personality. I don’t know when it happened, but one day I suddenly knew the combi schedule, I could predict what was for lunch based on the weather. It’s odd to find yourself at home in a place that once seemed so remote and alien. Time has a way of making everything eventually familiar.
Sometimes I wonder if they’ll remember me when I come back to visit in five, ten, or twenty years. I can’t answer for sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll find the same women gossiping in the shade of the algarroba tree, and they’ll welcome me back into their folds as if no time has passed at all. As if I’ve always been here.
I hope you are all enjoying a wonderful holiday season, wherever you are!
I've spent a good deal of time and space -- too much time some might say -- explaining the Peruvian party system on this blog. I recently found myself at a victory party for a local mayorial candidate, camera in hand. It seemed the perfect time to visually document (and prove) everything I'd been saying. Thus, I present to you, loyal blog followers, a photo story of the generation of a typical Peruvian soiree. Consider yourselves enlightened.
First, everyone must sit awkwardly against the wall in a giant circle. There's no dancing, not much talking, just a lot of sitting and waiting.
Waiting for what, you might ask. For the beer to come out, duh. Here, Papy (far left, proudly wearing his Carolina hat!) and company demonstrate the practiced art of nonchalantly scoping the crowd while passing cervezas around the circle.
These ladies are old-hands. They know the drill: a little waiting, a little lunching, a lot of dancing. One of the best things about Peruvian parties is the fact that, eventually, everyone will be on the dance floor. There are no age limits on fun here.
Next, we see what I like to call the "early adopters." These are the first people on the dance floor. They hear a favorite song and they're ready to cut loose. They don't mind that the majority of the crowd is still awkwardly balancing their paper plate of rice and beans on their laps.
Here, the early adopters are joined by the crowd at large after the band calls them to the front to listen to the mayor's acceptance/thank you speech.
You can't keep them off the dance floor at this point. The band is pumping out one hit after another. The beer is flowing. The sun is setting. The party has officially (four hours later) started.
The true mark of success -- getting the gringa to dance in your cirlce. Here I demonstrate how to two-step your way to popularity. Clearly my dance partner is impressed.
The truly amazing thing is that every single party I've been to follows this exact same format. Even the meals are the same. At least I always know what to expect, and at this point, I am more than happy to join in on all the fun.
Here's hoping you're enjoying your own special dance party!
Ask any volunteer in Peru the question they hear most often and they will unanimously, resoundingly respond: “Dime, ya has acostumbrado?” This roughly translates into “have you acclimated yet?” My dictionary gives the translation “to accustom,” which I actually didn’t know was a real word. I always translate it in my head as accustumbrate, which definitely isn’t a word. Anyway, there is only one acceptable answer: “Sí, sí. Todo está tranquilo.” Meaning, yes, everything is fine here, I love it, I’m fitting right in. Regardless of whether or not this is true, this is what the questioner expects and wants to hear. They’re not actually concerned with whether or not you’re comfortable – how could you not be? Forget that you’re thousands of miles from home, speaking a different language, living with a family that’s not your own, spending inordinate amounts of time by yourself…no problem, just tell me you love my country. I usually answer without really thinking; I know what they want and I’m happy to oblige. But I was sitting in a drinking circle (shocker!) recently for a friend’s birthday, and looking around I realized with a start that I felt totally comfortable and relaxed. I understood the majority of the conversation, I knew what was expected of me, I was kind of into the gossip because I actually knew who they were talking about…for a fleeting moment I really felt I had accustumbrated. I say fleeting because there are still a million and one things that confound, frustrate and amuse me, but as month four rounds into five I thought I’d reflect on some of the ways I’ve changed and adapted. So here we go, say hello to Peruvian Jess. She’s kind of weird…but always up for a good time.
• I spit seeds, bones or skin onto the floor while sitting at the table. I also flick the backwash out of the glass before passing it to the next person, regardless of where I am. It would be an embarrassing habit in public, but everyone else is doing it too.
• I have perfected the art of Peruvian “participation” in conversations – I adopt a pensive look, throw in the occasional grunt (ehhh, ahhh) of assertion and offer a courtesy laugh every few minutes. This means I don’t actually have to pay attention and can keep my mind clear for daydreaming of Bojangles and Diet Coke.
• I talk about the weather all the time. A sample conversation (literal translation=much funnier): Me: “Hi, what heat today, no?” Peruvian: “Yes, the heat is strong.” (fans him/herself) Me: “Yes, I am hot. I take much water.” Peruvian: “Is there heat in your country? It’s always cold there, no?” Me: “Yes, there is heat there. I lived in the South. Much heat there.” Peruvian: “Oh, what heat today.” Me: “I know. There is heat.”
• I can lie shamelessly and unabashedly in order to avoid ever saying the word no. My repeat offense stems from the never-ending requests for private English classes. I get at least three new requests a week. My initial strategy was just to talk around the subject and repeatedly mention the schedule for my current classes. But that wasn’t good enough so I’ve adopted a new strategy: vaguely hinting at several new classes beginning sometime next year. According to me, I will be teaching about three hours of English every day. Fat chance. I’m not proud of lying, but it’s just the way things are done here. I’ve found that brutal honesty doesn’t win me any new friends. And I need friends.
• I flick my wrist in an aggressive downward motion to beckon people towards me. I vigorously wag my index finger in front of my face to signify disagreement, a negative response or general disgust. I started using both of these gestures in mocking jest, but now I catch myself using them seriously and with gusto.
• I’m a one-utensil kind of girl – spoon or bust. Even when given the choice of a fork, I’ll choose the spoon. My family used to serve me a fork but after they saw me successfully navigate a spoon a few times, they realized I’m in it to win it and now I too eat my rice and potatoes with a spoon. It was a proud day for me when I sat down to dinner and was handed a spoon without question. No spoon? No problem. Use your hands.
• Arriving late to a meeting, I have no qualms about walking in, greeting everyone and loudly getting myself a chair and/or helping myself to the refreshments. There’s no shame, Peruvians make their arrival known whether they’re ten minutes or an hour-and-a-half late. Which brings me to one of my favorite customs: refresco hour. I love that for every reunión (meeting) – big or small, long or short – we take a break to share some gaseosa and cookies. I’m already scared of our one-year dentist appointment, though I have taken to brushing my teeth like five times a day to combat all the sugary drinks and snacks I consume on a daily basis.
Don't let the red sunglasses fool you, she's more Peruvian than she'd like to admit.
And just so you don’t think I’m super full of myself and my awesome adaptability, here are a few things that I still really suck at: • Handwashing clothes – every time I pull my t-shirts off the clothesline they’re stiff as a board because I can’t get all the soap out of them. For this reason, I have not washed my sheets in nearly four months. Are you judging me right now? Stop. You don’t know what it’s like. • Understanding Peruvian jokes – I’ll laugh because everyone else is, but for the life of me I do not understand what is so funny. • Enjoying Peruvian television – the slapstick humor, the acting, the drama that seeps into real life, the running commentary by my family…it’s just too much for me. So annoying. • Getting up with the roosters – I hear everyone outside my window getting ready for school or to head to the fields, but it’s hard to motivate myself to get out of bed at 7am when the only thing I have on my schedule is a 3pm meeting. I am very well-rested these days.
It’s the hap-happiest time of the year! Change that to hottest time of the year and you’d hit on the nose for Peru. Seriously, the past week or so, they’ve really cranked up the heat and welcomed summer full-force. My S/. 20 mini-fan isn’t really cutting it anymore. I might have to upgrade to industrial strength if the Peruvian’s warnings are true. Thought I’m naturally disinclined to believe most of what they say about weather, the past few weeks are leading me to think they might be telling the truth when they say that the summer heat reaches unbearable heights. I’m also beginning to understand the beauty and necessity of the post-lunch siesta.
I spent my first Peruvian Thanksgiving (even though there’s no such thing) at a small beach town a couple hours away from site with a few PC friends. It wasn’t the same as being at home but it was lovely in its own right. We played my favorite game of taking turns to say what we’re thankful for, and it seems we can all agree that having a support system of fellow volunteer friends is crucial and special indeed. We then added a Festivus twist and opened the table for the Airing of Grievances. Instead of pointing the finger at each other, we turned our collective critical eye to Peru and Peruvians. It was hilarious and therapeutic. We’re saving the Feats of Strength for New Year’s.
We somehow ended up with a vegetarian meal after we realized that between all the appetizers (guacamole, bruschetta, caprese salad and cheese plate), the world’s largest salad, stuffing (Stovetop – from the States!), about 9 kilos of potatoes (mashed and sweet) and stomachs already full of beer, that we didn’t need a whole bird. It was delicious and communal and we all had to roll ourselves away from the table…so a success! Highlights included watching my friends peel 9 kilos of potatoes with a serrated butter knife (I supervised), having to “borrow” the hostel owner’s stove, eating raw vegetables, and a pre-dinner walk on the beach.
The potato peelers.
Also a highlight: trying to explain Thanksgiving to my host family. I started out by just telling them it was a day that we gave thanks for all the people we loved, to which they replied, “oh, yeah, we have that too – the día de amor in February.” I explained that no, the día de gracias was different and that we have Valentine’s Day too. This devolved into a holiday quiz, each family member taking turns yelling dates and holiday names at me and asking if those holidays are celebrated in the States. Trying to get back on subject, I tried to act out a simplified version of the Pilgrims and Indians, only to realize that I actually wasn’t clear on the origins of Thanksgiving, let alone how to translate it into Spanish. This turned into a rudimentary history lesson on Christopher Columbus, which got even more confusing when I tried to explain that he actually didn’t discover North America and was nowhere near Plymouth Rock. Eventually I just left it at sharing a special meal with friends or family. Once I told them I was going to cook, they forgot everything else and laughed at what I’m sure they imagined to be a disaster. I’m keeping my mad culinary skills a secret for now…I’m a little intimidated by the whole open-flame cooking thing.
So here we are in December and besides feeling nothing like Christmas (see paragraph one), it looks nothing like Christmas either. No wreaths or icicle lights here in the campo. What have come out in full force, though, are panetones, which are basically a Peruvian version of fruitcake, but from what I can tell so far, decidedly more popular than fruitcake. They’re also shaped like giant muffins instead of rock-hard bundts. My friend Katie works at a bakery in her site so I’ve already been the lucky recipient of a few mini-panetones. Not really my favorite things, but hey, give me a few more and I’m sure they’ll grow on me.
A few days ago one of my artisans put up a Christmas tree at the artisan complex. Obviously we don’t really live in the right climate for evergreens, but this did not damper the famed Peruvian resourcefulness. We wrapped some tinsel around the branches, wrapped up a few empty coffee cans in paper and bam, our own Charlie Brown Christmas tree here in Huaca Rajada. My mom sent some U.S. decorations down (so far only one box has made it, but we’re hopeful the rest will arrive before Dec 25), so I taunted everyone with promises of decorations from the United States. Unfortunately I made the mistake of emptying out the package all at once, so in typical Peruvian fashion the few people that were there took all of the stockings and decorated one for every family member. I managed to rescue a few to ensure at least a few families were represented. But all in all, they were a huge hit. Thanks, mom!
Decorating our stockings.
I’m sad not to be with my family and friends over the holidays, (I’m especially bummed to miss my favorite December event – the office holiday party) but there’s something really cool about learning new traditions firsthand. I again count myself extremely lucky to be living in a country with such generous and open people. I know that whatever the celebrations include I will be welcomed with open arms.
In case I’m not able to post another blog before the New Year, I want to wish all you readers (all five of you) a very happy holiday season. I miss you all mucho, mucho, mucho. I hope 2010 sees you planning a trip to Peru!
