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." :-)

Time Travel

“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!

Dancing with the Dead

Leave it to Peruvians to turn even a trip to the cemetery into a celebration. Gone is the hushed grief, the painful silences, the eerie stillness of it all. Instead we visit the dead, leave them flowers, share a large family picnic around the gravesite. We tell them stories about neighbors, cousins, and ourselves because we know the Peruvian thirst for gossip is never quenched. We throw a big party twice a year in their honor –- on the anniversaries of their birth and death, marking the bookends of their life. They might be physically gone from our lives but their presence is acknowledged and celebrated on a daily basis.

There is something quite beautiful and moving in honoring your departed loved ones in this way. I’d noticed it in passing before, but over the past few weeks I’ve spent a decidedly un-morbid amount of time in and around Peruvian cemeteries.

A few weeks ago, for Day of the Dead, I spent an entire day in the cemetery with my host family. We packed a big lunch and camped out for the day. There were families visiting almost every grave, enjoying their own picnics and paying their respects to deceased parents, grandparents, spouses and friends. Kids were laughing and squealing in the background, making dirt pies to sell to the adults. The ice cream vendor made a killing (pun intended) selling sweet treats to the sweaty revelers. Instead of a somber event, it was a happy day punctuated by chatter and sweet rememberances. It was a time for family and friends to share meals and memories. Obviously I don’t have a personal connection with any of the deceased relatives so it’s easy for me to gloss over any sadness, but in talking with my host family and observing the day, I really don’t think it’s a time for sadness. The dead aren’t honored here by crying over our losses, we honor their memories by spending time as a family, united in a shared love for someone no longer here.

A couple weeks later, Papy’s sister died. She’d been sick for a long time so it was no big shock, but it’s always sad to lose someone. What followed was a whirlwind of familial activities: a wake, a funeral precession, a burial ceremony, a post-burial ceremony, and lots and lots of shared meals. I was present for it all -- what’s a family event without the token gringita, after all? Sure there were some awkward moments, namely walking behind the coffin, standing heads above the rest of the mourners, throwing flower petals as we marched through the streets. More than one person stage whispered, “who is that white girl?” But overall it was a time for family and I was welcomed, as always, with open arms. The generosity of the Peruvians I know is boundless. Amid their sadness they found the kindness and love to feed me, include me in the rituals and ceremonies, and talk to me. The whole three-day affair was marked less by sadness and more by joyous moments of family love. It was unexpectedly moving for me. Once again I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude for being able to be a part of these private moments.

For all its hardships and loneliness, Peace Corps really does offer us this incredible opportunity to live in another culture, with all the joy and pain that brings.

Pisco & Peanuts

This blog title is in reference to my dinner tonight (yummy) and because it sounds like a pretty Peruvian way to say "odds 'n ends."

I found myself today with some unanticipated Internet time, thus I spent my time as any lonely foreigner would do -- partaking in some good old-fashioned Internet stalking. Perusing some of my favorite blogs (and lurking creepily around on strangers' blogs), I realized my own blogging is a bit wan. Sure, it's hard to stay on top of an Internet-based journal when you live in a town with NO Internet access, but still, I feel like there's so much I want to say and should have said to document this crazy experience. Although if you've read any of the previous entries you can certainly attest to the difficulty with which I summarize or succinctly relate my Peruvian life. What can I say? I'm wordy. Hence, the roundabout introduction to what I can only call a random update.

Birthday 2010.

My first couple weeks back in site after my Charleston trip were kind of rough, I'm not gonna lie. It's hard to go from constant activity and everyone wanting to talk to you and see you to being alone in the middle of a Peruvian desert town. But I'm happy to report I've gotten over myself and am back to loving Peru. There's something about Peruvians that just won't let you feel sorry for yourself for long. For one thing, they are hilarious in a completely unintentional way. They're also incredibly generous and welcoming.

Case in point: I was sitting this afternoon in an unassuming restaurant, working on my laptop, and ended up engaged in a nearly three-hour conversation with the owner (my Pisco purveyor). We chatted about everything from weather to politics to Hollywood stars. When he found out why I was living in Peru, he called over the other waiters to share some Pisco in honor of me and my selflessness. Ha. If they only knew how much more I am getting/learning from nearly every Peruvian I meet. Honestly, their openness and generosity touches me when I need it most. Quality people.

Besides swilling Pisco with locals, I've been steadily working on some projects in site. My artisans and I recently participated in the annual U.S. Embassy-sponsored artisan fair in Lima. I traveled with Maria and Papy for the two-day event. Papy is a Peace Corps veteran these days. He has literally been to every PC-sponsored training event that exists in the past 18 months. He loves it. He introduces himself to other Peruvians as a Peace Corps employee. I overheard him coaching Maria (who had never been to a PC event) on what to expect, pointing out who's who of the staff, and generally acting the consummate pro. It was ridiculous and endearing. This year's fair was a smaller than last year's, so we didn't sell as much as I'd hoped, but it was still a good experience for the Bad News Bears from Huaca Rajada. Poco a poco.

Maria preps for the artisan fair.

Up next: continuing with my community bank and HIV/AIDS work (two separate projects), traveling to Arequipa for Thanksgiving, studying Portuguese (I've decided it's time I learn a third language), and counting the days until I'm back in the US of A for Christmas (yes, I love Peru, but nothing says holidays like home). Hasta pronto amigos!

Saludos from Huaca Rajada!

Loving Language

Break out the champagne flutes, pop open the bubbly -- I’ve reached another landmark in my Peace Corps service. August 25th marked one year living in Huaca Rajada. I have lived in my little room in the middle of the Peruvian desert for longer than I have lived in any other apartment or house in the past five years. Weird, right? And I still have another year to go – when all is said and done here, the only place I’ll have lived longer is the house I grew up in Charlotte, which I haven’t lived in since I was 17. Who knew the Peace Corps would actually help me put down roots?

Now I had a lot of goals for myself when I set out on this grand adventure, and chief among them was to become fluent in Spanish. I assumed that after a year of living among Peruvians, not one of whom speaks any English, I’d be well on my way to crossing at least one goal off my list. But, it turns out that being really and truly fluent in a language is a lot harder than you think. I can get by in Spanish. I go days without speaking a word of English (other than the running commentary in my head) and I even have the occasional dream in Spanish. But just getting by is not the same as being able to eloquently and succinctly express your thoughts, your ideas, your sense of humor, especially for someone who has such a love of words and good conversation. In a foreign language I am stripped down to the barest of myself. It is humbling to say the least.

On the flip side, I find my English getting worse. When I am talking to friends and family back home I find myself grabbing for words, unable to think of the English equivalent of gaseosa (soda), chisme (gossip), malecon (boardwalk) and other seemingly random words. The life I’m living here exists somewhere between languages – we volunteers communicate in a pidgin language of English/Peruvian/Peace Corps. Basically, I’m fluent in no language, which has led me to think a lot about the meaning of words, their origins and how living across languages trips up our brains. So I present to you some of my linguistic observations:

• Embarazada means pregnant. I’ve started working on a sexual health project, so this word comes up a lot but I still can’t say it or read it without thinking of the English word embarrassing. I have a feeling this has a lot more to do with my personal views on reproduction than any sort of linguistic derivative.


• When you ask a Peruvian to repeat themselves, they repeat the requested question or statement followed by “digo.” Digo translates to I say. So they’re repeating something they just said followed by the proclamation, “I say.” As in, “what time does the next car leave, I say.” This always makes me think of Elmer Fudd. I say, I say, I say pass me the rice.


• Peruvians love to make words diminutive by adding –ita to the ends of words. I find this endearing and can not say a number of words without adding that cute, little ending (aguita, bolsita, pancito). It also softens the blow when someone calls you a gordita, as in, hey cute, little fat girl. It seems no word is immune from this trend, including my name. Somehow Jessicacita doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.


• Playa means both beach and parking lot. For some reason I find this endlessly amusing, envisioning a crowded beach packed with broken down cars.

There are countless more examples of words and phrases that confuse and amuse me, but I can't seem to articulate them right now. I originally wrote this post a few weeks ago and reopened it today to edit and publish, but in those intervening weeks, I’ve spent a great deal of time with English speakers. Non-Spanish-speaking English speakers, which has made my head spin even more. Translating from Spanish to English, carrying on rapid conversations in English, forgetting who speaks Spanish and who speaks English, trying to listen in on conversations in multiple languages. I don’t even know how to think anymore, let alone how to post a witty and bilingual linguistic analysis. Really, is language learning supposed to be this jumbled?

Anniversary Antics

This past week (Jan 24) marked the one-year anniversary of both the museum and artisan complexes, as well as the formation of my artisan association. It was a busy, busy week. I’m pretty sure I danced more in the past week than I have in the previous six months combined. Now, not all of the following events were directly related to the museum anniversary, but they all happened in the same week so I’m lumping them together because that is my right as the narrator of these twisted tales.

The week began with un almuerzo de cofraternidad with my association. I was coming back from errands in Chiclayo and was rushed to get there on time, which I’ve finally learned means about an hour after the scheduled start time. So I rolled in, fashionably on time, and sat down just as the cebiche was being served. There were bottles of Pepsi on the table and about 20 people gathered around. Perfect, I thought to myself, a low-key lunch and plenty of time for me to teach my English class and get in an afternoon run. We tuck into our cebiche and goat, make a few toasts and then Papy strolls in with a case of beer. Silly Jess, have you learned nothing about Peruvians? He takes the microphone (oh, right, one of the museum guards moonlights as a DJ and he had kindly offered his musical talents to our little celebration) and instructs us to get the party started. Cumbia sufficiently cranked, chairs shoved to the wall, cups circling, we take to the dance floor. As afternoon rolled into evening, the drinks kept flowing and the music kept playing. I was feeling my dance moves, and emboldened by compliments on my dancing (“you have really improved since the last time we danced”) and a few vasos of Pilsen I requested some Michael Jackson and proceeded to perform a thrilling rendition of Thriller. Alone. In front of everyone. They loved it. Our relationship has reached a new level thanks to the immortal words of MJ. Suffice to say, I did not run on Monday. Nope, I stayed until the bitter end (8pm), outlasted only by the DJ who was last seen passed out behind his stereo. Happy anniversary to us!

A few days later we celebrated the official anniversary of the opening of the museum. The museum director had warned me that their budget did not allow for much, but they wanted to do a little something to commemorate the day. I got to the complex around 2pm just in time to see the band start. Oh yes, there was a live band playing on the steps of the museum. It was a motley gang of local musicians who I’m assuming offered their services for cheap. Not that they weren’t talented, it’s just that they weren’t very talented. We did a little folkloric dancing on the steps of the museum, took some pictures and called it an afternoon. I was actually surprised by the restraint. Usually a low-key party means one meal instead of two and ten cases of beer instead of twenty, but they really stuck to it this time. Just a few hours of singing and dancing and couple vats of chicha de jora (corn liquor).

The merry music makers.

Saturday afternoon presented one of the things I love most about my life here – the unexpected invitation. I was relaxing (napping/sweating) in my room when my mom came to my window and asked if I wanted to go to a wedding with her. Obviously I accepted, even after she told me I had to wear something nicer than usual. Implying, I suppose, that my uniform of dirty shorts and tank tops would not suit this occasion. Nonplussed I roll out of bed, douse myself with a few buckets of water and put on a dress. And make-up and real shoes. What? Who is this person? I walk outside and everyone gives me a serious once over, but I apparently meet the dress code and we’re off amid a soundtrack of whistles and catcalls.

Turns out this wedding is in Chiclayo (fan-cee) so we head down to the road to wait for a car. As usual, I am given no information or details, I simply go where I'm told. Mom tells me the wedding starts at 5. We arrive to the church at 5.45. No one is there. We ask the guards (the ceremony was in the main cathedral of Chiclayo – a tourist spot) about a wedding and they tell us there is a wedding at 6pm. They also mention that I will not be allowed to enter because my dress is too short. I instantly feel ashamed and cheap and start tugging at my dress desperately trying to cover the scandalous three inches of thigh showing. My host mom doesn’t seem too concerned about either comment, prudently (prudishly?) wearing pants, so we sit on a bench outside and wait. 6pm comes and goes, along with an entirely different wedding party. I’m beginning to think our grand adventure is over before it starts when up pulls a green bus bearing the name Sipan in huge letters. Ah, turns out we were supposed to get on the bus the family had rented for the evening. Also turns out the wedding starts at 7pm. Details, details. I end up being allowed in, God deciding he would let my risqué attire slide this one time, though I’d secretly been hoping I wouldn’t be able to go so I could sneak across the street for a glass of wine and some French fries.

The happy couple.

The ceremony was…um, different. I don’t know if it was because it was in such a public church or if this is how it always is, but everything was very public. It was basically a regular Catholic mass, open to anyone, with a few additions (vows, a homily about love). And no one seemed very happy. There was no smiling, no tears, no real emotion at all. Only a frilly white dress and few rose petals strewn about gave any indication that it was in fact a wedding. Business taken care of, we board the bus and head for the reception site. (Note the following photos were taken by my 12-year-old photographer’s assistant. She was big on taking pictures but not so big on focusing or zooming.) After an hour or so of toasts, receiving lines, first dances and photos, the reception resembles any other Peruvian party. We get our plate of mystery meat accompanied by rice and beans (added bonus this time – hotdogs and olives in the rice…um, gross). In fact, the party lasted so long that we received this meal twice. Not really wanting a second round, I turned mine down, much to the disappointment of everyone at my table who retrieved plastic bags from the depths of their other plastic bags for a makeshift doggy-bag. I was sitting with the campo family. I’m pretty sure we got a few dirty looks from the Lima/Chiclayo crowd. Snobs.

Somewhere early on I was informed that we would not be shuttled back to Huaca Rajada until 4am. Without any other options, I committed myself to enjoying the party and doing everything possible to keep myself awake. This included lots and lots of dancing. As Most Improved Dancer, I must say I was a popular partner. Maybe too popular since at one point the bride’s dance partner (not the groom) tried to switch in the middle of a song prompting her to snap “are you here for her or for me?” Awkward. I think my popularity might have had something to do with the fact that I was the only woman over the age of 18 who (begrudgingly) went out to catch the bouquet. I ducked when it came towards me.

Me awkwardly trying to avoid the bouquet toss.

The rodeo clown dancing with the bride.

Anyway, the party was going along swimmingly and I successfully entertained myself until the bus pulled up around 3.30. In typical Peruvian fashion, everyone ran for the doors in order to secure a seat. I was still on the dance floor, figuring they wouldn’t leave without their most inconspicuous passenger. Sure enough I walked out to the bus with nine people yelling my name and calling me over, in case I couldn’t spot the only car on the street. Relaxing into my saved seat (shotgun!), I reflected on what a great evening it had been. Lots of dancing, lots of weirdness, new friends and, best of all, the bus arrived just at the right time. I was ready to go; recognizing that glassy-eyed stagger that usually signifies the party is about to get ugly. Content and tired, I nodded off only to be abruptly woken by a severe jostling of my seat and the pungent aroma of beer breath wafting alarmingly close to my face. It was the groom and his crew, begging the driver to stay longer. The driver went from being my best friend to my nemesis in one shrug of the shoulders. Stand up for yourself man! Don’t do it! I know you’re tired too! Caving under the slightest pressure, my nemesis quickly agreed to stay until 5. Five AM! I went from reveling in a successful evening to plotting the deaths of all the groom’s men in about 23 seconds. Quietly fuming, I waited out the next hour-and-a-half shooting death glares at anyone who so much as glanced at me. Finally, after squeezing about 147 people into a 50-passenger bus, we rolled off. Hurtling down the pitch-black, pot-holed roads, the darkness broken only by clusters of lights identifying unexpected hamlets of civilization among the seemingly endless fields of sugar and corn, I was overtaken by the strange beauty of it all. That’s the thing about Peru – my moods never last long here. There’s always something new, good or bad, just around the bend.

The next day I forced myself out of bed, or should I say, I was driven from my bed by the oppressive heat, after only a few hours of sleep. I had some last minute coordinating to do with the girls I’m taking to a leadership camp. Meaning that I ate about four lunches since it’s impossible to go to someone’s house without sharing a meal. There’s a heady feeling that comes with parents telling you they trust you to take their daughters away for a few days. I pedaled back home, belly full of generosity, overtaken by my love of this country and its culture. Yeah, I know, my mood swings give me whiplash at times.

Cut to four hours later. Huaca Rajada was celebrating the beginning of Carneval with a yunza, which is a big party that culminates in the chopping down of a gift-laden tree. My family and I walked over to the plaza after dinner and the party was in full swing. As in, everyone was tanked. Not to belabor the point, but drunken Peruvian men really annoy me. I spent most of the evening dancing with my six-year-old nephew. But I’m glad I stuck it out in order to see the main event. (Sadly there are no photos because my photo assistant killed my camera’s batteries in her attempt to capture every single moment of the wedding.) So the organizers of the party have to dance around the tree wielding a large axe. They take turns swinging at the base of the tree until it topples. The person who delivers the killer blow is then charged with throwing (and funding) next year’s event. Everyone (excluding yours truly, I have learned enough in my time here to know that drunks + axe + falling tree is a recipe for disaster) gathers round the tree waiting for it to fall so they can pounce on the free gifts, of which a large percentage were, oddly enough, brooms and dustpans. The tree fell, madness ensued and then it was over. It was kind of anticlimactic, although that could have been because I was standing at a cowardly distance of about 100 yards and couldn’t really see all the mayhem. Judging by the hangovers of many neighbors, the party continued until the wee hours, but once the tree fell I headed home for some much-needed rest.

And that, friends, was my week. Jealous?

Traveling Tales

Happy 2010! I apologize to my faithful followers for the long absence; I’ve been surprisingly busy over the past month. Mainly due to travel, but hey, busy is busy. So my first Peruvian Christmas has come and gone. It was…interesting. I’m glad I was here and experienced something new but it was definitely hard to be away from my family and friends. My host family was, as usual, wonderful about including me in the celebrations, limited though they were. Peruvians celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, so we had a traditional dinner of turkey, cheese, empanadas and panetón (dry Peruvian fruitcake. I’ll be happy to never eat another piece again) at midnight on Christmas Eve. At the stroke of 12 everyone jumps around yelling, toasting, hugging and setting off fireworks. Papy made a sweet toast about welcoming a new member to their family. I think I held on a little too long during the round of Christmas hugs – it just felt so good to be wanted and loved. After dinner the celebrations started full swing…sort of. There was to be a DJ dance party in the plazuela outside my house. The music started on time (about 1.30am) but no one seemed ready to leave their houses and start dancing. So we waited and waited and waited. Finally at about 3am people started entering the dance. Exhausted after all that waiting (plus the pre- and post-dinner drinking circles), I slipped into my room to use the bathroom, lay down in my bed and never returned. I could hear the party going until about 7am and when I emerged from my room at 9 on Christmas morning there were still several drinking circles going strong.

Christmas Day was kind of a bummer. Everyone was either still incredibly wasted or passed out from the previous night’s revelry. I did a lot of reading that day. They literally don’t do anything for Christmas Day, at least not here in Huaca Rajada. Luckily I had a few days at the beach with all my friends for New Years to look forward to, otherwise I think I might have snapped. New Years was incredible – I spent a few days at a beach town near the Ecuadorian border with some of my favorite people. Sun, sand, tropical drinks and lots of laughs – what more could you ask for. It was the perfect antidote to the lonely Christmas week. It’s crazy to think that people I didn’t even know a year ago have become so important to me in such a short time. I wouldn’t be having near as much fun without them.

Christmas dinner table

The fam at Christmas dinner

Some friends with their nativity scene

I also spent a week in Lima recently for an in-service training event. The trainings were…how do you say...dull? But it was great to see all the other business volunteers from my group and hear about their sites. The highlight was definitely spending time with them and exchanging stories about all our crazy Peruvian adventures. That and Papa Johns. Oh, Lima, you tease me with your delicious U.S. delicacies.

Arriving back in site I was quickly reminded that Lima is not the real Peru. No, no, the essence of Peru lies in the desert campo town of Huaca Rajada. Where pigs roam the town on their afternoon walk, where you’re just as likely to see a goat outside your window as a dog, where children climb through your window as you’re changing, where you’re served French fry omelets for dinner, and where everybody knows your name. I was repeatedly greeted with “Oh, Jessica, where have you been? Are you leaving us? We miss you. Please don’t leave. We miss you.” Peruvians have turned guilt trips into an art form. You don’t even realize they’re doing it until you walk away feeling sad and ashamed.

Pigs out for an afternoon stroll

I got back to my house early one Sunday morning after a long, hot, uncomfortable overnight bus ride. Wanting nothing more than to sleep in my own bed, I quickly greeted my family and headed to my room. They told me they were headed to Pacherrez (a town about 45 min away) for lunch with my mom’s family and I was to meet them over there when I got up. This is a typical Sunday activity so when I finally roused myself from my bed (driven out mainly by the heat as opposed to any actual motivation to be active) at 3pm, I figured it wasn’t worth it to make the trek over there since they usually come back around dinner time anyway. A couple hours later I start receiving frantic calls from my host brother. Explaining, for the fifth time, that I was tired and resting, I was a bit confused by the ruckus in the background. Finally I agree to head over there. I wait for the combi for half an hour, all the while being attacked by the vicious evening mosquitoes, get on a nearly empty car, freak out when it pulls over in the middle of nowhere, drops off the driver, leaving me alone with the 15-year-old cobrador-turned-driver. Luckily we made it safely and I rolled up into a full-swing pollada party. Seriously, my family leaves out the most important details. If I’d known it was a party, I would have been there hours ago! As it were, the party was entering hour seven and I was the only sober person to be found. It was my first experience at a real Peruvian party stone cold sober. Not as much fun. The party broke up about an hour after I got there because all the drunks were throwing bottles at each other. This is usually how and why parties break up here. So we pile into the back of the DJ’s pick-up truck wedged between the speakers for the bumpy midnight rides back to Huaca Rajada. Welcome back to site, Jess!

It’s summer vacation here, so I’m doing a lot of mini-projects with the kids in my town. We’ve formed a culture club and are learning about the U.S. right now (feel free to email me any photos or stories I could share with them about life in the States). I’m still teaching a few English classes a week. And I’m preparing for a leadership camp for girls with some young ladies in my site. And playing a lot of hide-and-seek with my neighborhood posse. Ah, the rough life of a Peace Corps volunteer.

Hope you’re all well and enjoying the new year. I miss you all! Stay in touch!

Adeptly Adapting

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.

What do you think? Will you recognize me in 2011?

Proud Poverty

I suppose it’s stating the obvious when I say that the people in my town are poor. I’ve mentioned before the lack of amenities that we take for granted in the U.S.; things like running water, refrigeration, telephones, etc. And while I have not forgotten the sublime pleasure of a high-pressure hot-water shower, these things become less and less important with the passing days. I’ve reflected often over the past few months that people have an amazing capacity for adaptability. If you had asked me six months ago if I would be comfortable eating goat or washing my clothes in the river, I might have put on a brave face and laughed the question away, but I can guarantee that I had no idea what I would be comfortable with or what exactly I was getting myself into. Most days I still don’t know what I’m doing or how much further I can stretch my flexibility. But I’m finding that I am increasingly comfortable with doing (or eating!) what would have been unfathomable a year ago. The physical hardships and lack of material comforts begin to fall away and I’m left focusing on the personal, the human side of this experience.

I don’t like to write negative feelings here for public consumption since my wildly unpredictable emotions change from day to day and nothing is as bad as it seems the next day. But I’m not gonna lie, sometimes this is really hard and really lonely. I definitely have moments where I’m cursing Peru, Peace Corps, Peruvians and myself all in one breath. But after some reflection and the comforting wonders of either chocolate or a long phone chat with a friend, I feel much better and am able to realize that I’m extremely lucky to have this opportunity to get to know another country and another culture. And what I keep coming back to is the incredible generosity of the people here. I can’t imagine what my host family thinks of me or says about me when I’m not around – I must seem so strange to them! But they’ve never treated me with anything less than kindness, welcoming me as another daughter/sister and including me in the numerous family celebrations. In the past few weeks my two nephews have started calling me tía (aunt) to my face. They’ll never know how much that little gestures goes to making me feel loved. Granted it’s not the same as my real family (miss you guys!), but it’s so nice to have some sense of belonging in this strange and foreign land.

Nearly everyone I meet is immediately welcoming, inviting me to a snack or a meal or a beer, or asking me to stop by their house to meet their family, or marry their son/cousin/nephew. The artisans I work with are always giving me little gifts of jewelry or sweets. They want me to know and love their culture as much as they do. I’m always hearing that I’m lucky to live in this part of Peru because the people are so friendly and warm, and while I can’t speak for the rest of the country, I have to agree with this characterization. It’s humbling to hear their stories of hardships and struggles and watch them shrug it off with a laugh or a shake of the head. Peruvians are tough, especially the women. In a male-dominated society, these women have to put up with husbands who treat them like possessions. Machismo is not a myth here. But the women I know are proud and resilient. Like women everywhere they’re just trying to get through the days, provide a better life for their kids and have a few laughs along the way.

We learned in training that Peru has one of the highest proportions of entrepreneurs among developing countries. I was skeptical of this fact at first, but after a few months and a better understanding of the economic context, I’m totally buying it. Take the women in my family, for example, they’re forever selling something or hosting some sort of event to raise a little cash. My host mom, in addition to her work as an Avon saleslady, sells food to tourists (and workers) outside the museum a few days a week. She and my host sister organized a pollada a few weeks back, which is a lunch where everyone pays a few soles for a plate of food. My sister and some friends held a Halloween dance in our town and charged an entrance fee and sold beer at one sole over cost. My cousin recently organized a soccer tournament, charging an entry fee for each team and selling cebiche to all the spectators. It’s just another small example of the basic human desire to have more, to do better. Turns out people aren’t so different after all.

I was watching a documentary with my family a few nights ago on the appalling poverty in the slums of Lima, the focus of which was child labor. My family called in the two little boys to make them watch this, telling them how lucky they are that they don’t have to work and get to go to school. It was an eye-opening reminder that my family doesn’t really consider themselves poor – they know they’re better off than millions of their countrymen. I can learn a lot from them about how to appreciate what you do have instead of always looking for more or for better.

I know this isn’t my usual tongue-in-cheek commentary on the oddities of my daily life, but I think it’s important to illuminate some broader themes of what it means to be dropped in the middle of a rural Peruvian town.

I hope you all have a wonerful Thanksgiving with friends and family. I´m grateful to have so many wonderful and supportive people in my life. I miss you all immensely.