Perspective is a luxury when your head is constantly buzzing with a swarm of demons May 18, 2009

“Do you want to come to mass with us tomorrow morning?” She asks, anticipation in her eyes…
She must not know. How is this possible? Nobody invites me to church anymore. As if it’s not bad enough that I’m not Catholic, I’m also a single woman in my 20s. I may as well be the antichrist here.
“Well, 7am mass is pretty early”, I say, “But if I wake up in time, I’ll go with you”
“It’s for Salo’s mother – she died 12 years ago tomorrow”.
Oh…
I find myself waking up at 6:30 and debating it in my head. But they’re my host family and they’ve been good to me. It hurts my heart to think of not going. Damn it. I’m off.
And I’m basically the first one there. Punctuality in Peru? I don’t know why I bother.
25 minutes later we’re walking back to the house together. My host dad tells me it cost them 50 soles to have the mass for his mother (not a small sum of money, especially not in the campo). What? 50 soles for a 25 minutes half-assed mass? The priest didn’t even try – he didn’t set up a microphone, he mumbled the words to the songs (I suspect he might not know all of them), and he looked like he was just going through the movements. At least one of our dogs, Benji, followed us into the church, ran up to to the podium, full of curiosity, and proceeded to pee on the podium. For 50 soles, that dog can pee anywhere he wants, as far as I’m concerned.
Then the priest went off to give another mass in one of the caserios. It costs even more there, I’m told. This priest makes more than a doctor! Goodwill and brotherhood, my ass. I should probably leave the churchgoing to Ryan from now on… Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it absolutely terrifying.

On a sunnier note, since I’ve been back, my relationship with my host mom has changed a lot. Before, it was funny misunderstandings and awkward, frustrating “I don’t understand what you’re saying!” moments because she has a really strong campo accent and uses a LOT of slang. But I’m back and suddenly it’s like we’re old girlfriends, inside jokes, hardly any misunderstandings and a lot less annoyance. At the rate I’m going, by the time I leave Peru, I might fancy myself a cook. I already make a pretty good Chaufa and orange chicken and there’s nothing but time left to learn. However, my host grandma, Carmen, schooled me in the art of tamale making today. I failed. It is not as easy as it looks.

I’m walking through town, looking for my counterpart, printing things out, making copies, running from place to place. I walk past the old man on the corner – I’m sure to slow down so he has time to process my “buenos dias” and say it back. His eyes crinkle behind his thick glasses and the corners of his mouth turn up, hinting at a smile. Later, he’s gone and a kitten lays on the corner, keeping his spot warm for when he returns. It reminds me of how adorable everything in this town is, and I keep walking with a little extra skip in my step. And then I see it. It’s a dog. It’s convulsing. There’s a crowd gathering… “maybe it has epilepsy”, I think naively. “Ooohhh.. it was poisoned” I hear an onlooker say. Fuck. I’m just going to keep walking. I come back a half an hour later to run another errand and what do I see? The poor, helpless creature is still convulsing on the ground. “It’s almost dead now” someone says. I keep walking and hope someone puts the poor thing out of it’s misery. 10 minutes later, I have to walk by again (it’s not a big town), and it’s still convulsing. I’m repulsed. How can you spend 40 minutes of your day watching a dog die?
I get home and the doctor that lives in the house with us is crying. Jesus – so much for cute fuzzy adorable happy day. It’s been raining. A camionetta flipped over in a caserio about 40 minutes away. 3 people died. Her friend was in the car. Some days just have to be about death, I guess. The night is just a part of the day.

Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry May 13, 2009

It’s nighttime in the big city… a drunken security guard drops his flashlight, three homeless men share a bottle around a trashcan inferno, and somewhere a car alarm goes off. The noise is as deafening as the silence. And suddenly I’m back. Back in the land of empty carbs, where people call pigeons doves (they’re not the same bird), and think it’s acceptable to lick your face in greeting. Oh, how I’ve missed it.
In the past two months (since my last update) I have lived and died five lifetimes. I’ve learned the true meaning of incompetence and injustice, of betrayal and loss, of anger and pain and hatred. And I’ve learned that among all that darkness, love always prevails. Beauty, friendship, healing, inner strength, and LOVE (healing, gorgeous, intense, unforgettable love). When the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me…  and I have learned to let it be.
I’ve traveled from Peru’s border with Bolivia to the border with Ecuador. I’ve seen Lake Titicaca, Machu Picchu, the largest reservoir in Peru, and the mangroves furthest South on the Pacific coast.
I’ve hiked, climbed, swam, ran, fallen on barbed wire (I’m an idiot), gotten in a car accident, hit a cow with a car (different incident), and gently nudged a donkey with the same car.
I’ve lost a friend (Rest easy, Steve – you are missed, buddy), and I’ve made new ones.
I’ve spent nearly a week in the trunk of a Peace Corps vehicle, I’ve witnessed a mini-social-uprising in the most dangerous city in Piura, which left the road blocked and impassable (they didn’t have water for 4 months), I’ve learned that even in 3 months it is possible to create sustainable projects, and I’ve gotten yelled at in public (some things never change).
I’ve learned that laughing is easier than crying, that music is magic healing goodness, that having too many orgasms at extremely high altitude can cause one to lose consciousness (hi mom and dad), that I have the best friends in the world, and that life is truly about balance, in every sense of the word.
On a side note: a 15 year old girl was walking home from school last week in Sto. Domingo and slipped on some of that ridiculous green moss that covers the roads because of all the rain and fell backwards, hit her head, and died instantly. Ain’t that some shit.
Ok. well, it’s obvious that I’m going to be incapable of writing anything in depth about the last two months right now. It’s been an adventure, a wild ride… and man.. I’ve got stories.
For now, I’m trying to reacclimate to site. Reintegrate and start my projects back up. There is a Project Design and Management workshop at the beginning of June that I need to prepare for in Chiclayo (more travel… yay). I’m also planning a trip to the jungle for Fiestas Patrias.
I went around with the garbagemen today and to my absolute delight, the medical waste program continues to run perfectly, which means this is the last wednesday that I need to go around with the workers… sustainable project number 1 completed.
Tomorrow, the kids and I are going around and putting up their “why it’s important to protect the environment” posters around town. There are 16 so far from the one school and we need the second school to finish theirs and then that will be sustainable project number 2 completed I call it a sustainable project because a lot of the work was done while I was away and I was told “sasha, you put so much work into this project, I thought it would be unfair not to complete it”. That’s what I’m talking about!! I’m just here to facilitate, people! Get it done. Eso!
Until next time,
un fuerte abrazo y un monton de besos,
Sasha