Witness...

I am sitting at my computer, in the office, in Lima. I just got back from my two weeks of vacation with the other YAVs. We went to Cusco and saw Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley. We went to Puno and stayed on one of the islands on Lake Titicaca. Then we visited Arequipa and Colca Canyon and saw condors fly. Lastly, we flew over the Nazca Lines before we collapsed back in Lima.

On my vacation, I witnessed some amazing acts of giving that I want to share with you.

One Night In Cusco...

It was New Years Eve, and I was walking back to the hostel with a new found friend. We walked through the Plaza de Armas and then to another side plaza, where there was an overhang. Underneath there were lines of people sleeping next to one another, out of the rain. As we started to walk past, my friend said wait as he put his hand in his pocket. One by one, he gave every person there a 50 centimo piece (about the equivalent of 15 cents US). I watched in silent amazement. When he finished, I gave him a hug.

He backed away and said, I am not a saint or anything. You see people begging in the streets and I never give them money. But this, these people, this is real. They wouldn't be sleeping here if they had somewhere else to go. And its not much, my tips from tonight (he worked as a bartender in the hostel where we were staying), but they can buy a piece of fruit with that.

I stayed silent and didn't explain my own struggle with the idea of giving.



Dinner For Four...

We were in Arequipa, eating dinner. Leslie and I had found one corner restaurant with a balcony over looking the plaza with prices we thought were quite just and the view was amazing. Anyway, there we sat and ate and I looked over. At the table next to us was a group of four. Three white 30-somethings, and one Peruvian girl about 8 bent over a salad. The interchange between them was quite odd, so I pointed it out to Leslie. She told me that was the girl who had been selling candy in the street. I hadn't even seen her.

The table must have given her some leftover food. She sat uncomfortably eating every last morsel on the plate. When she was done, she stood up and said thank you. The woman at the table reached in a bag and pulled out some pants, made sure they would fit her, and gave them to her without a second thought.



I don't know if giving money is the answer. I don't know if giving food or clothes is the answer. I don't know if there is just one answer, but what I am starting to realize is that it all is an answer. If all we ever do is our best, using what we have, at any given moment, then that is our answer.

Just something to chew on I guess.
Hope you all are well.
all for me, for now.
katie

Remembering...

December 13, 1984, Putis, Peru.

It was towards the beginning of the 20 years of internal violence that Peru suffered when the Shining Path terrorist group was, well, terrorizing the people in the Andean hamlet of Putis, so they fled to the mountains to save their families. Then, the military moved in, and the Shining Path departed. The military men found the campesinos hiding in the hills and convinced them to come to Putis. They would be protected there, and there was work to be done. So, many of them went. The work was digging new trout beds. When the work was finished, the 123 men, women and children (19 under the age of 7) were forced into the shallow graves and mowed down by machine gun fire. The military covered the bodies and sold the people's livestock, hoarding the profits.

Saturday was the 24 year anniversary of the massacre.

I wrote a blog that day about Putis, and it was all thoughtful and biblical and completely forced. So, I deleted it and didn't post it. I want to be genuine in this blog, and that was anything but. I want you all to know about Putis because it seems like a story from a movie, that never really happened; a group of people pinned between their government and terrorists, losing everything. But it did happen. It is real.

In May and June of this year, a group of forensic scientists came and exhumed the graves. Survivors watched as the scientists worked, hoping to see a shoe or a piece of clothing that would identify a loved one. I think about these people and what they have suffered these past 24 years and I think no wonder they don't trust their government, no wonder they don't trust their neighbors, no wonder they don't trust me. And right now there are three people being investigated for human rights violations, but the government won't release their real names.

If you want to know more about Putis, google it. There is also a website you can check out (sorry it's in Spanish) http://www.justiciaparaputis.org/.

To be honest, I am having a hard time finding words to express what I think about this, what the point of this blog is, etc. I guess it is just to make people more aware of our world and what happens in it. I don't know what we can do for the people of Putis, how to help them, if we can. But I think the first step is being aware.

all for me, for now.

.k

Hope...

So, this is a post I have been sitting on for quite a few weeks, but one that has really got me thinking. About a month ago, I was walking around the commercial neighborhood near the office of the Red looking for the beauty supply shop as I was out of face wash. I ended up on the wrong block somehow and before I realized that I was walking the wrong direction, I had walked past a young girl, maybe 15 or 16 years old, with a baby. She wasn't selling anything, she just had a cup out. I lowered my eyes and walked past her.

I have somewhat gotten used to the people on the busses selling chocolate, and people shoving things in my face at busy intersections trying to get me to buy something. There really is a sense of selling your wares here, even to the extent of bus cobradores and taxi drivers (I won't even be going to the bus stop, and gentlemen will be trying to convince me to get on their bus, or a cab driver will stop in front of me as I am crossing the street trying to convince me to use his cab services). Anyway, this girl was different.

I soon realized that I needed to turn around and go the other way, and that I would have to walk past her. We were warned in training not to feel like we had to give or buy things, that it was probably better if we didn't. I just sort of held my breath, but couldn't help but look at her and her baby. I didn't really want to give her money, but I did want to know her name, and her baby's name and how old it was. I was lost in these thoughts as I ran into the man in front of me as he stopped to dig for some change in his pocket. He went back and gave it to her. I kept walking.

I found my store, bought my facial cleanser and began my trek home. And surprisingly, I ran into another man as he reached into his pocket to dig for some change and I watched as he walked back and gave it to a woman sitting with some candy on the street.

It really got me thinking because even at home, when I go to Seattle, I see the same people sitting on the street with cups or candy and I walk past them in the same way. I wonder who they are and how they came to be where they are, but I never do anything. I think I might be too scared to. I realized how apathetic I am at times. And that is something I know I am highly critical of US society for-my generation especially.

It also made me think of the men, who, though they passed the girl with the baby and the woman in the street, went back with change. This is what gives me hope. I don't know if the answer is in the change we can spare, or if it is taking the time to sit and ask a name; trying to identify with that other person. But the thought alone gives me hope.

How can we ever change what is wrong with our society, with ourselves, if we can never admit what needs to change?

I guess I feel like this is more of a thought in progress as I don't know if I will ever have the courage to sit and chat, but I have hope, and I think that is a lot.

all for me, for now.
katie

Jealousy at the sea...

Jealousy.

Not a good thing, right? We see this green eyed demon who wants what his neighbor has. We have always been taught that jealousy is a bad feeling.

I went to Huanchaco this past holiday weekend (I believe because of APEC). My friend Roxanna, two Argentinean Med Students and I hopped a bus, and 9 hours later, were in Trujillo at a friends house eating bread and drinking tea. The first day we did some touristy type things like seeing the Plaza de Armas in Trujillo and visiting some archeological ruins called the Huaca del Sol and the Huaca de la Luna. They were pretty impressive. We went out that night and got our dance on. It has been a long time since the knee pendulum has hit the scene quite that hard, but it was fun and we didn’t actually get much sleep.

In the morning we headed to the mall for some coffee and breakfast. I had a McCafé latte and a cheeseburger. The Argentineans thought I was nuts. I thought it was fantastic. After breakfast, we quickly found ourselves in a cab to Huanchaco, a small beach/surf community about 15 minutes away. I gotta admit, I fell in love and seriously contemplated my bank account and how many days I could live off of S/27 soles a day. (I could probably make it about 2 years). I think I have also added a new item to my “Life to do List”, own a hostel in a beach community somewhere. I did not want to return to gloomy Lima last night.

We walked around the city, I bought some earrings from a Venezuelan vendor who asked me to marry him and insisted I was a princess (I guess someone agrees with you Dad). Around 5 o’clock, we took a seat for about 5 minutes before we were invited to play flubito (fulbito?, soccer with less people in a small area) by a surf instructor with his 5 Australian students. I did warn them that I couldn’t play to save my life, but I ran around a lot (finally!) and got very dirty and hurt my foot a tad (I just kind of kicked someone really hard at a close range) and had a blast. We decided to meet up with them for dinner and a bonfire later that night after a bit of a nap and a glorious shower.

One of the first questions I asked of the Aussie’s was the reason for their excursion. Immediate response was, “We hated our jobs so we quit them and left.” I had no idea what to say to that and a moment later another Aussie said, “Actually we’ve just finished Uni and are touring around for a bit.” I figured a month or so, but no. Turns out they are traveling for about 9 months to a year, a month in each country starting in Argentina, up through South America, Mexico and the States, UK and then to the Philippines. My jaw dropped and I reconsidered my bank account one more time.

I am absolutely enjoying my time in Peru. There are joys and challenges alike. I am learning how to communicate in an entirely new way. At one time, I questioned whether or not my time spent here would increase or diminish my desire to travel and experience the world and the life existing, I am slowly realizing I want more.

And Jealousy is definitely an inspirational thing right now. To be free of the agreement that I need to have a 40 hour a week job with health insurance to be successful is a trying venture. I consistently have to reconvince myself of this. Maybe my time here will help with that.

Anyway, there is more to my Huanchaco adventure, but this is plenty for one sit and read.
all for me, for now.
katie

To be or not to be...

a gringo. and do i even have a choice?

I think that most YAV's have had to deal with being the outsider and the names that go along with that. Some have eloquently written about it, but I don't know if I can. There are definitely some cultural differences that I just don't understand; like office politics. I will probably never understand the undertakings of office politics in Peru. Never. But, I do understand the differences when called a gringo. There are two sides of the word, one is loving, interested and curious. The other is aggressive, hating and expectant.

Let me explain...

I recently took another trip to Huancavelica. I am at least a foot taller than pretty much every person in this little mountain town. I am obviously different. I go there to visit artisans; to help out where and when I can. The ride there is not pleasant. It is about 12 hours in a bus on windy moutnain roads, though since our first trip, we have gotten first floor seats for the trip there. I fit much better on the first level.

Anyway, we traveled to a neighboring town called Yaoli to visit an emerging artisan group. They live in the countryside in the hills above the even smaller mountain community. We were early so we decided to walk around a bit. We were approached by a neighbor asking if I wanted to buy anything because I was there. I told him I was a missionary and didn't have anything. We spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon sitting in the sun in a cow pasture with women who mostly only speak Quechua (a native language) as they knitted scarves and I got a sunburn. It was fantastic.

We were lucky and found a ride back to Yaoli and headed to visit another group called Sumac Ruaaq. On our walk to their house, we passed a school and someone saw me and yelled "Gringo". All of a sudden the second story windows were filled with kids screaming "Gringo". At first I just kind of laughed and shrugged it off. But it continued, and so I said that "I wasn't a gringo, I was a gringa. I am a girl". Nothing changed. "Gringo. Gringo." became the chant. And then one voice yelled out, "give me money rich gringo". I said, "I'm sorry, I'm a volunteer, I'm a missionary and I don't earn any money". They didn't either hear me, or believe me and continued with the request. We were finally out of earshot when a group of young boys saw me and the gringo chant continued.

We sat and spoke with the artisans for a bit and then decided it was time to head back. In sight of the school, the chants and the requests began again. We even had an artisan with us, and the kids saw no signs of stopping and the people I walked with showed no sign of seeing a problem with it.

We stopped and had a coke, and wide eyes followed me with whispers of that word.

It was finally time to go back to Huancavelica and we were in the cab when a young boy knocked on my window and said something I couldn't hear. I told him so, and looked for the window handle, but through the open front window I heard him again ask for a gift from the rich gringo.
We drove away.

This is the only time I have ever been approached like that in Peru, and the only time in Yaoli, but it is so different than these situations....

The next day back in Huancavelica, we left the ATIYPAQ office for lunch and as we walked a girl grabbed my hand really quickly and backed away. She asked me where I was from, and I told her to guess. She asked if I spoke English, and I said a little. She said goodbye gringa, I said goodbye in French.

In the eveing we visited artisan group El Mercurio. As we walked the staircase to the road we needed to take, there was a group of children who saw us and immediately yelled gringos! They were excited. I was slightly annoyed. But we got to the top and they walked us to the door and we said instead of gringo, call us amiga. And they did.

Later that night, I was sitting in the ATIYPAQ office on the couch when a woman from the town of Ccaccamarca entered and saw me. She said, "Mama gringa. Do I get to sit and rest next to you? What luck!" Again, very different.

I don't know how I feel about the word gringa. Yes, I am a tall, white woman from the United States of America. I am not rich. I am struggling with how to respond to this label I have been given. I do not want it, I did not ask for it or the presuppositions that accompany it. But, it is a part of this culture I am in. It is something they have learned since childhood. However, that doesn't make it right. Like John in India, I can take this lesson and apply it at home. I can correct my friends when they use a racial slur, or the words retard or gay in a negative light. But, for now, I still don't know what I to do with it. Or better yet, what I can do with it.

all for me, for now.
k.

Still not a lot...

to say, but i want you all to know i am here and i am okay.

things are happening here and i am learning things everyday. my spanish is ten times better than i had expected it to be at this point. i even get compliments when people find out i have only been speaking it for about three months. three and a half now.

i think the thing i am learning about most is that i had more expectations before i got here than i gave myself credit for. i was convinced that i didn't have any, and now i think i was just fooling myself. things are harder than i thought they would be. but harder in a different way than i was anticipating.

over the past two years i have really gotten to know myself, flaws and all, and i feel like i became a new and improved version of myself. and now, i am struggling to be her still in this entirely different atmosphere. but i am aware. it really is challenging to see me slipping back into some of my old habits. but, in a way, i like it.

i knew this year would challenge me. that is part of the reason i am here. and i am glad for it.

so, for all of you out there who are tagging along with me on this journey, thank you for being there and playing your part in my life. know that right now, it is hard. and i need you, even though you are miles away. and even though it is hard right now, it will get better, and it will get worse, and again it will get better. and if i don't write much, it is like i keep telling my peruvian friends, sometimes i just need a little bit more time to find the words.

and remember, no matter what happens, tomorrow will always come and my hair will always grow.

all for me, for now.
katie

p.s. keep an eye out for the remake of my first official bus infomercial! i bought one, and you are gonna want one too.

I wish...

I had more words to write. Or laughter to share. Today was a tough day.

I am, to put it lightly, the least confrontational person I have ever met. I run away at all costs. If there is a way out, I take it. I am this way in English. A language I have studied and learned my entire life. It is even worse in Spanish. Honestly, I was so grateful that no one was home when I bought new pillows two weeks ago. I didn't have to explain that my neck hurt, I didn't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings. I had escaped.

That is why this morning, at our office Monday morning meeting, when I felt I needed to address my language skills with everyone, I cried. I had barely gotten the words out, "Quiero preguntarse..." and tears were already welling up. I got through my well rehearsed speech, asking everyone to be patient with me. To try to speak more slowly if I need it. To maybe explain things in a different way. To try to be patient with me, and to not be frustrated if I ask questions. And to speak directly to me, not to Debbie or Leslie, to me.

I really do understand a lot. And my Spanish is getting better all of the time. I am reviewing what I learned this summer and am going to start taking some more classes in a few weeks. I rattle stuff off with my MamaP every night.

Anyway, that was today. A tough day.

A tough day that I made it through. A tough day that, even through my tears, my coworkers heard me, and not only heard me, listened.

Kind of cool how tough days can be good days.

I Wish My Brain Was Hardwired to a Computer....

so, I wouldn´t have to try to remember all the cool things I think of to tell people later. Well, I guess it was hard wired some of the time. I do have a bit of a sensor attached to my mouth.

But yeah, I got back from Huancavelica (HVCA) this morning at about 6:30 am. I went with the director of Red Uniendo Manos Peru(RUMP), Conrado--who incidentally was the first Peruvian I met and our conversation went some thing like this(I´ll put it into english) "Hello", "Hello". "something in spanish", "i didn´t quite catch that", "something else in spanish", "yeah, still didn´t catch that"------but anyway, in Hvca, we showed a few groups of people a video on water rights and issues between Ica and Hvca provences. It was pretty cool that by that second showing I sort of figured part of it out. We also set up a time to show it in Oct at the University (I get to go back!!)

I really liked it there a lot. It reminded me much more of home, or anywhere I have ever lived, more than Lima does. It is a country town in the hills. Filled with very short Peruvians. Check out the pics!!

It was really challenging for me as well, since my interpretor was Conrado. If you don´t find this funny yet, check out our first conversation one more time. And outside of me crying in the street the first night(due to exhaustion and chill) trying to explain what was wrong (I think I might have said I was very very married. cansada=tired, casada=married), my spanish improved immensely and I get to go back to Hvca. I am also hoping I can get some of the materials they have on the water issues into English. I have been researching like mad and can´t find anything to help me understand what is going on. I also met an artisan group in Yaoli, a really small village 20km or so from Hvca. They had pigs and small hens. It was great!

But two things that I want to leave you with for the weekend.

1. When I first got to Lima a few weeks ago, I kind of felt like I was in a fishbowl. People watched the group of us and every once in a while I heard the word gringos. Then, I went to Hvca, and I knew I was in a fishbowl. Kids would trip over themselves staring at me in the streets, I think I might have even heard the word giant. But not until Conrado, Angelica and I went to an all-boy´s catholic school to see about space for the upcoming congress de jovenes, and every single boy had his face pressed up against the glass or peering around doorways, or outright following us, did I really feel like a fish.

2. One thing about Lima´s transportation system is that everybody honks the car horn. Someone is standing on a street corner, you honk. You are passing someone, you honk. You are approaching an intersection, you honk. You are running a red light, you honk. Always, always, always. I didn´t think I would ever get used to the honking. That is, until I went to Hvca. On our trip to Yaoli, our taxi driver honked at every corner, at every person, animal and shrubbery. On the way back, our bus driver didn´t. He didn´t honk once and I was so far beyond scared that I am now thankful for every honk I hear.

all for me, for now.
katie