My mother was kind enough to point out in my last blog entry, that I used the word accountability where I should have used the word accounting. Now, I have never claimed to be a champion wordist. A proper handle on grammar and spelling of the English language has always seemed just out of my grasp.
But that is my excuse this time. It's English! My primary spoken language these days is Spanish. A lot of volunteers say the more Spanish they speak, the worse their English gets. I don't know if this is true of not. I think my comprehension of this romance language has actually helped me make sense of the English language. But I have found that I am increasingly forgetting English words and have had to stop and think about such common words like avocado and mattress.
My accountability/accounting mix up is just one example of how the languages in my head are running together and no matter which one I am speaking, it often comes out as spanglish. You see, the word accounting in Spanish is contablilidad. And I wrote the blog entry moments after I had come back from trying to help that old lady with her US taxes and racking my brain for accounting jargon in spanish.
I know my English isn't great, but cut me a break. I struggle enough with one language and here I am trying to juggle two. I think my writing errors just give my blog entries my unique personality: far from perfect but they try really really hard.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Volunteer or Doormat?
There is a fine line between being a volunteer and a doormat. For every volunteer that line is different, but we are responsible for setting our own boundaries for what we are willing to do to help others. Peru is a society that is used to hand outs and NGO’s. A lot of people are looking for some one to come and solve all their problems for them. So as PCV’s we spend a lot of time explaining our role in the community and the services we are willing and not willing to provide.
Things constantly come up and I have to decide what I am willing to do for others on a day to day basis. It doesn’t matter what type of volunteer you are: Youth, Small Business, Health, Environment, most volunteers are sought after to be one thing, an English teacher. Whether the teaching is formal or informal, Peruvians somehow expect you to teach them English overnight without having to put any real work in.
I draw my line here. I will offer to help kids with there English homework, but have successfully avoided teaching English in a classroom setting. By reading my blog you may notice that I don’t exactly have a master on my native tongue and therefore don't feel confident teaching grammar and spelling.
But the other night a friend in town asked me if I would be willing to help an old lady translate some forms she relieved in the mail. He said she needed to fill them out but didn’t understand any English. I figured this type of service didn’t fall on the doormat side of my boundary.
So this morning I went over to the old ladies house, who graciously sat me down at her kitchen table and brought me a stack of papers. There on the top of the stack was a 1040A US tax form. And beneath it was a whole mess of other tax forms and papers explaining how to do it. I couldn’t believed I was suckered into doing some old ladies taxes. She gave me her peruvian ID and pen and told me to start filling it out.
I explained to her that it wasn’t quite as simple. First off,
“what’s your social security number?” I asked her.
“My what?” she replied.
“tu numero de seguro social”
Along with all the sheets of paper she had handed me, where a whole bunch of translations for all the technical accounting terms and even translated proper names.
“okay, let’s back track. " I said "Why are you even filling this out anyways? Did you earn any kind of income from the United States in the past year?”
She said no, her husband did. But her husband was dead.
In the marital status column, there isn’t even a box to mark for widowed, filing for your deceased spouse. And instead of a W-2, there was some other form I had never seen before that was all in Spanish and contained the numbers necessary to fill out the 1040A. I shuffled through the papers reading the English and Spanish forms that explained how to manage everything.
I didn’t even fill out my own taxes this year. My dad wanted our family friend and accountant to do it seeing as things were a bit more complicated now that I’m living and earning my income abroad. And I’m pretty sure I’ve messed up my taxes every year I’ve ever done them on my own. Accountability is so not my thing. And the papers spread out on the table bewildered me. I tried to explain to her that I had no idea what to do and that she should call a professional. But she wasn’t’ haven’t that as an answer. She wanted me to figure it out right then and there and get her taxes done.
I did try to figure it out. And I think I could have if I worked on it for several hours and had access to the IRS website. But this was officially way past my boundary of things I was willing to do in the name international development. After a half hour of looking over documents I basically told her I couldn’t do it and was going to leave. She was not very happy with me and wanted to know to do then, if I couldn’t’ figure it out. I told her to call an accountant. or better yet, her son who lives in the states. So even though I thought I was doing a neighborly thing by translating a few documents for an old lady, I think I may have made more of an enemy than a friend. Out of all the things I imagined doing as a peace corps volunteer, filling out IRS tax forms was definitely not one of them.
Things constantly come up and I have to decide what I am willing to do for others on a day to day basis. It doesn’t matter what type of volunteer you are: Youth, Small Business, Health, Environment, most volunteers are sought after to be one thing, an English teacher. Whether the teaching is formal or informal, Peruvians somehow expect you to teach them English overnight without having to put any real work in.
I draw my line here. I will offer to help kids with there English homework, but have successfully avoided teaching English in a classroom setting. By reading my blog you may notice that I don’t exactly have a master on my native tongue and therefore don't feel confident teaching grammar and spelling.
But the other night a friend in town asked me if I would be willing to help an old lady translate some forms she relieved in the mail. He said she needed to fill them out but didn’t understand any English. I figured this type of service didn’t fall on the doormat side of my boundary.
So this morning I went over to the old ladies house, who graciously sat me down at her kitchen table and brought me a stack of papers. There on the top of the stack was a 1040A US tax form. And beneath it was a whole mess of other tax forms and papers explaining how to do it. I couldn’t believed I was suckered into doing some old ladies taxes. She gave me her peruvian ID and pen and told me to start filling it out.
I explained to her that it wasn’t quite as simple. First off,
“what’s your social security number?” I asked her.
“My what?” she replied.
“tu numero de seguro social”
Along with all the sheets of paper she had handed me, where a whole bunch of translations for all the technical accounting terms and even translated proper names.
“okay, let’s back track. " I said "Why are you even filling this out anyways? Did you earn any kind of income from the United States in the past year?”
She said no, her husband did. But her husband was dead.
In the marital status column, there isn’t even a box to mark for widowed, filing for your deceased spouse. And instead of a W-2, there was some other form I had never seen before that was all in Spanish and contained the numbers necessary to fill out the 1040A. I shuffled through the papers reading the English and Spanish forms that explained how to manage everything.
I didn’t even fill out my own taxes this year. My dad wanted our family friend and accountant to do it seeing as things were a bit more complicated now that I’m living and earning my income abroad. And I’m pretty sure I’ve messed up my taxes every year I’ve ever done them on my own. Accountability is so not my thing. And the papers spread out on the table bewildered me. I tried to explain to her that I had no idea what to do and that she should call a professional. But she wasn’t’ haven’t that as an answer. She wanted me to figure it out right then and there and get her taxes done.
I did try to figure it out. And I think I could have if I worked on it for several hours and had access to the IRS website. But this was officially way past my boundary of things I was willing to do in the name international development. After a half hour of looking over documents I basically told her I couldn’t do it and was going to leave. She was not very happy with me and wanted to know to do then, if I couldn’t’ figure it out. I told her to call an accountant. or better yet, her son who lives in the states. So even though I thought I was doing a neighborly thing by translating a few documents for an old lady, I think I may have made more of an enemy than a friend. Out of all the things I imagined doing as a peace corps volunteer, filling out IRS tax forms was definitely not one of them.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Don't F*** with Peace Corps!
Of all the branches of the US foreign service, the Peace Corps doesn’t have the toughest or the coolest reputation. Every year, the US embassy in Peru has a sports tournament, and all the different departments of the embassy play each other. Every Saturday for 4 weeks, employees (and in my case volunteers) along with their family and friends go out to the sports field at the embassy and represent for their line of service.
I didn’t know this tournament existed until today. On Tuesday , I was in the office working on an in service training, and I was recruited. The fact that I had any volleyball experience at all, automatically made me a starting player. When I agreed to play, I had no idea what I was in for. I thought it would be a low intensity game where each teams biggest challenge would be just getting it over the net. I thought it would be so easy going, that I even though I had practice Friday night and games Saturday morning, I scheduled my 10 mile marathon training run at 7 in the morning before the tournament started.
Only a few people showed up to practice Friday night. We ended up playing two on two for the first hour and three on three for the second. Every one was pretty good, so that the two on two matches were really fun. But I forgot how exhausting they are. I am in good shape, but my body is so not used to the anaerobic, jumping and lateral movement that is volleyball. The next morning on my run, my legs were moving as if they were made out of stone. I was seriously regretting my decision to marathon train the morning of the tournament.
Within the US embassy there are a lot of different departments. Some are made up all US citizens and some are comprised of all Peruvian nationals. There was only one other volunteer playing on our Peace Corps team, and apart from us, we were the only Americans. Because of this, Ryan (6’3’’) and me (5’9’’) were the tallest people on the team. We’re both skinny and athletic, but not in anyway intimidating. Our team would best be described as scrappy. We even had the accountants mom playing with us. Don’t get me wrong, that 50 year old woman had a more banning body than most 20 year olds I know and was the best server on our team. But's that's what I mean when I say our team was scrappy.
As we headed over to the court, I saw a group of adults that all looked like they had been bred in bio chambers by the US government. I turned to one of the PC secretaries and said with fear behind my voice “that’s who we’re playing against??!!!”. She told me not to worry. Not to worry? Our first game was against the DEA. The Drug Enforcement Agency (all American, of course). You want a department that hasthe reputation as cool and tough? Look no further than the DEA. There were 4 men on their team and 2 women. The women, while clearly very fit and attractive, didn’t scare me. The 4 men on the other hand, were all 6’2’’ of taller and looked like they could bench press out entire team. There guys were BIG.
To make matters worse, we were playing with the net at women’s competition height. Much as I suspected, the DEA started womping the Peace Corps. The giant men would just stand at the net and smash anything we sent over. To make the best out of what seemed like a done deal, all of the loyal Peace Corps staff got on their feet and started cheering and chanting so loud, they drowned out the noise of the crowd watching the more popular soccer game. And while we were killed in the first round, we came back around to win the second. Wouldn’tcha know.
I 100% accredit our win to our cheering crowd. Pretty soon the enthusiasm spread and over half the crowd was cheering “Peace Corps, Peace Corps!”. But really, doesn't it just seem wrong to route against the Peace Corps? The Drug Enforcement officers seemed a bit frazzled by all this. There was this one really big black man, that for some reason always ended up guarding me at the net and vice versa. He was really into the game, and started to show his fanatical side when he realized he was loosing to, Peace Corps??? He started to get really intense and the rest of his team had to keep telling him to calm down. That this game wasn’t really that big a deal. Let me just say, I can understand where he’s coming from. If I was this big scary drug enforcer and some little peace corps volunteer kept blocking all my manly hard hits, I would be embarrassed too. That’s right, I stuffed that guy like a thanksgiving turkey 4 times! And if felt good. In all fairness, he had some great blocks against me too. But come on, he’s got 6 inches on my plus he’s a genetically engineered super human.
We ended up winning the 3rd game too, therefore winning the match and advancing to the next round. Players and spectators alike, we were all so proud of our underdog victory. I never got a sub the whole game and could feel my legs starting to buckle underneath me as the adrenaline was wearing off. In a way, I almost wished we had lost so we wouldn’t have to play another game that day. Luckily, after watching the USAID (USA International Development) play against the MOA (Military Operations A….. to be honest, I really don’t remember. Why does the US government insist on so many acronyms?). We won our second game on a forfeit as the Embassy Custodial staff didn’t have enough people to man a team. I was so relieved. Even though the all Peruvian team sounded like they could have been easy to beat in volleyball, they dominate the soccer tournament. And if I had had to play another match, I might have had to be carried out on stretcher. But both my Peace Corps doctors had turned up to cheer us on too, so I knew I was in good hands at least.
I had such an amazing experience and I’m so excited out team advanced and I get to come back next week and do it all over again. Next week though, I have 15 miles to run. But I’ll be sure to schedule it for after the tournament or the next day.
The day was so much fun. It was the first time I had even been inside the walls of the fortress we call he US Embassy. I was so proud to be a part of Team Peace Corps. We are so different from every other branch of the US foreign service and it shows even in things like a volleyball tournament. To us, love and support, a positive attitude, and working together are the ways we choose to confront a challenge. Not by sheer brawn and force. The moral of the story is, at first it seemed the power and muscle would over take the scrappy foreigners and volunteers, but in the end, what finally won out was love and Peace Corps.
I didn’t know this tournament existed until today. On Tuesday , I was in the office working on an in service training, and I was recruited. The fact that I had any volleyball experience at all, automatically made me a starting player. When I agreed to play, I had no idea what I was in for. I thought it would be a low intensity game where each teams biggest challenge would be just getting it over the net. I thought it would be so easy going, that I even though I had practice Friday night and games Saturday morning, I scheduled my 10 mile marathon training run at 7 in the morning before the tournament started.
Only a few people showed up to practice Friday night. We ended up playing two on two for the first hour and three on three for the second. Every one was pretty good, so that the two on two matches were really fun. But I forgot how exhausting they are. I am in good shape, but my body is so not used to the anaerobic, jumping and lateral movement that is volleyball. The next morning on my run, my legs were moving as if they were made out of stone. I was seriously regretting my decision to marathon train the morning of the tournament.
Within the US embassy there are a lot of different departments. Some are made up all US citizens and some are comprised of all Peruvian nationals. There was only one other volunteer playing on our Peace Corps team, and apart from us, we were the only Americans. Because of this, Ryan (6’3’’) and me (5’9’’) were the tallest people on the team. We’re both skinny and athletic, but not in anyway intimidating. Our team would best be described as scrappy. We even had the accountants mom playing with us. Don’t get me wrong, that 50 year old woman had a more banning body than most 20 year olds I know and was the best server on our team. But's that's what I mean when I say our team was scrappy.
As we headed over to the court, I saw a group of adults that all looked like they had been bred in bio chambers by the US government. I turned to one of the PC secretaries and said with fear behind my voice “that’s who we’re playing against??!!!”. She told me not to worry. Not to worry? Our first game was against the DEA. The Drug Enforcement Agency (all American, of course). You want a department that hasthe reputation as cool and tough? Look no further than the DEA. There were 4 men on their team and 2 women. The women, while clearly very fit and attractive, didn’t scare me. The 4 men on the other hand, were all 6’2’’ of taller and looked like they could bench press out entire team. There guys were BIG.
To make matters worse, we were playing with the net at women’s competition height. Much as I suspected, the DEA started womping the Peace Corps. The giant men would just stand at the net and smash anything we sent over. To make the best out of what seemed like a done deal, all of the loyal Peace Corps staff got on their feet and started cheering and chanting so loud, they drowned out the noise of the crowd watching the more popular soccer game. And while we were killed in the first round, we came back around to win the second. Wouldn’tcha know.
I 100% accredit our win to our cheering crowd. Pretty soon the enthusiasm spread and over half the crowd was cheering “Peace Corps, Peace Corps!”. But really, doesn't it just seem wrong to route against the Peace Corps? The Drug Enforcement officers seemed a bit frazzled by all this. There was this one really big black man, that for some reason always ended up guarding me at the net and vice versa. He was really into the game, and started to show his fanatical side when he realized he was loosing to, Peace Corps??? He started to get really intense and the rest of his team had to keep telling him to calm down. That this game wasn’t really that big a deal. Let me just say, I can understand where he’s coming from. If I was this big scary drug enforcer and some little peace corps volunteer kept blocking all my manly hard hits, I would be embarrassed too. That’s right, I stuffed that guy like a thanksgiving turkey 4 times! And if felt good. In all fairness, he had some great blocks against me too. But come on, he’s got 6 inches on my plus he’s a genetically engineered super human.
We ended up winning the 3rd game too, therefore winning the match and advancing to the next round. Players and spectators alike, we were all so proud of our underdog victory. I never got a sub the whole game and could feel my legs starting to buckle underneath me as the adrenaline was wearing off. In a way, I almost wished we had lost so we wouldn’t have to play another game that day. Luckily, after watching the USAID (USA International Development) play against the MOA (Military Operations A….. to be honest, I really don’t remember. Why does the US government insist on so many acronyms?). We won our second game on a forfeit as the Embassy Custodial staff didn’t have enough people to man a team. I was so relieved. Even though the all Peruvian team sounded like they could have been easy to beat in volleyball, they dominate the soccer tournament. And if I had had to play another match, I might have had to be carried out on stretcher. But both my Peace Corps doctors had turned up to cheer us on too, so I knew I was in good hands at least.
I had such an amazing experience and I’m so excited out team advanced and I get to come back next week and do it all over again. Next week though, I have 15 miles to run. But I’ll be sure to schedule it for after the tournament or the next day.
The day was so much fun. It was the first time I had even been inside the walls of the fortress we call he US Embassy. I was so proud to be a part of Team Peace Corps. We are so different from every other branch of the US foreign service and it shows even in things like a volleyball tournament. To us, love and support, a positive attitude, and working together are the ways we choose to confront a challenge. Not by sheer brawn and force. The moral of the story is, at first it seemed the power and muscle would over take the scrappy foreigners and volunteers, but in the end, what finally won out was love and Peace Corps.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Just The Right Ticket
A big part of living abroad is living far far away from everyone you know. So naturally, in my two years of service, there will thousands of miles logged between people who come to visit me, and me going to visit home. This past week was taken over by my quest to get a ticket home. This process ended up being far more complicated than I would have liked. For starters, my departure date out of Peru is nonnegotiable. One of my best friends that I have non since the second grade is getting married August 9th, a Saturday. The whole week prior to the wedding, I have my one year reconnect, med-checks and project presentation that I cannot miss. I already had my boss rearrange the whole week so I would be able to miss Friday. But leaving a day earlier is out of the question.
So some how I had to find a ticket that would go either Thursday night or Friday morning and leave me enough time to get to the wedding and not be completely disoriented and exhausted. This will be the first time I will have been in the US in 14 months, and I have no idea what kind of culture shock and jet lag I am in for. Oh and by the way, I am in the wedding. I can't really just show up, sneak into the back of the church and then be anti-social at the reception. Not only do I have to worry about bridal party responsibilities, but it puts added pressure to get there early so I can attend the rehearsal.
I found myself between a rock and an expensive place. After days of searching online, the cheapest tickets I could find were around the $1200 mark. And those were flights going through Florida, which I didn't have time to do. There are direct flights from Lima to Los Angeles which would get me into California on schedule, but those were gonna cost $1500. Refusing to settle for what seemed like the inevitably expensive fare, I started checking out travel agents. They didn't have any better news for me. But again, I just absolutely refused to believe I couldn't make this work for under $1000. I had easily logged over 24 hours of searching on the internet and in travel agents office. Finally, a man found a flight to Fort Lauderdale, Florida that left early enough for me to potentially arrive in CA Friday morning. It only cost $550. I was certain I could find a ticket to the west coast for just a few hundred dollars, and thus, achieving my goal of getting home for less than a thousand. After going home and checking out the flights, I was so excited by my finds, I called my parents a relayed some good new, finally.
The next day, the travel agent wasn't in his office. The day after that, the $550 plane was all booked. I almost cried. I then sat with him for another 3 hours while we went over every single flight that left Lima in my allotted time frame. It looked pretty grim. But finally he found a ticket to Panama, and a ticket to Miami for $610 that had me arriving in Florida at midnight on thursday. I booked it immediately not wanting it to slip away. The travel agent figured this was a better flight anyways cause Miami is more or a prominent airport than fort Lauderdale and thus, would be easier and cheaper to find flights to California. The man had clearly never traveled in the US before, where the more obscure airports have the cheaper deals.
Sure enough, the flights out of Miami were more expensive, but I was able to book a direct flight from Miami to San Francisco and arrive in the bay area at 10:25 in the morning. I have to spend the night in the Miami airport, but I figured that was a small price to pay in comparison to the alternative. Getting back to the east coast to catch my flight back to Lima was the tricky part. I once again spent hours in front of the computer screen and on the phone trying to find something that would work. Finally, I called a former Peace Corps volunteer who now lives in Miami and asked her if I could spend a day and a night with her on my lay over. She was ecstatic at the prospect of seeing me again, so I booked the flight. Getting to see this girl is such an added bonus for reasons I cannot say on my blog. Let’s just say, it makes this whole long process worth it. Like it all happened for a reason, just so would get to see her.
So finally, after countless hours, I have a ticket home and back again. It wound up costing me $1002 exactly. In the end, I could have gotten it for cheaper, but did sacrifice some money to do a multi-destination ticket. I will be flying into the San Francisco airport because the wedding is in Berkeley, but then flying out of the Sacramento airport, which is literally a 15 minute drive from my house. I have never had a more complicated travel itinerary. But being able to fly out of Sac will save 2 hours off on already complicated and long few days of travel.
My advice to anybody else who is looking for a cheap deal in an impossibly expensive situation: if you have the time and patience along with the flexibility to fly on a less than perfect travel itinerary, you can find something. Like anything else in life, you just have to work hard to get what you want.
So some how I had to find a ticket that would go either Thursday night or Friday morning and leave me enough time to get to the wedding and not be completely disoriented and exhausted. This will be the first time I will have been in the US in 14 months, and I have no idea what kind of culture shock and jet lag I am in for. Oh and by the way, I am in the wedding. I can't really just show up, sneak into the back of the church and then be anti-social at the reception. Not only do I have to worry about bridal party responsibilities, but it puts added pressure to get there early so I can attend the rehearsal.
I found myself between a rock and an expensive place. After days of searching online, the cheapest tickets I could find were around the $1200 mark. And those were flights going through Florida, which I didn't have time to do. There are direct flights from Lima to Los Angeles which would get me into California on schedule, but those were gonna cost $1500. Refusing to settle for what seemed like the inevitably expensive fare, I started checking out travel agents. They didn't have any better news for me. But again, I just absolutely refused to believe I couldn't make this work for under $1000. I had easily logged over 24 hours of searching on the internet and in travel agents office. Finally, a man found a flight to Fort Lauderdale, Florida that left early enough for me to potentially arrive in CA Friday morning. It only cost $550. I was certain I could find a ticket to the west coast for just a few hundred dollars, and thus, achieving my goal of getting home for less than a thousand. After going home and checking out the flights, I was so excited by my finds, I called my parents a relayed some good new, finally.
The next day, the travel agent wasn't in his office. The day after that, the $550 plane was all booked. I almost cried. I then sat with him for another 3 hours while we went over every single flight that left Lima in my allotted time frame. It looked pretty grim. But finally he found a ticket to Panama, and a ticket to Miami for $610 that had me arriving in Florida at midnight on thursday. I booked it immediately not wanting it to slip away. The travel agent figured this was a better flight anyways cause Miami is more or a prominent airport than fort Lauderdale and thus, would be easier and cheaper to find flights to California. The man had clearly never traveled in the US before, where the more obscure airports have the cheaper deals.
Sure enough, the flights out of Miami were more expensive, but I was able to book a direct flight from Miami to San Francisco and arrive in the bay area at 10:25 in the morning. I have to spend the night in the Miami airport, but I figured that was a small price to pay in comparison to the alternative. Getting back to the east coast to catch my flight back to Lima was the tricky part. I once again spent hours in front of the computer screen and on the phone trying to find something that would work. Finally, I called a former Peace Corps volunteer who now lives in Miami and asked her if I could spend a day and a night with her on my lay over. She was ecstatic at the prospect of seeing me again, so I booked the flight. Getting to see this girl is such an added bonus for reasons I cannot say on my blog. Let’s just say, it makes this whole long process worth it. Like it all happened for a reason, just so would get to see her.
So finally, after countless hours, I have a ticket home and back again. It wound up costing me $1002 exactly. In the end, I could have gotten it for cheaper, but did sacrifice some money to do a multi-destination ticket. I will be flying into the San Francisco airport because the wedding is in Berkeley, but then flying out of the Sacramento airport, which is literally a 15 minute drive from my house. I have never had a more complicated travel itinerary. But being able to fly out of Sac will save 2 hours off on already complicated and long few days of travel.
My advice to anybody else who is looking for a cheap deal in an impossibly expensive situation: if you have the time and patience along with the flexibility to fly on a less than perfect travel itinerary, you can find something. Like anything else in life, you just have to work hard to get what you want.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Beauty that Makes Life Worth Living
This is why every single one of you needs to come to Peru. If you have ever met me, there is no need for me to explain this picture.Sunday, April 20, 2008
Gettin' Down in Funky Town
Here are the foto's (Spanish spelling) 
of me cutting’ a rug with Peruvian men, young and old, short and tall. This picture on the right is moments after I walked into the wedding and was forced to dance with the groom who I had never met before, on the first dance. Notice the bride in the back round? I didn't even introduce myself, the only words I spoke to him were "yeah, I'm tall" or for those of you who a speak a little Spanish, the exact quote was "ya se, soy muy alta". The picture on the left is me dancing with one of the many old men who would not let me sit down. Literally, every time I tried to rest, a man would walk over and offer his hand. This is something that just doesn’t happen in the states. I'm so used to dancing in a circle with a group of girls and if a boy wants to dance with one of the girls, he has to shimmy his way over to the circle and some how successfully infiltrate the group and then widdel down the dance space so that he is finally dancing one on one with 
the girl. It seems very silly the way young American dance norms have evolved, but I like it better because you aren't forced to give a harsh and direct no to the man offering his hand, but instead you can passively electric slide your way in the opposite direction from him.
The day after the wedding, every one in the town who was at the wedding told me I was a crazy dancer. I still don't know if this is a good thing of a bad thing. It's good in the sense that Peruvians get a big kick outta the Gringa who bounces up and down in stead of doing a rhythmic two-step. I definitely felt a lot of eyes on me as I was dancing and it makes really uncomfortable. I just want to cut loose, have a good time and not care what other people think. But that is very difficult when you are the whitest, tallest person in the room that apparently gets down like James Brown. I know I have a very unique style of dancing. So much so that people can imitate me dancing to a T, and watching this makes me bury my face in my hands. I am such a looser.
One thing that would be so cool to get out of living in south America for two years would be to learn how to dance like a Latin. Salsa lessons are very popular amongst PCV's. I always look so enviously at people who clearly know what they are doing on a dance floor. I have this fantasy where I will come back to the states after my service and magically be able to move my hips like a Shakira.
On a completely different note, I swore off coffee. I knew I wasn't addicted and I don't believe that drinking coffee is bad for you. I just wanted to try it. I think this is a result of having entirely too much time on my hands and having to find new ways to amuse myself. I've been off coffee for 4 weeks now. And while I swear I'm not physically addicted, it was kinda hard at first because I like it so dang much. It's not so much the actual taste nor the caffeine I like, but it's the social act of sitting down with a cup a joe in the morning and reading, or taking a coffee break and enjoying a cup in solitude for 5 minutes while 20 children are running around and screaming outside. It hasn't been too hard for me though, cause I just switched to drinking more tea.
Peru has turned me into a liquid fiend. It seems like at any given moment in the day, I am drinking either water, tea, coffee (well, not anymore) juice or alcohol. Every day I drink 2.5 liters of water. On top of that I am probably putting down 4-6 cups a tea a day. In the morning I go to a fruit cart across the street from my house and get fresh squeezed orange juice or fresh squeezed pineapple juice. I'm also a huge fan or their blended juices here, where they take a fruit like mango or banana, put it in a blender, add milk and batta-bing, a fresh fruit smoothie. And of course on the weekends there is a ritual alcohol consumption. All this liquid intake, I believe, is just another byproduct of having far too much time on my hands. But I'll tell you one thing, I feel healthy and hydrated which is pretty much all one can ask for while training for a marathon. And really, running a marathon is all just a farce to stay in shape so I can bogie wall night with old Peruvian men.
of me cutting’ a rug with Peruvian men, young and old, short and tall. This picture on the right is moments after I walked into the wedding and was forced to dance with the groom who I had never met before, on the first dance. Notice the bride in the back round? I didn't even introduce myself, the only words I spoke to him were "yeah, I'm tall" or for those of you who a speak a little Spanish, the exact quote was "ya se, soy muy alta". The picture on the left is me dancing with one of the many old men who would not let me sit down. Literally, every time I tried to rest, a man would walk over and offer his hand. This is something that just doesn’t happen in the states. I'm so used to dancing in a circle with a group of girls and if a boy wants to dance with one of the girls, he has to shimmy his way over to the circle and some how successfully infiltrate the group and then widdel down the dance space so that he is finally dancing one on one with 
the girl. It seems very silly the way young American dance norms have evolved, but I like it better because you aren't forced to give a harsh and direct no to the man offering his hand, but instead you can passively electric slide your way in the opposite direction from him.The day after the wedding, every one in the town who was at the wedding told me I was a crazy dancer. I still don't know if this is a good thing of a bad thing. It's good in the sense that Peruvians get a big kick outta the Gringa who bounces up and down in stead of doing a rhythmic two-step. I definitely felt a lot of eyes on me as I was dancing and it makes really uncomfortable. I just want to cut loose, have a good time and not care what other people think. But that is very difficult when you are the whitest, tallest person in the room that apparently gets down like James Brown. I know I have a very unique style of dancing. So much so that people can imitate me dancing to a T, and watching this makes me bury my face in my hands. I am such a looser.
One thing that would be so cool to get out of living in south America for two years would be to learn how to dance like a Latin. Salsa lessons are very popular amongst PCV's. I always look so enviously at people who clearly know what they are doing on a dance floor. I have this fantasy where I will come back to the states after my service and magically be able to move my hips like a Shakira.
On a completely different note, I swore off coffee. I knew I wasn't addicted and I don't believe that drinking coffee is bad for you. I just wanted to try it. I think this is a result of having entirely too much time on my hands and having to find new ways to amuse myself. I've been off coffee for 4 weeks now. And while I swear I'm not physically addicted, it was kinda hard at first because I like it so dang much. It's not so much the actual taste nor the caffeine I like, but it's the social act of sitting down with a cup a joe in the morning and reading, or taking a coffee break and enjoying a cup in solitude for 5 minutes while 20 children are running around and screaming outside. It hasn't been too hard for me though, cause I just switched to drinking more tea.
Peru has turned me into a liquid fiend. It seems like at any given moment in the day, I am drinking either water, tea, coffee (well, not anymore) juice or alcohol. Every day I drink 2.5 liters of water. On top of that I am probably putting down 4-6 cups a tea a day. In the morning I go to a fruit cart across the street from my house and get fresh squeezed orange juice or fresh squeezed pineapple juice. I'm also a huge fan or their blended juices here, where they take a fruit like mango or banana, put it in a blender, add milk and batta-bing, a fresh fruit smoothie. And of course on the weekends there is a ritual alcohol consumption. All this liquid intake, I believe, is just another byproduct of having far too much time on my hands. But I'll tell you one thing, I feel healthy and hydrated which is pretty much all one can ask for while training for a marathon. And really, running a marathon is all just a farce to stay in shape so I can bogie wall night with old Peruvian men.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Wedding Crashers
This past weekend I got a last minute invite from an American friend to go to a Peruvian wedding. Not knowing a single person at the wedding except for the American girls who crashed with me, was hardly an excuse not to go. We weren´t quite sure when to show up because Peruvian events never start on time, except when they do. And it`s impossible to tell which will be 2 hours late and which are punctual events. We ended up missing the nuptials completely and arrived at the after party right in time for the couples first dance. In Peru, there is one song and one two-step that every does as their first dance. During the dance, mothers, fathers and close loved ones cut in to dance with either the bride or the groom. Within 3 minutes of arriving, the mother of the groom was quite literally pushing me out on the dance floor to dance with the groom, who I had never met before in my life. It was a bit awkward, especially since I was at least 6 inches taller than he was and I felt like I was back in Jr high. The only words I spoke to the groom were "yeah I know, I`m really tall". At least the dance was easy enough I didn´t have to look like a complete idiot.
It was my first all-peruvian wedding and gave me a good look at the differences in traditions and ceremony. In order to show case the biggest contrasts between my experiences with weddings in the two countries, I borrow from comedian Jeff Foxworthy: You might be at a Peruvian wedding if......
You are the only female that doesn`t have sequins or rhinestones on your dress of pants suit.
Instead of doing a toast with a flute of champagne, you do it with a half ounce of pisco sour in plastic shot glass
Instead of being offered chicken of fish, you are given a hunk of pork fat that still has hair on it
The pregnant bride is drinking
There are no tables. Every one sits in chairs along the peripheral of the room and eats with a Styrofoam plate on their lap
Instead of champagne, you pass around one plastic cup between 4 friends and share beer served from 1 liter bottles
The groom invited his girlfriend to the wedding
Instead of throwing rice, rice is served as the main course
There are no soft love songs played, just latin big band blaring so loud on the speakers you cannot be heard even if you are screaming at the person next to you
You get 6 wedding proposals by fat, drunk men twice your age who will not leave you alone all night
If the wedding starts at 6, it is considered distasteful and even offensive for leaving as early as 11
There are mothers subjecting their very small children to the defining music and drunk people until 4 o`clock in the morning
And last but not least, you might be at a wedding in peru if you are the tallest, whitest person in the room where the boys stare at you lustfully and the girls stare at you spitefully. But as long as you don´t mind drinking really cheap peruvian beer with 5 other peoples germs on it, it can be a pretty fun time
It was my first all-peruvian wedding and gave me a good look at the differences in traditions and ceremony. In order to show case the biggest contrasts between my experiences with weddings in the two countries, I borrow from comedian Jeff Foxworthy: You might be at a Peruvian wedding if......
You are the only female that doesn`t have sequins or rhinestones on your dress of pants suit.
Instead of doing a toast with a flute of champagne, you do it with a half ounce of pisco sour in plastic shot glass
Instead of being offered chicken of fish, you are given a hunk of pork fat that still has hair on it
The pregnant bride is drinking
There are no tables. Every one sits in chairs along the peripheral of the room and eats with a Styrofoam plate on their lap
Instead of champagne, you pass around one plastic cup between 4 friends and share beer served from 1 liter bottles
The groom invited his girlfriend to the wedding
Instead of throwing rice, rice is served as the main course
There are no soft love songs played, just latin big band blaring so loud on the speakers you cannot be heard even if you are screaming at the person next to you
You get 6 wedding proposals by fat, drunk men twice your age who will not leave you alone all night
If the wedding starts at 6, it is considered distasteful and even offensive for leaving as early as 11
There are mothers subjecting their very small children to the defining music and drunk people until 4 o`clock in the morning
And last but not least, you might be at a wedding in peru if you are the tallest, whitest person in the room where the boys stare at you lustfully and the girls stare at you spitefully. But as long as you don´t mind drinking really cheap peruvian beer with 5 other peoples germs on it, it can be a pretty fun time
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
A few more Ancash Pictures
I'm still waiting on more pictures, but living in the Peace Corps can be like living in the stone age some times. I'm not even going to explain this picture. But rather take suggestions as to what you think may be happening at the very moment the photo was taken. Regardless of what your imagination can come up with, it's all pretty typical behavior of how us Peru 9ers like to spend our precious time together.
This picture on the other hand is a bit more traditional . This is the group that spent easter weekend together up in the mountains. There are two little Peruvian girls in this picture, which is pretty typical peruvian kid behavior. We were hiking aroun
d the lake taking pictures, and the girls saw the cameras and started pleading to have pictures taken of themselves. Vishal and I were the only youth volunteers in the group, so we knew better. We immediately started shooing them away but the business volunteers got sucked in thinking the girls were cute. Big mistake. Then of course we couldn't get rid of them the whole time . And while some people in our group got a kick out of them, Vish and I were a little annoyed because we felt we could never get a vacation from our jobs as human jungle gyms. So naturally when we told them we wanted to take a picture with just our friends, they jumped in at the last minute like the disrespectful little gringo-abusers that most kids their age are. I think they finally got scared off when there was a dare made and, well, let's just say some clothes came off. Suffice to say, this alone did not scare them off. Their mom came looking for them and once she saw what were doing and that her kids were watching, she called them away. That is, only after she took a picture on her camera phone of the debauchery. Only a select few will get to see the pictures not appropriate for my blog. Let me know if you're curious enough to see the x-rated (okay more like PG-13) pictures. I'll email you one.
Friday, April 4, 2008
A Desperate House wife
This is my 100th post on my blog!
As I write this, I am sitting in the guest bedroom of my friends apt in Lima drinking boxed red wine and eating a 60% coca Intense Dark, Ghirardelli, Mint Bliss chocolate square. I'm hiding out in the guest bedroom cause my friend needed some privacy to have a talk with a special man friend.....God knows how long I will be stuck in here. I came in today to get my long run of the week for my marathon training out of the way so I won't be super tired tomorrow night to celebrate my friend’s birthday. I finished my run about a 2 hours ago and am all showered and iced down. I only mention this because it is such a stark contrast to the nights I spend at site which usually involve a heavy carbohydrate meal instead of chocolate and wine, and a good book instead of wireless internet. Things have been pretty crazy on the home front anyways, so it's nice to escape and relax for the night.
I'll start my family affair with a scene from this afternoon. We didn't have any water for a good 36 hours. So when the water finally came back on around noon, I brought down the dirty mugs that had accumulated in my room to wash. There were 4 mugs in total (I've been on a big tea drinking kick lately). When I entered the kitchen, my host mom offered me some grapes and then sat down at the table. As I was washing my mugs I heard her start to cry. My first reaction, besides feeling extremely uncomfortable, was to listen closely to figure out if she was trying to conceal the tears so I wouldn't notice or purposefully sob louder and louder until it got my attention. If I could decode her tears, I would know the correct way to respond. After the 4th mug was washed, it became clear to me that she was crying to get my attention. I wanted to flee. I knew why she was crying, I knew that she wanted me to ask why she was crying and then she would proceed to talk for 30 minutes and tell me the same thing she's been telling me for the past week. But I just wanted to leave. Washing the mugs was the last thing I had to do while cleaning me room. And after I cleaned my room I was going to go to the market and take care of some errands. But I took the plunge instead. I asked her if she was okay and if I could get her anything. She said she was fine and then went into a very tearful rendition of same song she's been singing to any one who will lend an ear. One thing was clear. I had finally been fully immersed into the family and at the moment I felt I was in over my head.
It all started a week ago when Viviana told me she had decided it was time for her to move out of the house. I met Vivi at the gym and since moving in with her and her family, she has been my main source of friendship and sanity at site. This announcement was quite a shock to me, I had no idea she was even thinking about it. But she explained and I completely support her decision. Vivi is a single, 34 year old woman with a son who will turn 18 in June. She has lived with her parents her whole life. She has a good job and is smart, modern woman. Now that her son is fully grown, she feels that it is time that they go out on their own for both of their benefit. Like I said, I fully support the decision.
Viviana's mother on the other hand, does not. The woman has been down right hysterical over the situation, and examining her reaction provides an interesting dichotomy of the life of a house wife and the differences between generations and culture. Vivi's mom is not too terribly upset that Vivi is leaving, but that she is taking her son, Bruce. In the words of her mother, Bruce is not ready to leave the house. He doesn't know how to cook or clean. This is a funny statement to me for two reasons. The first being, he won't be out on his own. Bruce will still be living with his mother. The second being, when most 18 year olds leave for college in the US, they don't know how to cook or clean either.
The fact that Bruce will be living with his mother doesn't mean anything to the 69 year old house wife. In her words, Vivi has a job and doesn't cook or clean. Who will take care or Bruce? Since Vivi always lived with her parents, the grandma feels like she is more Bruce’s mother than his actual mother because she cooked for him and did his laundry his whole life. She actually said to me that Vivi was only his mother when he was still on the tit and since then, she has been the one who has cared and nurtured him. In her tearful tale at lunch today, she pleaded with me to talk to Vivi, to convince her into letting Bruce stay at least until he is 18 so she can teach him the necessary things he will need to survive. But they're not moving for another few weeks. Why is she so busy crying and not busy teaching him how to do laundry and cook a pot of rice? It only takes a few weeks to teach some one the ropes. But at the base of it, that's not really the problem. The problem is my host mother is an old house wife. She measures her self worth in caring for her children. She said today that all her other children are grown and don't need help. She is just going through the empty nest syndrome.
I did also mention to her, how in my country, it's very common for boys and girls to move out on their own, the majority of whom are not entirely "ready". I tried to explain to her the concept growing and learning through new experiences and how it will make him a better person to be more independent. It will make him a better husband and father someday because he will be able to help out around the house and not need to be taken care of by his wife, like another child. This idea left her speechless. Then the next day, she was talking to some of her other kids. I wasn't even in the conversation and all the sudden she snapped at me saying "I know that may be how they do it in your country, but that is not how we do it here!" and then she just kept saying "he's not ready, he's not ready, he's not ready". Again, I would like to reinforce that he is not moving out on his own but he will be living with his mother, and they are only moving 3 blocks away! I'm sure Bruce will just bring his laundry over to be washed by his grandma. But this even this statement will not calm my hysterical host mother.
Everybody else in the house supports Vivi's decision to move. Her mother is desperately trying to get me on her side so it's putting my in a sticky situation. Now my host mom is getting mad at me because I won't go on her side. There are just so many concepts that she fails to grasp and it is so frustrating for me to try and get her to see things from a different angle. Needless to say there is a lot of tension in the house and therefore my run, wine and chocolate feel especially good tonight. I try to be understanding of where my host mom is coming from, but she makes such a spectacle of it all. I didn't know 69 year old women could be such drama queens. It brings a whole new meaning to the term desperate house wives.
As I write this, I am sitting in the guest bedroom of my friends apt in Lima drinking boxed red wine and eating a 60% coca Intense Dark, Ghirardelli, Mint Bliss chocolate square. I'm hiding out in the guest bedroom cause my friend needed some privacy to have a talk with a special man friend.....God knows how long I will be stuck in here. I came in today to get my long run of the week for my marathon training out of the way so I won't be super tired tomorrow night to celebrate my friend’s birthday. I finished my run about a 2 hours ago and am all showered and iced down. I only mention this because it is such a stark contrast to the nights I spend at site which usually involve a heavy carbohydrate meal instead of chocolate and wine, and a good book instead of wireless internet. Things have been pretty crazy on the home front anyways, so it's nice to escape and relax for the night.
I'll start my family affair with a scene from this afternoon. We didn't have any water for a good 36 hours. So when the water finally came back on around noon, I brought down the dirty mugs that had accumulated in my room to wash. There were 4 mugs in total (I've been on a big tea drinking kick lately). When I entered the kitchen, my host mom offered me some grapes and then sat down at the table. As I was washing my mugs I heard her start to cry. My first reaction, besides feeling extremely uncomfortable, was to listen closely to figure out if she was trying to conceal the tears so I wouldn't notice or purposefully sob louder and louder until it got my attention. If I could decode her tears, I would know the correct way to respond. After the 4th mug was washed, it became clear to me that she was crying to get my attention. I wanted to flee. I knew why she was crying, I knew that she wanted me to ask why she was crying and then she would proceed to talk for 30 minutes and tell me the same thing she's been telling me for the past week. But I just wanted to leave. Washing the mugs was the last thing I had to do while cleaning me room. And after I cleaned my room I was going to go to the market and take care of some errands. But I took the plunge instead. I asked her if she was okay and if I could get her anything. She said she was fine and then went into a very tearful rendition of same song she's been singing to any one who will lend an ear. One thing was clear. I had finally been fully immersed into the family and at the moment I felt I was in over my head.
It all started a week ago when Viviana told me she had decided it was time for her to move out of the house. I met Vivi at the gym and since moving in with her and her family, she has been my main source of friendship and sanity at site. This announcement was quite a shock to me, I had no idea she was even thinking about it. But she explained and I completely support her decision. Vivi is a single, 34 year old woman with a son who will turn 18 in June. She has lived with her parents her whole life. She has a good job and is smart, modern woman. Now that her son is fully grown, she feels that it is time that they go out on their own for both of their benefit. Like I said, I fully support the decision.
Viviana's mother on the other hand, does not. The woman has been down right hysterical over the situation, and examining her reaction provides an interesting dichotomy of the life of a house wife and the differences between generations and culture. Vivi's mom is not too terribly upset that Vivi is leaving, but that she is taking her son, Bruce. In the words of her mother, Bruce is not ready to leave the house. He doesn't know how to cook or clean. This is a funny statement to me for two reasons. The first being, he won't be out on his own. Bruce will still be living with his mother. The second being, when most 18 year olds leave for college in the US, they don't know how to cook or clean either.
The fact that Bruce will be living with his mother doesn't mean anything to the 69 year old house wife. In her words, Vivi has a job and doesn't cook or clean. Who will take care or Bruce? Since Vivi always lived with her parents, the grandma feels like she is more Bruce’s mother than his actual mother because she cooked for him and did his laundry his whole life. She actually said to me that Vivi was only his mother when he was still on the tit and since then, she has been the one who has cared and nurtured him. In her tearful tale at lunch today, she pleaded with me to talk to Vivi, to convince her into letting Bruce stay at least until he is 18 so she can teach him the necessary things he will need to survive. But they're not moving for another few weeks. Why is she so busy crying and not busy teaching him how to do laundry and cook a pot of rice? It only takes a few weeks to teach some one the ropes. But at the base of it, that's not really the problem. The problem is my host mother is an old house wife. She measures her self worth in caring for her children. She said today that all her other children are grown and don't need help. She is just going through the empty nest syndrome.
I did also mention to her, how in my country, it's very common for boys and girls to move out on their own, the majority of whom are not entirely "ready". I tried to explain to her the concept growing and learning through new experiences and how it will make him a better person to be more independent. It will make him a better husband and father someday because he will be able to help out around the house and not need to be taken care of by his wife, like another child. This idea left her speechless. Then the next day, she was talking to some of her other kids. I wasn't even in the conversation and all the sudden she snapped at me saying "I know that may be how they do it in your country, but that is not how we do it here!" and then she just kept saying "he's not ready, he's not ready, he's not ready". Again, I would like to reinforce that he is not moving out on his own but he will be living with his mother, and they are only moving 3 blocks away! I'm sure Bruce will just bring his laundry over to be washed by his grandma. But this even this statement will not calm my hysterical host mother.
Everybody else in the house supports Vivi's decision to move. Her mother is desperately trying to get me on her side so it's putting my in a sticky situation. Now my host mom is getting mad at me because I won't go on her side. There are just so many concepts that she fails to grasp and it is so frustrating for me to try and get her to see things from a different angle. Needless to say there is a lot of tension in the house and therefore my run, wine and chocolate feel especially good tonight. I try to be understanding of where my host mom is coming from, but she makes such a spectacle of it all. I didn't know 69 year old women could be such drama queens. It brings a whole new meaning to the term desperate house wives.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
7 Month Itch
About a week ago, Peru 9ers celebrated their 7th month in site. On this day, one of the most laid back, happy go lucky guy posted on our group list serve, that he was having a bad day. He acknowledged that his complaints were merely gripes and was keeping in mind the bigger picture, but was really needing to vent. It was a simple list of things that were bothering him: the micro buses are made for people that are 5’6’’ or shorter, after 6 months people are still mispronouncing his name, people only call him cause they want something etc.
After he posted this, about 10 other group members including myself, responded with the same replies of being fed up with this or that, and providing a story of something that has really been annoying us lately. It is my observation that we have hit the infamous 7 month itch. The honey moon faze is well over, we’ve settled into our lives and learned to adapt to so much, but we have found the elements of society that truly disagree with us. There are just some things that we can’t adapt to and will inevitably follow us through our service. And come August 2009, it will be these things that when asked what are looking forward to about leaving Peru, saying goodbye to grievances A, B, and C will be a top of that list.
Machismo is usually at the top of the list for most females. And indeed, many of my frustrations stem from this cultural strong hold. But some of the things that are topping my list, don’t have anything to do with humans. One of the most maddening things I’ve been experiencing is mosquito bites. If I were to guess, I would say I have roughly 20 bites at the moment, and that’s been pretty standard over the past 4 months. They always attack in the middle of the night. I wake up around 3 in the morning ready to jump out of my skin at the 5 or more bites swelled to the size of golf balls I have just recently received. I don’t need to wear body lotion any more because my skin is now generously moistened daily by bug repellent and anti-itch cream. I was given a mosquito net that I could put up over my bed, but I spend so much time on my bed doing work and watching movies on my lap top that I decided instead of putting it around my bed like a cage, I cut it up to make a screen for my window thinking it would have the same effect. Well it doesn’t. Every night before I go to bed, I do a check for the tiny, menacing devils but I never find them until it’s too late. Hopefully this is seasonal and the mosquitoes will be gone with the sun shine.
The other non-human annoyance in my life are the dogs. I apologize now to any dog lovers who may be reading this. I really don’t have anything against dogs and I think dog lovers would have an even harder time dealing with this topic than I do. There are so many stray dogs that roam the streets. A lot of them aren’t even stray, they are like watch dogs for shops and vendors. But they are allowed to wander about and harass poor innocent passer-bys like myself. These dogs are untrained, dirty and probably disease ridden. There is a reason we are given rabies shots. As I lay in bed, I can hear the dogs fighting. The sounds of growls, screams and the sound of impact from massive 10 or more dogs in a viscous rumble. It’s very disturbing to listen to. And listening to this, I can’t help but wish they would just kill each other so I wouldn’t have to deal with them any more. I know that sounds harsh, but there is real animal control problem here. Unfortunately, stray dogs is not a priority on the long list of problems the Peruvian government needs to deal with.
March was a very fun and care-free month for me. I was feeling on top of the world as I played with my friends. But now that March Madness has settled down, I’ve had some pretty big calls back to earth as the reality of Peruvian society comes crashing back around me. So in contrast to my sing-songy blog entries of march, my next few blog entries will focus on a but on the darker side of the things I experience. This does not mean I am spiraling down into an endless dark abyss of pessimism or depression. It just means I will be sharing both sides of the story. The world is far from perfect and I hope you are able to use my next few entries as food for thought about your life as an American and the unjustness that exists on every continent. Stick with me through my seven month, and 10 million mosquito bite, itch.
After he posted this, about 10 other group members including myself, responded with the same replies of being fed up with this or that, and providing a story of something that has really been annoying us lately. It is my observation that we have hit the infamous 7 month itch. The honey moon faze is well over, we’ve settled into our lives and learned to adapt to so much, but we have found the elements of society that truly disagree with us. There are just some things that we can’t adapt to and will inevitably follow us through our service. And come August 2009, it will be these things that when asked what are looking forward to about leaving Peru, saying goodbye to grievances A, B, and C will be a top of that list.
Machismo is usually at the top of the list for most females. And indeed, many of my frustrations stem from this cultural strong hold. But some of the things that are topping my list, don’t have anything to do with humans. One of the most maddening things I’ve been experiencing is mosquito bites. If I were to guess, I would say I have roughly 20 bites at the moment, and that’s been pretty standard over the past 4 months. They always attack in the middle of the night. I wake up around 3 in the morning ready to jump out of my skin at the 5 or more bites swelled to the size of golf balls I have just recently received. I don’t need to wear body lotion any more because my skin is now generously moistened daily by bug repellent and anti-itch cream. I was given a mosquito net that I could put up over my bed, but I spend so much time on my bed doing work and watching movies on my lap top that I decided instead of putting it around my bed like a cage, I cut it up to make a screen for my window thinking it would have the same effect. Well it doesn’t. Every night before I go to bed, I do a check for the tiny, menacing devils but I never find them until it’s too late. Hopefully this is seasonal and the mosquitoes will be gone with the sun shine.
The other non-human annoyance in my life are the dogs. I apologize now to any dog lovers who may be reading this. I really don’t have anything against dogs and I think dog lovers would have an even harder time dealing with this topic than I do. There are so many stray dogs that roam the streets. A lot of them aren’t even stray, they are like watch dogs for shops and vendors. But they are allowed to wander about and harass poor innocent passer-bys like myself. These dogs are untrained, dirty and probably disease ridden. There is a reason we are given rabies shots. As I lay in bed, I can hear the dogs fighting. The sounds of growls, screams and the sound of impact from massive 10 or more dogs in a viscous rumble. It’s very disturbing to listen to. And listening to this, I can’t help but wish they would just kill each other so I wouldn’t have to deal with them any more. I know that sounds harsh, but there is real animal control problem here. Unfortunately, stray dogs is not a priority on the long list of problems the Peruvian government needs to deal with.
March was a very fun and care-free month for me. I was feeling on top of the world as I played with my friends. But now that March Madness has settled down, I’ve had some pretty big calls back to earth as the reality of Peruvian society comes crashing back around me. So in contrast to my sing-songy blog entries of march, my next few blog entries will focus on a but on the darker side of the things I experience. This does not mean I am spiraling down into an endless dark abyss of pessimism or depression. It just means I will be sharing both sides of the story. The world is far from perfect and I hope you are able to use my next few entries as food for thought about your life as an American and the unjustness that exists on every continent. Stick with me through my seven month, and 10 million mosquito bite, itch.
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