“A fiesta, a funeral, and always, an adventure”

I can’t believe it’s really been four months since I’ve last written you. The thing is, I kept waiting because I never had enough time to write everything I wanted to, which ironically, has now led me to the situation where if I tried to write everything I wanted to, you all would be left trying to sift through a mini-novel. However, I still feel slightly pressured after such a delay to make this post worthwhile, so without further delay, I present to you selected short stories from the last four months. Pick and choose the ones you are most interested in, or if you’re at work and have lots to do but don’t really feel like doing it, read them all.



Also, exciting news—I’ve got nearly all of my pictures from the last 9 months uploaded on Picasa! They’re organized by albums and you can view them here:


Carnaval:http://picasaweb.google.com/sjkerr08/Carnaval?authkey=Gv1sRgCPDUofzq_8DbgQE&feat=directlink
Cusco:http://picasaweb.google.com/sjkerr08/MoriahSVisitToPeru?feat=directlink
San Pablo (My site):http://picasaweb.google.com/sjkerr08/SanPabloMySite?feat=directlink
Trujillo: http://picasaweb.google.com/sjkerr08/Trujillo?feat=directlink
Camp Alma: http://picasaweb.google.com/sjkerr08/CampALMA?feat=directlink



“The Fiesta”



When other volunteers would describe “Carnaval” to me, I had a hard time imagining it. After all, in the States adults just don’t take off a week of work to dance and drink through the streets, throwing paint and water balloons, dressing in outrageous clothing and face paint, and tying chicken and beer to trees. The closest thing we have is the Superbowl. However, as luck would have it I was placed in the department of Cajamarca--capital of Carnaval--and everyone assured me that I would get to see first hand how they party here in Peru.



I tried numerous times to figure out why we celebrate Carnaval, if it is a religious sort of thing or perhaps an ancient Incan tradition, but unlike the years of paint and shoe polish that can still be found on the sidewalks and the sides of certain buildings, the true meaning of Carnaval has long since been lost. Today, to the best of my knowledge, it is celebrated simply because it is ridiculously fun, and amidst the water wars, it really does seem to bring communities together.



Though the heart of the celebration is only a week, the Carnaval “season” begins in the end of January and ends (if it ever really ends) at the beginning of April, coinciding with the Peruvian summer vacation. I got my first taste of it as I was walking through my capital city one afternoon and was hit in the stomach by a drive-by water balloon. Mostly I took the successive water balloon ambushes to come in the following weeks all in good humor, but occasionally when it was in the 30’s and pouring down icy rain, I confess that I was not always the biggest fan of Carnaval. However, also being a notorious thrower of water balloons (no child was safe, ha ha ha!) mostly Carnaval was a wonderful opportunity to get to know new people and to show my community a more non-professional side of me that they hadn’t seen before.



In the end of February, we finally celebrated the main event. On Friday night, each barrio (neighborhood) gathered as a team, led by a queen (a young woman elected from the neighborhood to represent everyone) the previous year’s queen, and a princess (a girl under the age of 12 who throws candy to the other children). Together we interviewed the royalty about their views on Carnaval, and reviewed the rules—no attacking pregnant women or the elderly, no throwing water on electronics such as cameras and cellphones, etc.) Looking back I would say these rules were more like guidelines and rarely enforced, a prime example being the fact that someone threw a five gallon bucket of water on my head as I was taking a picture, thoroughly destroying my camera (though luckily not the memory card!). Finally, we watched a small video played on the side of a wall with a projector, depicting the previous year’s festivities. Our team mascot (a man wearing a blue blanket and a giant red paper mache head) ran around the room, getting everyone excited. After a small dance and excited whispers of the events to come, we all went home to get ready for the next day.



The following morning was a typical sierra winter day, overcast and freezing with a 100% chance of rain. However, determined not to miss out on what I had deemed an important cultural experience, I peeled off my five warm layers of blankets and readied myself in an old t-shirt and sweat pants. Upon the recommendation of my friends and family, I also pulled back my hair into a tight bun, since it was rumored that shoe polish can take weeks to get out. Along with my host sister and brother, I filled a five-gallon bucket with water balloons, trying to strike the delicate balance between too big (ouch) and too small (they don’t break). At last we left the house, headed to a larger house on the central street that would act as our “home base.” Ironically I think I wet myself more carrying the bucket full of water balloons than from attacks.



Once at the big house in the heart of “El Corongo,” (our neighborhood) we painted our faces with tempura both for the fun of it and to protect our faces. My face was a dazzling medley of yellow and blue squares. Slowly but surely, each barrio began to leave through the streets to meet their bands as they came into San Pablo, all the while singing phrases called “coplitas” which are two lines songs making fun of the other barrios. So, despite the weather, off we went, dancing, drinking, receiving brutal water balloon and paint attacks and retaliating just as fiercely. The day was a whirlwind of bad marching band music, even worse singing, splashes of every color lining the streets, aching bruises from rock-like water balloons, the pungent smell of cañaso, and clumsy dancing. It was also possibly the most fun I’ve ever had.



Later that night, after allowing for a brief recovery period, everyone gathered in the Plaza de Armas to coronate the new queen and to dance the night away. There was a costume competition, in which three guys had entered dressed as drag queens. The second one introduced himself as “Samantha, the pretty gringa from California,” and I just about died laughing. We danced until 3 in the morning (others longer, but I have yet to make it till 8AM) and despite a freezing misty rain, everyone had a wonderful time.



The following day the celebration came to a peak with the big parade. Thousands of people lined the streets as each barrio danced and sang with their giant floats. Paint and water flew like time and like always, the rain came pouring down. Nearly all of San Pablo was sick the following week, including myself, but as they say here, “vale la pena” (it’s worth it.)



In my own words, “Only in Perú.”



*Side note: Following the big celebration each barrio has it’s own mini celebration involving a tree known as the yunza. Everyone brings small items such as beer, chicken, tupperware, DVDs, clothing, you name it, and these items are tied to the tree. There is a dance and around 2AM, everyone forms a circle around the tree and each person takes a hack at it with an ax. The tree is normally placed in a hole in the street, directly through the cement. The person to cut down the tree is responsible for bringing the majority of the items the following year. It’s a slightly dangerous activity since no one knows exactly in which direction the tree will fall. We just finished the last of the yunzas at the beginning of April!





“The Funeral”



One of the most fascinating aspects of living within another culture is observing the practices and beliefs revolving around death. Death is a universally shared human experience, but the ways in which we view and process it vary significantly. As volunteers begin to become more integrated into their communities, they are invited not only to share in the celebrations but in the inevitable tragedies. Recently I attended a funeral and the memory of it continues to stay with me, so I thought I would share it with you all.



It was 10AM on a Saturday morning when my host mom invited me to the belario. Having already lived in San Pablo nearly 6 months, I knew that the belario was similar to the viewing or the wake we do in the States, an opportunity for loved ones to say their goodbyes. The name comes from the Spanish word for candle, “bela,” and is termed such because candles are kept lit for at least 24 hours as friends and family come to spend time with the departed. I had been to several before, none for people I knew, and both for people who had died of natural causes. This time would be different, as it was for a 6 month old infant who had died unexpectedly from a heart condition. In truth, I felt uncomfortable about going, but as a volunteer it is important to share in these moments with the community, so I went.



The belario is held in the house of the family. Depending on their means, some may have silver pillars with electric purple lights surrounding the coffin, complete with an elaborate flower arrangement and pictures of saints. However, this one was simple, a small hand-made wooden coffin, painted white with a tiny cross. Closed. It was placed on a small table with silk sheets hiding the kitchen table beneath. A handful of people were seated on the chairs and benches around the room, dressed in the traditional mourning color of black. The kids played with the fallen wax from the candles, feeling unsettled because of the sadness of the adults, but not enough to cease playing.



After the initial greeting of those gathered, the waiting begins. Some people make delicate conversation in hushed voices, and others fall asleep, but the important thing is to stay to keep the body company. This part is always awkward for me, since the small talk always seems so out of place, but in a way I suppose it is a way of accepting the death and moving forward in the process of grieving. As we sat, I fidgeted in my seat, playing with the hand-crotched seat cover and wondering if I would ever get my stitches to look as neat. I looked everywhere in the room except at the tiny box, wondering if a little spirit was hovering about with us, about the small life that would never be, and I felt hopelessly sad. However, no one else was crying, so I held back my tears.



Just as we were getting ready to leave, the baby’s mother came into the house and I don’t think I’ll ever forget her wails. They were the wails of a mother who had lost her child, and it is a sound that makes the soul ache. My host mom went to comfort her, and while there is no comfort for this sort of pain, her sobbing seemed to soften as my host mom held her. I wondered if this baby’s death had been preventable, if he had only received attention too late as is so often the case here, or if he would have lived had his parents been more financially stable. I felt so angry at a world that couldn’t care for its most precious resource, but at the same time my resolve for my work strengthened.



Later that afternoon shortly after lunch, we made our way to the cemetery to watch the burial. My youngest host sister, age 4, also came along. She seemed fascinated by the whole process. At one point she asked my host mom if the mom would be buried with her baby. “No,” replied my host mom with a sad smile, “She’s still alive.” I couldn’t help but think that Cristina was wise in her own small way, since a part of that mom would indeed be buried with her son. As we watched solemnly, the family passed around glasses of Inca Cola, another tradition that seemed so out of place to me. In fact, the families of the recently departed are expected to provide food and drink to guests as a funeral, which I find a little unbelievable. Perhaps it takes their minds of things, I don’t know.



After the grave was covered, I went with my host family to visit some of the family graves. Many of them are above ground, encased in cement “shelves” with small offerings of flowers and candles placed at the front. The graveyard in San Pablo is actually one of my favorite places—it is covered in wild flowers and thick green grass. There is a peaceful feeling there, and it is said that the spirits watch over all who enter.



Despite the intense sadness of the event, it was peaceful in a way. Here there is such a strong conviction that death is just a small rest we take until we are reunited in heaven. I don’t know what I believe about immortality and I scarcely have time to think of it as I am so busy trying to survive in the moment. But isn’t it a beautiful idea—closing your eyes for a peaceful rest, and opening them to enter an eternal paradise.





“The Adventure”



Recently I had the amazing fortune of having one of my best friends from the States come for a visit. For a Peace Corps volunteer, this is one of the ultimate joys of the whole experience, sharing it with someone else. We spent one week in Cusco and seeing Machu Picchu, and the other in my site. So many strange and wonderful things happened that it would take at least 7 more pages to describe it all, so I’ve decided to simply list a few highlights, and let you figure the rest out through the photos and your own amazing imagination.



Day 1: Take 17 hour night bus to get to Lima in order to meet Moriah at the airport. Check into hostel (which is awesome) and visit host family in Chosica, 3 hours away. Arrive at airport 5 hours early, but pass time happily sipping iced mochas in Starbucks, people watching, and marveling at the amount of English I can hear. Moriah’s flight arrives and we make a small scene at the airport, then go to hostel. 2AM we arrive, still can’t sleep, feast on American candy Moriah has brought and talk for another hour.



Day 2: Hostel is booked for the second night so we are led to another one. Beer bottles and weird smells, we decide to take the 24 hour bus to Cusco. Drop of stuff, tour Lima, accidentally come upon a huge Andean cultural parade.



Day 3: Arrive in Cusco after 24 hours, 6 of which were spent with motion sickness. Get into taxi only to find out that there will be a strike the next two days and that we have to go 2 more hours to the town where the train station is if we want to make it to Machu Picchu. Arrive at this town, find out we have to leave on the train that night, so we travel 2 MORE hours to Aguas Calientes, the town by Machu Picchu. Arrive 28 hours after leaving Lima, exhausted but full of a sense of accomplishment!



Day 4: We tour Aguas Calientes, drink and eat delicious things, and rest! Hot showers, yay. In hotsprings, meet Peruvian veterinarian who introduces himself as the guy who let Moriah out of the bathroom on the bus when she got stuck, and a wedding party.



Day 5: Machu Picchu! We get to the bus station at 5AM so we can see the sunrise. We get to Machu Picchu and run for the line to climb Huaynapicchu, the small mountain in all the classic photos. After getting the ticket, we leave the park to go buy more water and find out that Moriah has lost her ticket. We plead our case to the guard using photos we had just taken and are allowed back in. Flirt with guards to get up Huaynapicchu without a ticket. Make it to the top and the view is incredible. Make friends with an Israeli couple and go on tour, I translate everything for free! Take pictures of llamas and walk until exhausted.



Day 6: Back to Cusco. Can’t find hostel, but eventually knock on door that looks like a castle door and bargain down price from 90 soles to 15. Saved!



Day 7: Fly to Cajamarca, 37 hours reduced into 2, worth every penny.



Day 8: Tour Cajamarca, my capital city.



Day 9: Head to San Pablo on the omnibus, see an incredible rainbow stretching across the rolling green hills. One lady has a chicken in her purse.



Days 10-15: Moriah gets the “Peace Corps” experience. Teach kids about healthy houses, English class, going out into the countryside and hiking 2 hours to the 2 room school house, eating lots of rice and potatoes, learning Spanish on the fly, failing at trying to paint the world map, etc. Getting stuck next to a drunk guy in the taxi who falls asleep and drools on his arm, having to stand 30 minutes in the van on a dirt toad until a seat opens up.





See pictures for more details.





“And now….”



There are a hundred little stories to tell every day, but it’s so difficult to express in words the way things are here. Obviously, you’ll all just have to come visit me and see for yourselves. J



As of late, most of my time is spent teaching health classes, organizing mothers of young children in the outlying communities, teaching English, enjoying the gorgeous weather, learning how to knit, training health promoters, and listening to the podcast of “This American Life.” All in a day’s work. Typical days begin around 6:30AM and end around 6:30PM, but I like to stay busy. I can’t complain too much since my “work” often involved painting murals, playing soccer (I recently scored my first goal ever, whoo hoo!) and playing cards.



Recently I had my first parent meeting in one of the communities where I work called Lloque. I’ve been teaching the kids at the primary school--a small building with two teachers and two classrooms—and was so excited to finally speak to the parents about the possibility of doing a biohuerto (organic garden) project. However, much to my dismay, the meeting turned out to be a bit of a disaster. The teacher and the parents got into a huge argument about the new roof the school is building and one of the fathers who arrived intoxicated finally convinced all of the parents not to work with any of us.



I left feeling completely disheartened, thinking I’d wasted three months of community development, but luckily two weeks later the situation was salvaged. A young woman arrived from the Ministerio de Educación to speak with the parents about low attendance. (As it turns out, she also learned fluent English while living in Holland, how random is that?) After speaking about her own topic, she mentioned what had happened two weeks prior, posing the question to the parents, “When the teachers leave, do they take with them the school? When the señorita leaves, will she take with her your biohuertos?” “No,” they replied, seeing things from a new perspective. For the first time they saw our work as THEIR work, an initiative from the community, and suddenly everyone wanted to help. I was so happy.



I’ll let you all know how things turn out. Meanwhile, next week it’s fiesta time again as we’ll be celebrating our patron saint, San Juan. Expect more stories to follow.



Until next time!



Love always,

-Sam