“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

My First Peruvian Family Vacation

A few weeks ago my host family invited me to with them on a trip to Trujillo. Trujillo is a northern costal town and is the third largest in Peru. Eager for a chance to escape the cold and rain (it's summer on the coast and winter in the mountains), I hastily called my director to ask if I could go. Most fortunately, Peace Corps encouraged me to go under the policy that trips with family are considered "family intregration" rather than "vacation." (Have I mentioned that I love the Peace Corps?) However, as I dusted off my warm weather clothes and eagerly loaded my suitcase with as much sunscreen and insect repellant as I could find, I began thinking about what I was getting myself into. I had just agreed to travel over six hours with two young children to a house full of unfamiliar family members and no escape to solitude. Yet, as I felt the humidity permeating through my two layers of clothing, I reminded myself to keep an open mind and that a dry heat was waiting six hours to the west. I was going no matter what.

The day of our departure began at four in the morning with my host sister Milagros shouting "Samantha, estas despierta?" from the other side of my door. I mumbled something to indicate that I was awake and stumbled about my room trying to figure out what I was forgetting. My family was all dressed in their Sunday best, while I had opted for the shabbier, yet infinitely more comfortable attire. This is just one of those inate cultural differences we have come to accept about each other. At 4:30 the taxi pulled up into the front and we loaded our luggage, my shoes and pants becoming thouroughly coated in mud in the process. Even though the taxi was already full with the four of us and one more in front, the taxi driver insisted on waiting for one more person. An hour later, after defying the laws of physics, we filled the taxi and proceeded one hour to the south to a town called Chilete where we could catch the car to La Cruce where we could find the bus to Trujillo. (Welcome to the Peruvian transportation system.) The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful apart from half of the passengers having to yell at the driver to slow down unless he wanted to get us all killed. (That didn't deter him.) We arrived in Trujillo more or less in one piece, at about 11AM.

The first few hours were filled with hugs, kisses, and stories. They welcomed me just like another member of the family, ocassionally throwing in a few questions about the U.S. and asking me if I was getting used to things in Peru. I was given a cozy little spot in a room just big enough for a twin bed and a nightstand. There was a window to let the warm breeze in and promising holes with protruding wires where electricity would arrive one day. A yellow silk sheet served nicely as the door. Throughout the week the house served as home to no less than twenty people. I helped out where I could with the cooking and we ate in shifts to give everyone a spot at the table. In order to temper the heat, we made a variety of delicious fresh juices from local fruits including pinneapple, maracuya, and verenjena. At night we made ice cream from the national fruit lucuma and for the first time in two months, I slept with just one sheet.

With all of the excitement, the week flew by. We went on a shopping spree at the outdoor mall, world famous for its selection of cheap and adorable shoes. I rode the bumpercars with my host sister and I think we both had a bit of whiplash by the end of the ride. However, the best part by far was the beach. I never tire of going to the beach and for me the first peek at the ocean is always invigorating. It was so exciting to come around the bend after about half an hour by combi and to see miles of untainted coast stretching before us. While it was a bit unfortunate that we had chosen to go on the only day that was overcast and chilly, this did not deter me in the slightest from going in the water. I lasted a good thirty minutes before the numbness turned to cold. After unsuccessfuly trying to teach a few of the kids to swim, we headed for the warm sand. My host dad rounded up a group of people to play volleyball, and to my great surprise, I had improved and could hold my own in the game. Finally, after all of my newly discovered muscles were aching and sand had covered every inch of my body, my host mom and her sisters arrived with a giant seafood picnic. We feasted on rice, fish, potatoes, and salad, possibly one of the most delicious dishes I've ever eaten. It was one of those moments where I was truly in the moment, utterly content to be exactly where I was.

And so, I am now back in San Pablo where the rainy season is in full swing. Today it is about 40 degrees with around two feet of visibility and two feet of mud. My laundry has been wet for three days and counting. But you know what, I love it here. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

On the work front (Yeah, Peace Corps isn't ALL about vacations...) I've been making some progress on finding donations for our "Casa de Espera," where pregnant women will be able to come from the farther neighborhoods to give birth and to learn about child nutrition and development. My English class is going very well and I'm very happy with their progress. I'm also in the process of beginning a training program for health promoters, both for adolescents and the rural areas. It's a slow process as these are very large undertakings, but I'm excited for the possibilities. For those of you who know me fairly well this will come as a surprise, but I also accepted an invitation to join a running group! We were taught as a part of Peace Corps training that we should always say "yes" when we're invited to participate in activities, so with this in mind I agreed, despite hating to run and being terrible at it. (Curse you, training...) Today was actually my first day. We left at 5:30AM (Ahh!) about 45 minutes before sunrise. While I'm now pretty sore, I have to say that I could see myself getting into this running thing. It was energizing in a way, and I also had the chance to make a new friend, always a valued comodity here. The Peace Corps always says that the biggest influences we have are often the way we live our lives in our communities, so perhaps my newfound activity will serve a dual purpose.

So! I think that just about covers it for now. I'll be uploading the Trujillo pics to the website soon, I'll post a link on my blog (saminperu.blogspot.com) when I've finished. Even more exciting, I now have a Skype account! What does this mean? This means that if you have Skype (and a headset with a microphone) and you're online at the same time, we can chat for free! My headset came with a webcam, so we can even talk in person. My skype name is sjkerr08.

Until next time!

Love always,

--Sam

From 2008 to 2009

Dearest friends and family,

It is hard to believe, but I've been in site one month now. They say that the first month is the hardest, and especially with my first month including Christmas and New Year's, this certainly has been true for me. However, my first month as a PCV has also been one of the most exciting of my life, filled to the brim each day with new experiences, both terrifying and exhilarating. Some days I wake up with my heart racing, terrified that I don't have a plan for the day and filled with worry over how to fill the hours. However, in my first weeks I have learned quickly how to convert this fear into productivity and enjoyment. For me, these days are now days of possibilities, days where I have the opportunity to form new relationships, discover new projects, and to build a life for myself here.

Along those lines, my first Christmas away from home wasn't too bad. Certainly, I felt homesick. I had always known that the true meaning of Christmas was to be with family, but that message resonated especially loud and clear this year. I tried to share a few of my traditions--I baked Christmas cookies with my host sisters and played my favorite Christmas songs. However, I had to stop when the song "I'll be home for Christmas" came on, and the Christmas feeling just wasn't there. In fact, Christmas is a very marginalized holiday in the highlands of Peru, and rightly so. Well over a majority of the families can't afford even one toy for the kids, let alone the decorations and holiday foods. One thing I've really come to enjoy and appreciate about Peru is the collective identity they share here, quite different from the largely individualistic atmosphere of the States (though don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of this too). However, here, it is as if everyone decided as a whole that if everyone couldn't celebrate Christmas on a grand scale, no one would. Imagine that.

As a result, everyone focuses on the "Nacimiento," or the birth of Christ. Each family creates a nativity scene in a corner of the room, though some of them take up an entire room. Now, these are not your typical nativity scenes. Nativity scenes may include but are not limited to: waterfalls, GI Joe's, tea parties, weddings, ceramic figures of African animals, airplanes, barbie dolls, wedding reenactments, living aloe vera plants, candy dishes, race cars, (insert the strangest thing you can think of here.) Truly they are a sight to behold. At midnight on Christmas eve, each family places the baby Jesus in the manger. My family sang a few songs, danced, and said a blessing to the new holy family member. (It creeped me out a little bit to talk to the plastic baby Jesus in my hands, but I did it!) Afterwards, the children receive no more than one or two small gifts, and the family all shares a meal together. My host Dad gave a particularly touching toast, welcoming me at the celebration, and truly making me feel like a member of the family. It was really quite beautiful. I felt honored that they so willingly shared this special day with me, and while I missed my American Christmas, it was a great bonding experience and an important part of becoming integrated in the community.

Meanwhile, on the work front, I had the opportunity to travel with the staff from the health center to some of the outlying communities, known here as *caserios*. The first one we visited is called Succhabomba. The health staff only visit once a month because it is an hour by car on a treacherous road, and then another hour and a half walking down into the valley. We made our way to the small school that sits at the bottom of the rolling Andes hills, a little blue building without running water or electricity. All of the kids are taught by two professors, and I'm not exactly sure how they divided the age groups. They were very shy at first, both because of the vaccinations we had brought and the fact that for most of them, I was the first person from the States they had ever met. Little did they know I was in awe of them too! It just so happened that the day we arrived was also the last day of school, where they celebrate the graduation of the sixth grade students who will be moving up to secondary school. The mothers had all gathered to prepare a huge feast of tomales, cuy (guinea pig), pato (duck), soup, potatoes, and mazamorra morada (kind of like purple jello). I offered to help and eventually was permited to assit with the tomales. (I had a sneaking suspician that they didn't think *gringas *could cook and I was eager to prove myself.) After four hours of preparing everything to perfection, at last we sat down to eat. It was an incredible meal to say the least, However, it was a bit sad to see that most of the kids only took a few bites, preferring instead to save the rest for their families waiting at home.

The other community we visited is called Lloque. This is where I'll be doing my diagnositc and focusing my efforts these next few months. It a two hour walk, made a bit difficult by the steep hills but still doable. It too is nestled in a gorgeous green valley--I'll post pictures soon. While not quite as poverty stricken as La Succha, Lloque is plagued by chronic malnutrition and high maternal mortality. I have grandiose ideas of building a community greenhouse filled with nutritious native plants, but we'll see how that goes. I'm quickly learning to balance idealism with reality.

Meanwhile, I began my first new year outside of the country! I met up with a few of the other Peru 12 volunteers in the capital city of Cajamarca. The night before I left, I had almost decided not to go because I was having such fun just being with my host family. We were discussing everything from the Bermuda Triangle to life on the moon. Later that night, I dreamt that my site had been changed to northern Alaska. Apart from being upset that one couldn't possibly have a real Peace Corps experience without leaving the U.S, I insisted that San Pablo needed me and that I wanted to stay. I woke up feeling really happy, because that dream meant to me that for the first time I felt a real connection to this place and this family. When I came downstairs for breakfast, my host mom pointed to a cardboard box on the kitchen table and insisted that I take it with me. Inside was the most delicious handmade chocolate cake I've ever seen. I had told her that I was probably the only volunteer who got to eat cake on a regular basis, and feeling sorry for the other volunteers, she had made it for me to bring along and share with the others. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

After arriving in the capital city and washing out the chocolate icing that had melted onto my only pair of pants, we all exchanged stories from our sites and enjoyed hours of conversation in rapid English. We had a delicious pizza dinner (though pizza is never the same in Peru as in the States), and afterwards, blueberry cheesecake iceream. We sat in the plaza for a bit and after we tired of saying "no gracias" to the kids trying to sell us candy, toured the end of mass at the beautiful Catholic church. A few hours before midnight we quickly devoured most of the cake and got ready to go out. We ended up going to an amazing discoteca (club) reccommended by our Peruvian friend Jose, and our two new German friends we'd met early that day accompanied us. There, hudled in our very multi-cultural group, we counted down to midnight. Afterwards we danced to some great Peruvian and American songs (why Peruvians have better taste in American music
than Americans I have yet to figure out) until 5 in the morning, and were still among the first ones to leave. What a great way to bring in the New Year!

So, now here I am in month number two, invigorated with a new drive to inspire positive changes in my community. For me this month will be one of listening and investigating, of finding the root of the health problems here and the most cost-effective solutions. Undoubtedly it will be one of mistakes and challenges as well, but I think I'm becoming less afraid of failure. Maybe I welcome it in a way, because for a Peace Corps volunteer, it's like the process of elimination. "So that didn't work, great! Now I can try the next thing..."

Thanks for your continued words of support, wisdom, advice, and encouragement, I read each and every one with a smile and an open heart. Oh, almost forgot! Here's how you can get ahold of me now:

My phone number for my cell phone is (calling from the US): 011 51 76 976401193
To call the land line at my house from the US: 011 51 76 782713

My mailing address is a little sketchy, but I think it works:

PCV Samantha Kerr
Centro de Correo San Pablo
San Pablo
Cajamarca, Peru

Our post office is actually just a lady who happens to accept mail
from Serpost, so we'll see how this goes.

Love always,

--Sam

एंड सो आईटी बेगिंस...

Hello to everyone from San Pablo!

*Note--for those of you who want to skip all of the writing, I've uploaded a lot of photos, including my host family in Lima and my new hometown! Check them out at: http://s431.photobucket.com/albums/qq34/sjkerr08/

I am proud to say that I´ve completed my first official week as a true and blue Peace Corps Volunteer. After my site visit two weeks ago I certainly had some trepidations, but I´m happy to report that things have improved significantly since then. Now, I can definitely envision myself living and working here for two years, which is an incredible feeling. Two years doesn´t make a whole lot of sense to my mind right now, but the good thing about being in the Peace Corps is that you are often living in the moment, whether you want to or not. A walk down the street can turn into a project, or result in a life-long friend. It´s about losing all of your fears and inhibitions (or most of them anyway) and looking for the ways in which you can leave your mark on the world, fun times!

Backtracking a bit, the last week of training was a whirlwind of emotions and events. Last Friday we had our swearing-in ceremony, which was a beautiful event. We all showered and dressed nicely, hardly looking like Peace Corps volunteers at all. All of the important people gave a few words, but all were overshadowed by one of our own, Doug, who gave an incredibly inspiring speech about the journey we are beginning. Afterwards, we hugged, we took a million photos, we ate a delicious catered lunch, and we danced with our host families. My host dad danced for the first time in twenty years, showing me all of his classic moves. Everyone was having a wonderful time until about 7, when the buses arrived. Then, all of the families lined up as we proceeded to walk the longest walk to the buses. I gave my host family that one last hug, and they began sobbing, which naturally, caused me to do the same. It´s incredible the bond we´ve built in just three months. The bus ride to Lima was very sobering, all of us were feeling sad at leaving the families we had become a part of, and more than a little scared at beginning our new lives in the middle of nowhere, away from people who understand our version of Spanish. However, we made the most of our last night together and celebrated until 6 in the morning. I´ll leave the details to your imagination.

I arrived in San Pablo Sunday evening after a very smooth bus ride, no throwing up this time! My family greeted me with open arms and delicious food. After about 10 trips up and down the stairs, I managed to get all of my luggage in my room, and am now settled in quite nicely. However, I was definitely still nervous about how the week would go. While our training was great, it´s rare that a volunteer arrives in site with projects ready to go. Rather, the first three months are a time for integrating, doing our diagnostic, and searching for the needs of the community. While this is all well and good, it also leaves us with a disproportionate amount of free time, which for me, is a difficult thing. Thus, I woke up Monday morning with a little bit of panic. What would I do with myself all day? However, as I mentioned before, going for a walk is one of the best things you can do as a volunteer. I´ll give you an example...

Last Wednesday I was walking with my coworker to visit a group of elderly persons who meet once a month to do various things in the community. While we were there, she introduced me to someone who worked at the church doing a variety of social programs. He mentioned that he was doing a charla on AIDS the next day in a rural community about an hour away. I told him that we´d received a lot of training on AIDS education, and before I knew what happened, I had agreed to do the charla (lecture) the next day. The next morning, we met at the bus stop at 6:30AM, waiting for the one car that sometimes takes people to the place we wanted to go. At last, around 7:30, we were on our way. Somehow, I had managed to prepare a few activities the night before. I was a little nervous, especially about my shaky Spanish, but also excited for my first real volunteer experience. Amazingly, it went very well, and the kids seemed to understand most of the major points. Afterwards, it just so happened that it was the day to celebrate the graduation of the seniors. Because it was also a celebration of Christmas vacation beginning, they invited me to participate in something called a chocolatada.

A chocolatada is a traditional event here in December where they make a giant pot of hot chocolate. (though usually they have to use something that resembles a chocolate powder called Cocoa, which isn't cocoa at all but rather a chocolate substitute...I haven't actually figured out what's really in it, but it's good.) They also serve slices of cheese (which are amazing since the department of Cajamarca is a big exporter of dairy products) and an awful thing called Pandeton, which is like a dry fruitcake that everyone loves. I've learned to graciously choke it down, but it isn't easy! After the chocolatada, they put on a great mix of Peruvian music played through an awesome sound system, which every rural school seems to have despite a lack of desks and books. (Another mystery...) However, despite the many encouragements of the professors, the kids were too shy to dance. So, an idea struck them. "Why don't we have the gringa (affectionate term for foreigners) dance? That will surely motivate the others!"

Now, you have to understand that while others may havce nightmares about being naked in front of a class, I have nightmares about having to dance in front of people. Thus, I was faced with a dilemma. However, this dilemma was short lived, because really the Peace Corps is all about overcoming inhibitions and being in uncomfortable situations. It could be worse--other volunteers have to hike a quarter mile to use their latrines, and some don't have electricity. So, I apologize for poorly representing the dancing abilities of the people of my country, but dance I did. Slowly but surely the others joined in, and we had a great time. At the end of the day we packed the ususual seven people in the taxi and drove home, tired, but happy.

And so, the journey continues! During another walk through the town, I met a woman named Margarita who hosted a Peace Corps Volunteer from Peru 8 (I'm Peru 12). She invited me to go hiking, and we climed over 500 meters to the top of the valley and took some amazing photos. She told me that a lot of people think she's crazy because she likes to go running and hiking, but I told her that they'll have to call me crazy too. She introduced me to several friends of hers, an archeologist and engineer who are working on the new highway that will save us two hours of transit to the capital city. We had a great conversation about the history of Cajamarca and the influence of mining. (I won't bore you with the details, look it up on Wikipedia if interested, haha.) More importantly, we shared an amazing dessert of spiced peaches, an absolute delight.

Today, as I am finishing this email a week after beginning it (in true Peruvian fashion) we celebrated the anniversary of San Pablo. There was a huge parade, with all of the schools, institutes, and organizations represented. Afterwards, I took my host sisters out for ice cream, and we met up with my host parents for a delicious lunch of chicken and rice. Later, I'm meeting up with the volunteer who I replaced, as she is in town for a visit. I'm eager to compare stories.

While there are a hundred other moments I would love to write down, unfortunately, I don't have the memory or the time to do so. However, I'll try to update my blog whenever I think of something that's not big enough to send out on the group email list, so check there for small updates. As for contact info, I do have a cell phone but it is ridiculously expensive to call it. Also, sadly, my post office box is in the capital about 4 hours away, so I won't be able to check it more than once or twice a month. Thus, please continue emailing me, I've so enjoyed all of the emails you've been sending! Feel free to send any questions or thoughts, also, I always love to see pictures from home. Love you all, hope you are enjoying the holiday season.

Until next time!

Love,
Sam

Instantes (Instants)

This is a poem we read in Spanish class called Instantes by Nadine Stair that really resonated with me. I´ve included the Spanish version with my own rough translation.

Si pudiera vivir nuevamente mi vida, en la próxima trataría de cometer más errores. No intentaría ser tan perfecto, me relajaría más.
Sería más tonto de lo que he sido, de hecho tomaría muy pocas cosas con seriedad.
Sería menos higiénico.
Correría más riesgosd, haría más viajes, contemplaría más atardeceres, subiría más montañas, nadaría más ríos.
Iría a más lugares adonde nunca he ido, comería más helados y menos habas, tendría más problemas reales y menos imaginarios.
Por si no lo saben, de eso está hecha la vida, sólo de momentos, no te pierdas el ahora.
Yo era de esos que nunca iban a ninguna parte sin un termómetro, una bolsa de agua caliente, un paraguas y un paracaídasñ si pudiera volver a vivier, viviría mñas liviano.
Si pudiera vovler a vivir comenzaría a andar descalzo a principios de la primavera y seguiría hasta concluir el otoño.
Daría más vueltas en calestia, contemplaría más amaneceres y jugaría con más niños, si tuviera otra vez la vida por delante.
Pero ya ven, tengo 85 años y sé que me estoy muriendo.

...

If I could live my life again, the next time I would try to make more mistakes. I wouldn´t try to be so perfect, I would relax more.
I would be more stupid than I have been, I would take few things seriously.
I would be less hygenic.
I would take more risks, travel more, contemplate more sunsets, climb more mountains, swim more rivers.
I would go to more places I´ve never been, eat more ice cream y fewer vegetables, I would have more real problems and fewer imagined.
And if you don´t know it, this is how life is made, only moments, don´t lose time.
I was one of those that never went anywhere without a thermometer, a hot waterbottle, an umbrella and a parachute; if I could live again I would live more lightly.
If I could do it all again I would walk barefoot in the beginning of spring until the end of autumn.
I would take more turns on the merry-go-round, contemplate more dawns and play with more kids, if I had a chance to do it all again.
But already I am 85, and I know that I am dying.

Spider Stories

I have been at war with spiders for the entirety of my life. For reasons unknown, their very existence condradicts everything I believe in. At the mere sight of the tiniest arachnid, my ¨flight or fight response¨ is activated. My heart pounds, my blood runs cold, and my mind tells me that I am in mortal danger. Yet, in contrast to my every instinct and sense of self preservation, here I am in Peru, their designated battleground.

Initially, naively, I believed myself and the spiders to be in a state of neutral coexistence. I saw them every now and then, I knew they were there, but we maintained our respective boundaries. However, I am now certain that the aroma of my fear became irresistable. As with most of Earth´s creatures, they too sense a weak prey. Slowly, I began to see more of them. First, two with small bodies and long legs emerged in the bathroom. Although I thought I had made it clear to them that they were permited to survive only as long as they didn´t interfere with my daily activities, they blatently displayed themselves on the sink. I acted quickly, asking my host brother to take care of the matter. He did so, all the while looking at me like I was crazy. I felt a little bad, they hadn´t been particularly vicious spiders, but they had broken the rules first and I was unwilling to compromise.

The next week, I learned that Peruvian spiders play dirty. It was four in the morning, and I was returning from a quinciñera. Despite the metal doors and cement floors, I had managed to make it to my room without producing a sound loud enough to wake my family. Eager to rest after a tiring day, I put on my pajamas and walked across the room to turn out the light. Half way to my destination, I encountered a spider the size of my hand, perched for the attack in the middle of the far wall. One month before I might have had a nervous breakdown, but I was Peruvian now. Determined to win this battle too, I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed both a broom and a plastic bag. As I expected, the spider lay in wait, unmoving from its previous position. With a deep breath and a decisive move, I slammed the bristles into it´s body. To my utter horror, the spider lept off the wall directly towards my face, as if it had anticipated my move. The battle lost, I screamed in terror, swiping madly at the air. My host sister ran into the room, curious as to what could be so terrifying at four in the morning. I explained in my broken Spanish, as she examined the remnants of the enemy on the floor. ¨It´s not that big,¨she said. ¨Sleep well.¨ My thought: ¨They get bigger?¨

Later, during field based training, my group was assigned to give a lesson in front of one hundred fourth and fifth graders at a school in Cajamarca. When we walked into the room, there was a great deal of excitement, and we thought they were especially thrilled to see us. However, it turned out that the real sensation was a large poisonous black spider that had to be removed with a set of pliers by one of the professors. Yes, they get bigger.

Now, in my eighth week in the land of the spiders, the war continues. For the last week I had been waking up with more bug bites than when I had went to bed, including some which had formed unique red welts on my right arm. I had searched for the source without any luck. However, as I pulled back the covers last night to perform my rutine inspection, a squirming black body dashed across my Casper comforter, making a beeline for my hand. Holding in a scream, a yanked off my shoe and brought down my judgement upon it. However, while my mattress is very firm, it didn´t provide enough force to squish the intruder. Again, with a red face, I enlisted my host brother to take it down. He did so, whisking it quickly to the floor and raking it´s body across the cement until nothing remained but a damp stain.

And so the war continues. Me versus them. I´m outnumbered, but my spirit won´t be broken.

Abejas, Fuegos, y Fotos

My dearest friends and family,

A side note first--some of your emails weren´t working before (because I entered them incorrectly) and some I just added. For those of you who are interested, I´ll be posting the old emails and the new ones on my blog: http://saminperu.blogspot.com/

I always worry that I won´t have enough to write to you, and then the strangest and most interesting things happen. Such is the life of a Peace Corps trainee! This week was especially lovely, since we had a ¨feriado¨(holiday) on Wednesday. The night before, we celebrated the birthday of another PCV with the community. His host family decorated a ¨house in progress¨ just down the hill. We decided to have a ¨graffiti party¨ so that we would all have a souvenir from training, so everyone bought white T-Shirts and Sharpies. By the end of the night, we had all learned quite a few new phrases in both English and Spanish...very educational. :-) The Peruvians made fun of us bcause we only lasted until 1 or 2 in the morning, and their parties NEVER end before dawn. However, they aren´t in PC training!

Wednesday, I slept the latest I ever have here, until 8AM! I had my mid-point Spanish interview, and am happy to report that I moved up two levels to intermediate-advanced. I am now where I need to be to begin service, and will be spending the rest of language training fine-tuning my accuracy and pronunciation. It´s so exciting to be able to have real conversations with my host family, or even to understand the small talk on the street. Learning a new language is so empowering, and even though it is also one of the most frustrating things I´ve ever done, it is also one of the most fun. For those of you unfamiliar with PC training, we have four hours of language and culture nearly every day. The afternoon is spent getting vacinated, working in our technical groups, and listening to medical sessions on safety and health. Not all of our time is spent at the training center--some of our language sessions take place in our communities, and we are frequently asked to conduct interviews with the locals. For health, we have begun to work at the health posts, learning about government efforts and how to work with limited resources. I´ll wirte more about the health posts next week.

It´s been especially fascinating to learn about health in Peru. (For those of you who disagree, you can skip to the next paragraph.) For example, it´s a common joke here for Peruvians to ask Americans, ¨What do they feed you over there to make you so tall?¨ While I´m considered short-average in the states at 5ft 4in, I´m actually quite tall here. This has been great for concerts and large crowds, however, as the health volunteers have come to understand, very little if any of the height difference can be contributed to genetics. In some departments (states) malnutrition is responsible for the stunting of over 60% of the population. One village reported stunting in every 8 out of 10 children. The malnutrition is not due ot a lack of food, but rather a lack of nutrient rich food. Rice and potatoes are served LITERALLY at every meal. They are served to curb appetite rather than for nutritional value. Peru exports nearly all of its quality produce, leaving very little for the people. Peru may be famous for its fruit and potatoes, but the fruit we eat from Peru is not what the people are eating here. This is definitely an area I hope to address in my permanent site.

Continuing on (how could I have been worried about not having enough to write?!) this weekend was full of uniquely Peruvian experiences. Saturday, we traveled once again to La Agraria, where we learned how to salvage seeds from vegetables, farm cuy, and create bee colonies. (Yes, ¨cuy¨ are guinea pigs, and they are commonly eaten here. They are even included in the fod pyramid. I have so far evaded having to try one.) For the bee session, we were up close and personal with the bee colony. They gave us the special netted hats, and then proceeded to open the colmena (structure/hive) of 8,000 bees. We tasted honey straight from the comb and learned how lucrative and beneficial the bee farming industry can be. It was both fascinating and delicious!

Afterwards, a small group of us went to a deli for lunch, where I had my first turkey sandwich in a month. It was so good I don´t think I can even describe it in words. After our first meal in a while without rice or potatoes and a brief 2 mile walk, we arrived at El Museo de la Nación. While their exhibit was limited due to construction, it was also free! The art was incredible, some of it dating as far back as 1170 B.C. The gallery upstairs featured a photo timeline of the terrorist era in Peru. Keep in mind, this was barely 20 years ago. The images continu to haunt me, the atrocity is hard to describe but the photos truly say it all. Women and children in small rural communities were brutally masacred by terorists and police forces alike, all the while having no idea why the fighting was taking place. I encourage anyone unfamiliar with the reign of the Shining Path in Peru to read up on the matter, it explains so much about the political and economical problems here today.

One last story for you in this email, and then I´ll save the rest for next time. This Saturday was the anniversary of the large city, of which my community is a subdivision. There was a huge fiesta/concert to commemorate the 114th birthday of Chosica, so naturally all of us decided to go. It was a little strange being the only Americans in a crowd of 5,000 Peruvians, but the music was fantastic. One of the groups was definitely the Peruvian incarnation of the backstreet boys, complete with matching outfits and choreography. We ended up leaving around 1AM, again, very early by Peruvian standards.

As we were climbing up the hill, we noticed a small fire burning. This isn´t particularly unusual, since a lot of people burn their trash, but it was 1 in the morning, the brush was very dry, and it was in an odd location. We decided to throw a little dirt on it, just to be safe. For good measure, one of the other volunteers decided to, shall we say, relieve himself on the fire as well. However, for whatever reason, the flame got bigger. At this point, I decided we needed help, so I ran to the nearest house. When no one answered, I grabbed a few buckets from the courtyard and we began filling them from a nearby stream. Some of the moto taxi drivers noticed our efforts and joined in. At last, the fire was out and we were able to go home. PC volunteers, saving the world one small fire at a time!

Finally, I am happy to report that at last, I was able to upload a few pictures! It was a very involved process to find a flash drive, a computer with a USB port, and a locutorio with internet fast enough to upload them, but at last I can share a bit of my life here with you in a visual sense. I have more, but kep in mind that it took 2 hours just to upload these :-S

To view the photos, visit: http://s431.photobucket.com/albums/qq34/sjkerr08/

I don´t think you have to subscribe to photobucket, but let me know if you have any problems.

Again, thanks so much for the love and support. I miss you all terribly, but I´m having the time of my life here and can´t wait to share more with you. Feel free to email any time!

Love Always,
-Sam