First of all I just wanted to apologize to the people that actually read these blogs (well I hope there are people who read these, or I’m basically talking to myself…eh oh well) about how long it’s been since I’ve been able to post. I usually only make it into civilization once a month. But the good news is this blog should be good!
Well where to start, oh, the phones. Ok so as I’m sure I’ve told most of you, or possibly written before, there is not internet or cell phone at my site. Therefore every member of my group here in Peru has probably forgotten that I exist since I can never communicate. And up until Jan 17th we had phone service in my site…yes I said up till. On Jan 17th at 9:30am the mayor cut all of the phone lines to Nanchoc because there are some people who haven’t paid their bill in a year (yeah Peruvians aren’t real good about setting deadlines.) And the gringo in town (me) was the first to discover that there was no cell phone reception when I tried to be an amazing sister and use an ENTIRE phone card to call my brother’s cell phone and say happy birthday. At first we thought just the Health Center’s line got cut. The line hangs low in the road and if a stranger to town passes by with a load too high—snap, there goes our line. But no, everyone’s phone line was cut. And this of course doesn’t affect our lovely mayor, because he doesn’t live here, he’s lives in Chiclayo (yeah go figure)but up until a few days ago, (like Feb 1st) we were without any means of communication, then after a mini riot the mayor was forced to open the only pay phone in town. So I used a whole phone card to call home and let the rents know that I’m not dead on the side of a Peruvian road. (Sorry you weren’t home mom!)
Hmm what else is new? Oh yeah, I had my bosses come to visit me yesterday (the 4th) just to check in and make sure that I’m still alive. We had a charla (educational session) with mothers of children under the age of 3 about food preparation and nutrition. It went pretty well. I didn’t give the charla, the Health Promoters that I’ve been helping train gave it, their first charla! I was so proud, they did amazing. But my bosses seemed pleased with everything, except for the rain (it’s been raining for the past week straight). And thanks to Mom and Terry, Tommy, and Ted for the magazines that you all sent, I shared the wealth and passed them along with my bosses to give to the other volunteer’s they’ll see this week. Besides most of them had articles on Obama and nothing else…and we all know I don’t want to talk about that.
But the highlight of the past few weeks has been that this week my host mom finally came back from Lima!! So I don’t have to be Chef Jenny anymore! How wonderful. And she didn’t come back alone, she brought my Host sister Isabel and her daughter Ingrid. Isabel is awesome; she’s 25, it’s been really great to have someone my age in the house. And Her daughter is…well timid. This girl is afraid of everything: Donkeys, cows, goats, chickens, roosters, ducks, and insects…yeah and she’s in the campo of Peru, we’re surrounded by these things. The poor girl. Today was a very traumatic day for a 5 year old. The day started off with my dad killing a goat because we have 14 people eating at our house every day (another story I’ll get to in a second), and Ingrid thinks that killing animals is wrong…god I know, she’s crazy. Its Discovery Kids fault—the show with the daughter of the Crocodile Hunter says not to kill animals…or so I’ve been told a hundred times now as Ingrid’s eating her chicken…yeah I’m confused too. And she cried and stared with horror as I help Don Jose cut the goat into portions separate the “good internal parts” from the “bad internal parts” (yeah I had goat liver, lungs, and heart stew for breakfast this morning…it was as gross as it sounds). But as if that’s not enough trauma for an animal loving 5 year old…today when I was washing my laundry (on the only sunny day we’ve had in forever) I hear a death scream coming from the room where we keep the cuys (Guinea Pigs) and baby chickens and turkeys. So naturally I go running to see who is dying. Turns out it’s not who was dying, it’s what was dying. Ingrid was jumping into the room with the animals…and well…squished a baby turkey. And it was still alive, she had stepped on its butt, and its guts had shot out of its mouth. So naturally thinking of the tramitized child before the turkey I pick her up and leave the room, and my mom yells at me for not killing the turkey first…go figure. But it’s ok, I had the crying kid; she killed the turkey with her foot. So this sequence of events is obviously enough to send any kids over the edge. But as with any good story, that’s not the end of it.
So right now it’s Carnival here in Peru. Now I’ll be honest, I really have no clue what that means aside from an excuse for dirty old men to throw water at women and children walking in the streets. But on this ONE day without rain, as Ingrid and I walked to finish a mural I’m painting in the Health Center a group of boys threw a bucket of water with pig blood on us (yes intentionally). Ingrid started balling (for the 4th time today) as I started fussing out in a mixture of Spanish and English at these boys. Yeah ok so I still can’t fuss people out very well in Spanish. “F you” translates anger better than me saying “that’s just not nice” in Spanish. So as we return to the house to change…the rain starts back up. So As I’m tying this, my clothes are hanging on the line…and getting a second rinse cycle (well ok they never has a first since I wash by hand…but just go with it). So all in all, it’s been a hard day to be 5 years old.
And back to the 14 people eating at my house story. So above my town there is a Slate Mine that no one from Nanchoc wants to work, the people here would rather work their land, so the company brings in people from outside to work—and they of course need to eat. Since my host mom runs one of 3 “eateries” in town (and she’s the better cook) they are all eating here. These guys are pigs. I have no clue who the heck taught them to eat, but they need to go back for a refresher course. They somehow manage to get more food on the table or benches than in their stomach. But the only good part of them eating at my house is they all really think that I’m the 7th child of my host mom (the girls in the family are “gringo” in skin color—aka a lil more pasty than the average Peruvian). So heck yeah! I actually have passed off as a Peruvian at least until I talk…then it’s obvious that I’m either not from round here, or I’m just special...
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