Caffeine in my Coffee

I was drinking my coffee this morning and wondering if all this time I've been drinking decaf. Someone switched it on me and I never noticed until I started to miss the feeling of flying, higher and higher, onward and upward…

There is a numbness that happens down here sometimes. Or I suppose it could happen anywhere, and has probably happened to me before when I spent college writing paper after paper on topics I don't even remember, and will happen to me again when I become the illustrious paralegal slash office bitch, or something. But it feels new every time, and just today I got this idea that being a little numb feels like someone stole the caffeine out of my coffee.

Yesterday I went all the way to Chao—well, I say "all the way" like it is some incredible distance when really it is only half an hour by combi, but going there did mean I did not have time to work out that morning, which makes me grumpy. I was supposed to meet with Juvenal, the environmental engineer I'm working with for the biohuerto in Buena Vista. The day before he had confirmed twice that he would be there. And of course he wasn't. He was in Buena Vista working on the biohuerto and would be there all day, something that continues to puzzle me since the secondary students don't start class until 12:30. What the heck was he doing all morning?! I got to play with Merril's dog instead of finalizing the quiz the students are supposed to take in 2 weeks, which was probably more fun, but not so productive.

And then at 3:00, I met with the Comité de Limpieza Pública in San Jose. My agenda was to do a FODA analysis and read over the survey I wrote (or mostly stole from a manual, one of the several zillion the Peace Corps has given me over the past year). But it was only the presidenta and I—Barrantes from the municipality got a flat tire on his moto, the treasurer was at work, and the rest of the committee has apparently gotten too frustrated with their community's lack of participation that they no longer want to participate, either. We edited the survey a bit and talked about our plans for a street cleaning day with the help of the school (and maybe I will do some charlas with them, too) but I didn't really see the point of doing a FODA activity with only the two of us.

The day was much less productive than I had anticipated, yet it was relatively busy. Besides being angry at Juvenal, I was in a decent mood. Maybe I was just still happy about editing Pasa la Voz, the Peace Corps Peru magazine, starting next week with a probably poorly timed but nevertheless eagerly anticipated trip to Lima. The magazine comes out twice a year, timed with each group's COS (close of service) dates since a good chunk of it is their "profiles"—each volunteer gets a page with pictures of themselves and their answers to some survey
questions about their service.

Whatever the reason, I got home and checked off "stay past January" on my pros and cons list for the first time this week—mostly because I've been neglecting the list. I've realized that if I honestly were going to quit, I probably would have done so a long time ago. But today even my delicious Oxapampa coffee tastes kind of flat and I find myself hoping I'm not settling by staying where I am. But then, there are so many moody ups and downs here that I guess I ought to be a little numb once and a while to balance it out!

I can feel the momentum building in my San Jose project—the obstacles are definitely there, but they are not insurmountable, and that gives me energy. So does the presidenta, Rosalia. Most of her committee quit, but she hasn't given up yet, so neither can I.

Sin Verguenza: Garbage Collection in San Jose

Last week on Thursday, I followed the garbage truck through San Jose, helping the Comité de Limpieza Pública ("Committee of Public Cleanliness" aka Garbage Collection) collect the 3 soles that people are supposed to pay each month for the garbage collection—the municipality sends the truck and pays the garbage collectors, but San Jose is responsible for the gas, which costs around 75 soles per collection.  3 soles is about the price of a kilo of expensive imported apples, and I do not think it is truly beyond the means of anyone in the community.  Unfortunately for us, paying for garbage collection at all is something very new to the people of San Jose, and the only way to get any money out of anyone is for the committee, made up of entirely of mothers, to donate time they don't have to follow the truck, knock on doors, and argue and plead with people to give up their 3 soles.  They stress and frustration of this weekly exercise has lead 3 of the 6 committee members to quit, and one recently had surgery, leaving me with only 2 members to work with last week.

 

Joining them was a good experience for me, because I got to see how their system works currently—the baseline for my future endeavors—and also learn the extent of the entire community.  It's bigger than I thought.  The fliers we passed out last week estimated 6,000 residents, but the committee thinks that this is a huge overestimate; still, it is probably upwards of 3,000 (I will try to get a more accurate statistic from my surveys), at least 600 families.  If everyone actually pays for the collection, they would have more than enough to pay for weekly garbage collection, possibly even bi-weekly (depending on how many families actually live there, a stat I need to get somehow...).  But as it stands now, they do not.  They didn't have enough the last week of August, so this past week they had twice as much garbage.  The garbage truck filled up halfway through the route, so we had to go dump it and come back, which then cost the committee more gas money.

 

So why won't people pay?  My surveys are going to be full of "behavior change"-style questions to try to figure out exactly why, but I'm starting to think that might not be necessary.   I think the following conversation sums it up nicely:

 

I had gotten ahead of the truck and the president of the committee who was with me, and came upon 2 lovely ladies standing with their bags of garbage:

 

Me:  Hello, the tuck is on its way, would you like to pay for the month now?

Ladies:  Ah, señorita, we already paid.

Me:  Are you sure?  We are collecting now for the entire month of September, you may have only paid for August.

Lady 1:  No no no we did.  Ask Rosalia [the president] when she comes.

Lady 2:  Si, we already paid.

Me:  Ok, she's on her way. 

 

[I believed them, some people had already paid, and with her amazing memory, Rosalia would remember]. 

 

Me:  I am new to this [here I explained Peace Corps and what I'm doing].

Lady 1:  Oh, that's wonderful. 

Lady 2:  Yes, the people in San Jose expect everything to be free.

Lady 1:  Yes, they don't want to help their community.  They are bien cochinas, too!  [Slobs, pigs]

Lady 2:  Yes, and they are sin verguenza when they don't want to pay!  [Without shame]

Lady 1:  Yes yes, sin verguenza! 

Lady 1 [shaking her head vehemently]: Sin verguenza!

 

[In case you can't tell, Peruvians like to repeat themselves a lot]

 

Rosalia [approaching us]: Did they pay and did you write their receipt?

Me:  No, they said they already paid you for September.

Ladies:  Yes, we already paid.

Rosalia [shaking her head]: You paid me for August, and only 2 soles between your 2 separate houses.  For September you need to pay 3 soles for each house.

Me:  [I didn't even know what to say and probably stood their gaping like a fish]

Lady 1:  But the truck didn't come last week.

Lady 2:  Yes, and now look how much garbage we had in our houses?  We will pay you 2 soles.

Rosalia:  The truck didn't come last week because we didn't have enough money to pay for gas.  We didn't have enough money to pay for gas because not everyone will pay 3 soles.

Me:  [finding my tongue for a moment] Yes, if everyone pays 3 soles this month, we will be able to come every week.  It is very important that every house pay 3 soles.

Lady 1:   That is why you did not come last week?  Mmm people are so stingy here, and they are sin verguenza.

Lady 2:  Yes, they are all sin verguenza.

Lady 1:  Sin verguenza…

  

At this point, the phrase "sin verguenza" was echoing in my head and starting to hurt.  I had to just walk away, lest I start yelling at them in English (sadly, my Spanish is still not quite good enough to really bitch someone out) or die of incredulous laughter.  Rosalia caught up with me, 2 soles in hand, still shaking her head and also laughing.  By this point, I thought of a few good things to say to them, but it was too late.  Why can't they see that when they complain about cochinas who are stingy and won't pay and have no shame they are talking about themselves?!  AHHH!

 

Finding a way to inflict some friendly shame on this community might just be the key I need to get their garbage collection in order.

In Which I Pretend to Be a People-Person

Who would have thought that I would ever feel like a people-person? Not me!

I guess this is not the first of the “who would have thought?” statements I’ve made since arriving in Peru, and it’s probably not the last. Who would have thought I’d bathe in a river (and then with a bucket heated in the sun, and then in a cold shower, and then a HOT shower, and then get demoted back to bucket baths)? Who would have thought that the manner and frequency of my personal grooming habits alone would tell a story (of too many host families, mostly)?

Anyway. I must have some love in my heart for the human race, since I thought it would be a good idea to fly down here and try to help its progress. But I have never (ever) thought, “Hey! Social butterfly here, time to surround myself with crowds of adoring fans and huggle them to death!” (ahem… Katherine…;). I like certain persons, I don’t… actually like people. They have cooties or something.

Which is why I am pleasantly surprised at how much I already love my new host family.

In case you haven’t been diligently keeping track of my movements, this is host family number four. I had two in my first site, Buena Vista—my first host dad passed away and his wife moved back to Lima, so I had to move. Then things in Buena Vista weren’t avanzar-ing and I moved to Viru, the provincial capital about an hour from Buena Vista, in early July (although shortly afterwards spent almost a month traveling, so I have only actually been in site here for about a month).

My new host family was alright at the beginning—at first I was ready to forgive them anything for their hot shower! That is, until I realized that they didn’t usually turn it on for me, and in general were nice but not very interested in really making me part of the family. They managed to hide their washing machine from me for almost a month, too. Now, I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer. I do not expect hot showers or washing machines. But the fact that they had them and didn’t want to share, on top of not inviting me to join them for much, made me feel like they didn’t really want me there. Or maybe my host mom did, but not her sister-in-law (who I am 90% sure tried to steal my socks off of the clothesline), or her daughter (who mostly just jumped in with “You’re going to wash that plate and turn off the lights, right?” rather than actually talking to me).

Rather conveniently, then, another family member is moving back into the house and needed my bedroom (ex-husband, I believe, but that doesn’t make much sense?). So, time to move again!

I will be honest and say that rather than move, I considered quitting completely (and am still considering leaving after December). For one, moving is freaking stressful. Additionally, despite how much bigger and better Viru is as a site, I am not entirely sure that this is what I want to be doing. At this point, if I’m not happy with my work, it’s not the site—it’s me. Sometimes rather than personal growth, all that is happening to me here is that I am becoming more and more pessimistic and suspicious of people (especially men), and it’s making me even LESS of a people-person!

And do I even like the work? I’m not sure, but if I have to have a job I don’t really want, I’d rather have it back in the States with my friends and family around (and real money might help!). Or I could have a job I do want. I could be working as a paralegal and figuring out if I want to go to law school, which would also be productive, if not thrilling. Or I could be working for another development agency that actually takes development a bit more seriously. Peace Corps is apparently way more about Goal 2 and 3, which is not why I applied (remember how I don’t actually like people but still want to help them? Cultural exchange is great, but as a non-people-person, I’m much more interested in Goal 1--the projects).

Or is this a job I do want? Once upon a time, Peace Corps was all I wanted, but now I waver. I have a whole list of reasons to stay and another of reasons to go, and I read them almost daily (sometimes 3 times) and go back and forth and have started adding tally marks next to my preferred choice every day to see how I feel in the long run. A big deciding factor for me is going to be how things go with my new host family.

Which is why I am very excited to report, 3 days after my move, how well it is going so far! I’m living with my host mom, Juliana, her mother, and 2 sisters in their twenties, Lourdes and Joely. And of course 2 dogs, once of which is an enormous and blind Alaskan husky that tends to walk into chairs. He’s adorable.

I’m so happy to feel like I’m (finally, after almost a year!!!) making some Peruvian friends, things that previously would have driven me absolutely insane (like my host mom insisting on walking me to the combi this morning, or in general my host sisters walking me everywhere) are actually really awesome—I feel like they really want me to be part of their family and I want to spend time with them. This has had the effect of making me want to spend time with people in general. I could have spent all day in San Jose passing out fliers about the new Comite de Limpieza Publica and telling everyone about the garbage collection happening tomorrow, too bad Rosalia had to get back to her kids. I’m psyched to go visit Adolfo and Barrantes at the municipality in a few minutes and figure out what time the garbage truck is leaving for San Jose tomorrow.

Tomorrow, if the driver (who is apparently my neighbor but I haven’t met him yet) is awesome and lets me ring the bell on the truck… z0mg I might die!

Who would’ve thought? Today I feel like a people-person and it feels good :)

Family Vacation to Cusco--Pictures Speak Louder than Words

Our itinerary was something like: Family flew into Lima --> Bus to Trujillo to meet me --> Visited host family in Viru --> Back to Trujillo the same day to sleep and get lost luggage --> Overnight bus to Lima --> Hung out in the Peace Corps Office/Surco before flying to Cusco --> Car to Ollantaytambo and train to Machu Picchu Pueblo (Aguas Calientes) --> Machu Picchu early in the AM! --> Back to Ollantaytambo, back to Cusco, back to Lima --> Family flew back home and I stayed in Lima to then head to Ica for In-Service Training. Whew!

For more pictures, go to: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.699569969040.2187480.2911230&l=51ff5b8e58&type=1

A Site Change and the Labyrinth of the Peace Corps Perspective

I have only been at my new site for a few weeks, but I already think my site change was probably the best thing that has happened to me since I arrived in Peru. Except sometimes it almost feels like the worst, or at least much more complicated than the good decision that it probably was.

I started out my service eager to start, but a little terrified, too. I quickly found out that very few things were going to work out exactly as planned—I was stood up for a meeting my second day in site and had trouble finding Peruvians who were willing to accompany me to complete my encuestas. Sound familiar? Whether or not you can touch your toes, Peace Corps volunteers are bound to be some of the most flexible people on the planet—it’s a survival skill. And through a cocktail of sheer force of will, a well-stocked external hard drive, and the rare Pinkberry opportunity, we survive and even triumph. We are so, so strong.

Eight months into my service, Peace Corps has already changed my perspective on what is OK (Oh that kid is chewing on a balloon? At least he isn’t sticking his fingers in an electric socket!). For better or worse, I’m not sure I have any idea what “normal” means anymore. So baring a security threat or other major event, how do I know if my daily struggle is a typical part of a very abnormal job, or something that merits a change? We may all threaten to quit after a particularly bad day, but when it comes down to actually deciding to move host families or sites, it is an entirely different game.

* * *

When my APCD visited my site for the first time, I was a little nervous, worrying that the mayor wouldn’t show up to our meeting (he didn’t). But I was relatively content with where I was, so a few days after the visit I was shocked when I got a call from my PCVC Frieda asking me where I stood on my site change. What site change!? I had at that point absolutely no intention of moving. My APCD, however, thought that my site had seemed depressing and that I would likely want to move to a bigger site (which he did not, as Frieda assumed when she called, mention to me during his visit). But the thought had never really occurred to me, especially since Peace Corps is supposed to be really difficult, right?

I kept at it, completed a bunch of surveys (by myself because my socio never did show up) and prepared a pretty kick-ass community diagnostic presentation--which only 5 people showed up to see. Things didn’t really avanzar, work or integration-wise, and on top of that, I wound up having to move host families. I had high hopes that a new living situation (this time with a toilet!) would lift my spirits, but I unfortunately did not connect with the second family very well, either. Then one week my entire town had dark turbid water, and not only did no one besides myself seem to mind that the water was too dirty to drink or even wash, I could not get straight answers or even honest conversation out of the mayor or the 2-man water “committee” that was responsible for the system.

That incident felt like a last straw: I did not want to be at site when my so-called socios wouldn’t even tell me the truth (let alone work with me to fix a very obvious problem), I had very little motivation, and my only project was a secondary one that interested me a lot less than more watsan-related projects would.

But then, doesn’t everyone feel that way sometimes? And they deal. In a job that is far from normal even when it is typical, anything goes. So I struggled to be as flexible as possible. If I could just motivate myself...! Since I was the only thing I really felt able to control, I focused on what I was doing, rather than my site, which is essentially what any inspirational quote will tell you to do in times of struggle. I thought I had the right attitude, so why was I still so unhappy? Looking back, I wasn’t just “accepting the things I cannot change,” I was blaming myself for too much and probably starting to go crazy. And I completely forgot my APCD’s impression from his first visit.

* * *

Finally it dawned on me that changing sites would make much more sense than having myself wack-evacked. My greatest reservation, though, was that I would have to start over completely—a new host family, a new community where I would again struggle to integrate, another community diagnostic. And I was just finally starting to get to know people, to almost make friends. I wrestled with the decision for about a month, making pros and cons lists and everything, but finally had to just follow my gut. Although my gut may betray me sometimes when I get adventurous and try to eat those tasty-smelling anticuchos from the cart on the street, I had to trust it when the site change started to feel more “right” than anything else.

Once the decision was made, I would up being very excited to be leaving my old site behind. I had too many negative feelings associated with the place. But then, I wasn’t sure that I was ready to going through the “beginning” process again.

Little did I know, I wasn’t starting over with an entirely clean slate—I brought a lot of stuff with me. Whether that stuff is baggage or wisdom depends on the day, really. While I am much more optimistic about being able to accomplish more with my new socios, I am also sometimes more pessimistic about how much they are really invested. My suspicion of Peruvian men continues to make me a little paranoid, even though my new municipality is in all aspects much more professional. While I am extremely grateful for my much nicer house (not only is there a toilet, but this one even has a seat!), I miss the sometimes warmer feeling I got from the far poorer families where I used to live. And any time a problem arises, I still find myself wondering at the cause: is it my lack of motivation or misunderstanding of some cultural nuance, or is it Peru’s fault?

* * *

From training, I remember Kathy Hickey using a tinted-glasses metaphor to explain our limited ability to truly mentally integrate into a new culture—if Americans have blue glasses and Peruvians have yellow, we may someday learn to see in green, but never pure Peruvian yellow. I would add that this color combination can also sometimes be incredibly confusing.

As I struggle to integrate my own perspective with that of Peru, my sense of what is “normal” completely evaporates. Someone “blue” might appreciate one thing, someone “yellow” another, but what does a “green” person see, or even want? Happy or frustrated, trying to see through new eyes that have not yet learned to focus seems to heighten every emotion until I feel like I’m back in Jr. High having some sort of “z0mg guys, hormones!” episode. I can’t decide anything!

So how do I feel about my site change? Super excited for one-- I have more work to do now, yay! But then when I think about how I am still working on a diagnostic and get to feeling like I am very behind, having been in Peru for almost a year with very little to say for it, my negative reaction is likely worse than it would be in another situation outside the ‘Corps.

Sometimes a typical day here has so many highs and lows that just answering the basic question “How are you today?” could take hours! I wonder if what I am trying to say here is that the Peace Corps quite literally takes us back to Jr. High and makes us a little bit insane. But then, it also pushes us to grow in so many fantastic ways. Says the wise p90x man: “Ohhh I feel that in so many fantastic places!”

Beyond forcing us to come up with creative ways to stay in shape, Peace Corps tests our limits to the point that I sometimes feel like I can deal with just about anything. Someday I hope to be able wear my green-tinted glasses without so much internal conflict, lending a unique and fresh perspective to anything I set out to do. Of course, first I have to figure out what that is… but I have another year to agonize and confuse myself over that decision—Peace Corps style!

Meanwhile, I have to remember to keep trusting my gut. Every site may be different, but so is every volunteer, so there is little point in getting caught up wondering what “normal” means. Even with our confusion and cultural homelessness, our instincts are valid and every experience makes them stronger. In the absence of any well-defined perspective, they are likely the best thing we have to guide us through difficult days and complicated decisions.