A Quick Peak at the Day-to-Day

6.30.11

I am off this afternoon to our very first ever parents meeting in the library. Hooray. Progress. Or at least some remote kind of movement in some sort of direction. I hope I have sufficiently bribed my kids into making their moms come- if 15 or more moms show up, I’m opening the library an extra 3 hours for them on Friday. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: bribery works. I hope it comes through for me today.

The real purpose of this blog entry, however, is to share with you all a quick peak at the day-to-day drama, or complete lack thereof, that is my life here in Bolivar. For your reading pleasure, a short theatrical work sure to keep you on the edge of your seats:

The curtain opens to me chatting with a local woman outside of the municipality. A group of doctors and nurses has just arrived from Cajamarca to do a health campaign in Bolivar.

Liz: Hi, good afternoon.

Lady: Good afternoon, miss. Where are you coming from?

Liz: The elementary school.

Lady: Very good.

Liz: And how are you?

Lady: Here I am. Regular.

Liz: Very good. Very good.

Lady: Doctors have come from Cajamarca today.

Liz: Yes, I heard. What are they going to do here?

Lady: A campaign.

Liz: What kind of campaign?

Lady: A campaign, they’re going to do. What will it be?

Liz: Very good.

Lady: The sun burns, no?

Liz: It burns. But at night it’s cold now.

Lady: At night, it’s cold.

Liz: Yes.

Lady: They have come from Cajamarca, the doctors.

Liz: Yes. From Cajamarca.

Lady: Have you eaten lunch?

Liz: Yes.

Lady: Do you know how to cook?

Liz: Yes, I know how to cook.

Lady: But you didn’t know how before?

Liz: Yes, I knew.

Lady: You already knew.

Liz: I already knew.

Lady: Doctors and nurses have arrived. They’re going to clean teeth.

Liz: Oh very good. In the health post?

Lady: Who knows? In the health post, maybe. From Cajamarca, they’ve come.

Liz: Right….

And scene.

I’m not sure there’s even a good way to follow-up that masterpiece. And I surely can’t tell you how many times I have had an almost identical conversation during my almost full year here in Bolivar. All I can say is that while Bolivarianos aren’t the best conversationalists, at some point you do get used to it. Maybe not completely. But you get used to it. To the repetition, to the complete obviousness of almost every statement, to the frequent mention that I am an incompetent gringa which, in the eyes of many, I most definitely am.

But, asi es. That’s how it is. And somehow I continue plugging along into my 11^th month in site with more than a year in Peru under my belt. Happy, healthy, and always just on the verge of being productive.

Lots of love to you all!

Liz

My One Year Update

6.17.11

One year in Peru. Who could believe it. On June 10^th, last year, my family dropped me off at the Hilton, we had a good cry, and before we knew it, I was off. Flying to Peru with fifty-something strangers trying to finish one more Spanish lesson on Rosetta Stone before arriving. We arrived in Lima around midnight in a sleepy, excited haze wondering where we were going and when we’d be able to make a quick phone call home.

A whole year has passed and I’m happy to say I feel good here in Peru. My Spanish is better, though maybe a bit ghetto now thanks to my many campo friends. My host family is wonderful and welcoming as are so many friends I’ve met here and my site has, in many ways, become my home.

Life is good overall and work?...well I certainly have a lot of it at least. While I was home I promised I’d keep you all updated on my progress, as slow as it may be at times, so here goes- your very first Progress Note from Peace Corps Peru.

I’ll start with the ever-beloved library, La Biblioteca, Amigos del Libro. Since I arrived back in August, we have had many successes in the library beginning with our summer camp program and continuing today with “Ninos Creativos,” an afterschool program for elementary school students.

So far we have just under 40 kids registered for “Ninos Creativos” and have between 25 to 30 kids coming regularly to participate Mondays through Thursdays. When you keep in mind that there are just under 70 students in Bolivar’s entire elementary school, the numbers we are seeing are great. Some days nearly half of the elementary school is in the library reading, putting together puzzles, and drawing which is pretty incredible.

In the evenings, between 5-7pm, we’ve also begun opening up the library exclusively to high school students giving them their own time to do homework, play on the computers, or do arts and crafts. So far we have formed a small following of 5-10 first and second year high school students who come to play pick-up-stix, mancala, and Donkey Kong on the computer. I must admit that more than anything else, though, they come to make bracelets. The tiny colored beads I bought in Chiclayo were a HUGE hit and not terribly expensive. Advice for anyone trying to win over any group of teens: LOTS of beads, and LOTS of string. You’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.

While local kids and teens are pretty pumped about the library overall, local adults have been much harder to win over. Members of the actual library committee, for example, just haven’t shown the passion and interest that I had hoped they would. For that reason, committee meetings are infrequent and unproductive, fundraising activities are nonexistent, and adult volunteer support for me after school is rare. This has been a disappointment and real challenge for me but I am always hearing new suggestions and trying new things so I must hope that in the next year I will find the adult interest that I am looking for. That is the hope at least because in order to make the library a sustainable institution in the community, we definitely need adult help.

I am hoping that that adult support may come from local parents, rather than actual committee members. Slowly but surely, I have noticed that the energy and enthousiasm Bolivar’s children have for the library is reaching their parents. It’s as if it is starting to click that the services being provided in the library are really valuable. People are noticing that between 2-5pm there are no kids in the streets because they are in the library. They’re starting to get, I think, that doing art projects or doing group work, even just playing with friends with supervision, is a good thing. My new goal is to meet with the parents of the 25-30 devoted library-goers to ask THEM, “How do we keep this going?!?!?!” And, even more so, “How can you help?”

In the meantime, we will continue to fill the library with educational toys, art materials, and children’s books to keep our kids interested and eager to participate. Many many thanks to everyone who has made this possible! Your support is truly invaluable. I only hope that we can successfully continue fundraising right here in Bolivar, further involving the community in the advancement of the library.

While things move along in the library, my hardworking “tejedoras” continuing knitting and crocheting really beautiful pieces, eagerly asking for more materials and more work. During my time at home we sold about $1,100 in knit goods to friends and family like you. All of that money went either directly back to the women I work with or went toward buying more yarn for future projects.

My host family, Rosa and her two daughters, Pati and Cynthia, together made over 1,000 soles, or just under $300, a huge amount of money for them that has made it possible for them to remodel part of their home, putting in a staircase (instead of the ladder I fell down in December) and cementing what was a dirt floor downstairs. A thousand thank yous to everyone who bought one of their products. Once the heat cools down, I would love to see some pictures of you all in your ponchos and scarves. You can email those pictures to me at zavassallo@yahoo.

We continue searching for stores in Peru and back home where we can sell our products on a more regular basis. If you have any suggestions or contacts of possible venders for our goods, PLEASE contact me. We have 11 tejedoras eagerly knitting away here in Bolivar and there are many more women who have asked me for work. Making this a sustainble project before I leave next July could really change their lives. If you can help, please let me know J

In the meantime, we continue to take orders by email and are getting ready to participate in the Peace Corps Artisan Fair in November in the United States Embassy in Lima. Now we have Brian Lieberman working away too. We have officially purchased www.bolivarknits.com and soon we should have a website up and running, a development we are very excited about!

Well, I think that’s about it for now. This weekend marks the anniversary of Bolivar’s high school and I am off to enjoy the many festivities. They kicked things off this morning with a huge dance party of costumed high schoolers covered in paint singing and cheering in the park. Who knows what else is in store for the weekend…seems like that could be its own blog entry. Until then, thanks again for reading and for supporting the projects I’m working on here in Peru. I really couldn’t do any of it without you!

Besitos!

Liz

Heading Down the Hill

5.35.11

It’s a Wednesday evening and my head is spinning with the million TO DOs I have been scratching down all week. TO DO in the library, TO DO for my English classes, TO DO for my own sanity. And now that the sun has long set, the library is closed for the weekend, and tonight’s meeting was cancelled, it is what TO DO before I head down to Chiclayo tomorrow.

It’s a 4am bus tomorrow morning, which always gives me mixed emotions. For one thing, it just sucks to wake up at 3:15. And I find that the many things I hope to accomplish once I arrive in Chiclayo often keep me up worrying the night before an early trip down. On top of that there is the inevitable hungoverish feeling of getting to Chiclayo at 7am, already having been awake or in a hazy, uncomfortable sleep for the past 4 hours. There is forever the question of the hostel: will my room be ready right away so I can sleep until 9? Or will I have to huddle on the couch on the 2^nd floor common room and snooze there? Ah, the trials and tribulations of traveling before the sun comes up.

I have to tell you the truth, though, that I’ve never really had a problem waking up for the 4am bus. The excitement I usually feel about getting to Chiclayo to skype or shop or just eat a pizza usually gets me out bed and the need to get a good seat on the bus (second row back, beside the window) always gets me out the door. And once my painfully American backpack is tied up on the roof and I’m comfortably (sometimes) scrunched into my window seat, it’s smooth sailing from there.

Of course when I say “smooth” I mean that metaphorically. There is little I would describe as “smooth” about this trip. But it is surely one of the many wonders of living in Bolivar: a warm bus driving slowly through the early morning picking up familiar faces all the way down and piling them in almost without limit. About a month ago, I found myself halfway to Chiclayo with a policeman on my lap (there is only a minor Vassallo exageration in that statement) driving in a bus made to seat 17 but filled to the brim with 26 people inside and 4 more riding on the roof.

The radio, if you’re lucky, is usually bumping the usual Peruvian cumbia music, a happy go lucky kind of beat that I have come to love, but usually the sleepy passengers stay quiet for much of the trip. Except, of course, for the occasional “borracho” (drunk) who has been up drinking “canaso,” a bootleg sugar cane liquor, since the day before.

And there is a point when you eventually say, “alright get this large policeman off of me” or “please, let this drunk dude get off in the next town,” but, for at least the first 30 minutes, it is an adventure, as almost all things are here in Bolivar. It is part of a completely unique and always interesting experience that I feel so lucky to be having here in Peru.

Of course, I do still miss home. Like crazy, actually. It’s already been a month since I was there eating Ledo’s pizza on the couch with Laur, sitting on the steps of the Met with Megs and bombing through the 2-story Forever 21 at Montgomery Mall with Mols. Ah, that was the life. But I brought back to Peru so many wonderful memories with everyone, so many conversations and so much laughter. I feel lucky and blessed to have shared my trip home with all of you and appreciate so much your love and support.

I truly wish I could share every moment here with you all- from the crazy bus rides to the busy days in the library to the quiet Sundays when I do nothing but knit. But instead, just know that I am thinking of you always. Through every moment of it. And that in some way, you are all a part of this experience too.

So much love to everyone back home!

Liz

Falling in Love

3.25.11

It’s a rainy Friday afternoon in Bolivar, which means the streets are rivers of mud, the teachers are on their way to Chiclayo, and many families have left town to head to their homes in the caserios. I’ve been sitting at my desk for about an hour now, writing in my journal and settting some work goals for the next three weeks and I don’t think a single soul has walked past my window. Maybe one: an older women on her way back from the fields with mud up to her ankles and a big plastic bag over her head serving as a raincoat.

This past week I officially “cumplir”ed 7 months here in Bolivar and just about 10 months here in Peru. While it’s a far cry from my 27-month commitment, it’s the longest I’ve ever been out of the country. The longest I’ve ever been away from my house, my twin bed, and the fruit roll-ups I know are in the cupboard under the microwave.

It’s amazing to think I’ve lived here 7 months. I look around my bedroom here in Bolivar, full of photos and books and binders of my work, and am amazed at how much my own it is now. Thinking back to the first night I ever slept here, I remember there was just a matress filled with straw, two wool blankets, and an exceptionally disgusting-smelling pillow that I must attributte to my former sitemate Dave though he refused to admit it was his. Now, my room is home.

I’ve never thought of myself as a hardcore South America buff. Not like so many of my fellow Peace Corps volunteers here in Peru who majored in Latin American studies and adamantly told me that if they hadn’t been placed down here, they would have just stayed at home. I, on the other hand, have always kind of thought I left part of myself in Africa. Always assumed I’d return and in way less time than it’s taken me so far considering it’s been about 7 years since I finished my study abroad in South Africa. Still, I’ve always thought that was really where my heart is. Knew I’d have an amazing experience here in Peru but, deep down, figured it’d be difficult for South America to win over my heart.

Well, somewhere in between many itchy battles with big bugs, one hundred and one meals of rice and potatoes, and those town dances that keep everyone up dancing until four in the morning, I think it just may have happened. I may love Peru and I certainly love Bolivar.

My sitemate Dave left sometime in February and, at first, I was nervous about being alone here in site. Nervous I’d have no one to speak English with or to spend an evening watching episodes of Glee over a box of shitty red wine. In just about a month, though, I’ve realized that his departure has made me challenge myself again in the way I did when I first got here- making myself get out of the house, chatting in the park, and visiting friends in the evenings. And the more I visit, the more I chat, the more I just watch and listen, the more I understand how many people here have become very important to me. How many people I truly think I will know for the rest of my life.

I wrote to a friend recently and told her, I just can’t imagine leaving Bolivar and never seeing these people again. I can’t imagine leaving and never coming back and it’s true. For all of Bolivar’s many quirks and irritations, for its weaknesses and many faults, it is a place that I am coming to love. I think it did take Dave leaving for me to take the time on my own to realize that. It was a sort of epiphany, a realization that came to me all at once, one that I’m proud to be so aware of only 7 months into my service. It is official: I am happy here.

"Por la ventana? No lo creo."

22.2.11

It was just another Tuesday. Well maybe not ANY other Tuesday. I had just started up a Z-pack (thanks Dad) to ward off the oncoming illness I could feel growing in my achey ears and muscles. It was the same illness that was sure to ruin my coming weekend trip to Lima, a break from Peace Corps life and a glittering finale to my wildlly successful (don’t mean to brag but…) summer camp program in Bolivar’s library. Just two days to go and I was in temporary freedom land.

Needless to say I was taking no chances. So yes, today I popped the first two pills of the Z-pack I illegally (illegally?) stowed away in my suitcase when I left DC, took a nap, and powered through one of our last days of classes in the library.

Exhausted but certainly feeling better, I returned from a happily “tranquilo” day in the library, got our certificates and prizes ready for the awards ceremony on Thursday, and headed to the internet where I begged Lauren to help make me some Peace Corps business cards.

Since I hadn’t been feeling so hot the past few days, I had been avoiding lunch with the fam. “No tengo ganas de comer casi,” I told my host mom, Rosa and it wasn’t a lie necessarily. I didn’t feel the need to specificy that I didn’t have “ganas to comer” canned tuna and onions or mushy lentils and a deep fried egg. So, not feeling my best, I was stuck eating Ramen (thank you former sitemate Dave) and wheat toast (thank you Plaza Veia) in my bedroom.

Anyways, Rosa is always skeptical when I say I’m going to eat in my room or cook for myself. For some reason, there is always some disbelief… like maybe I’m lying and am actually starving myself instead of savoring peanut butter sandwhiches and the 100 calorie cheez-it packs that my mom sends me (thanks Mom!) which is, in fact, what I am doing. Either way this afternoon Rosa made sure to invite me up to drink a cup of tea and have some bread for dinner. I was down.

She called around 7:30 and I climbed up our rickety ladder ready for a little family bonding time. She’s been travelling to Chiclayo a lot lately to visit her daughters who are now studying in a university there so we’ve had much less quality time then usual. Add to that that I am actually quite busy in the library, not currently knitting anything (boo), and now sick and napping whenever I can, and now we’re practically strangers. So I subir-ed for a little hostmom-daughter bonding, ate my 2 rolls, drank my semi-warm tea and we chatted away.

Amidst chatter about God knows what…sometimes I’m not sure Rosa is evening listening to me…I spied on our stove a mouse crawling between a pan and a teapot. I, of course, semi-freaked out. Rosa, of course, pretended to be freaked out but obviously wasn’t. She’d put some poison down tomorrow, she said. And we chatted along.

A few minutes later there it was again, this time moseying around up there, in no rush to run and hide when Rosa approached the stove. I was near hysteria of course. (Ah, those hazy days of Rose Hugo and Rocky Walter seem so distant now, don’t they Heath…??) So once our little friend disappeared again, I had a final guzzle of my tea and decided to call it a night…or, more accurately, come down to my cozy little home away from home, where I know I carefully seal all of my food and never leave out rotting vegetables like a certain host mom I know, pop some popcorn, and watch the next episode of “Bethenny Getting Married” (Thank YOU, Dana!), a treat I allow myself every Tuesday night.

“Buenas Noches” were said and down I went, hurried into my room and flipped on the light to see- OH MY GOOOOOOD!! Yes, a mouse...not even a little baby mouse like was chilling in the stove upstairs. This one was pretty hefty…like me after 2 months of PC training in Peru. And no it wasn’t scurrying around on the floor where mice are SUPPOSED to be…where they were in the days of ORKNEY! Oh hell no. This mouse…okay let’s face it, it was a rat…was climbing in the shelves of the very handy “kitchenette”like piece of furniture handed down to me by my former PCVL and horrible romantic comedy buddy, Susan (thanks again Susan!).

When it heard my screaches it plopped its chubby little body down the back side of the shelves, jumped off my little green basket where I so carefully store fresh produce (NOT anymore) and hopped on to the floor never to be seen again…or not until later at least.

Now most of you know me and know that I’m not into animals. I don’t even like dogs…Megan Sanders if you keep posting pictures of dogs on your facebook page I might have to unfriend you. Ruth, one more holiday card with a picture of Penelope and I’m going to change my address…Bottom line, I don’t even think cute animals are cute. So please just imagine the level of tolerance I have for animals who are categorically NOT cute, animals who are actually revolting beasts that hide in the dark corners of your room only to ruin your Peace Corps experience. Exactly.

So I waited outside in a panic and called to Rosa for help. Let’s keep in mind that Rosa has helped me with more than one creature infestation in my six months here in Bolivar. Termites…there was Rosa. Fleas…there was Rosa. Bedbugs… I don’t even think she gets what these are but yes, there was Rosa. And yet again, this tiny, adorable 40-year-old woman who, with a proper “Devil Wears Prada” makeover, could look about my age, went to searching through my room for the rat while I called faulty Spanish directions from out the window.

After a quick once over Rosa decided it was gone. “Salio por la ventana,” she said. “He left through the window,” which I was completely not buying. Upon finally entering, I checked out my shelves and found to my complete and utter disgust that the rat had indeed been feasting on a tomato that I had left on my shelf with plans of passing on to Rosa anyway….If only I had given it to her before lunch as planned!!! There were big bites cut out of the tomato. I nearly barfed.

“You always have to keep your food closed,” my mom said. “Even in bags or boxes, they can eat their way through so you have to be careful.” Mary Ellen MacGeyver is the wisest of women and yet, sure that my neatly cemented room could stand up against any invader (besides those thousands of bugs I’ve been dealing with), I did not heed her warnings. I don’t know how it is possible but Mom is literally almost always right…Not always right, maybe. But at the very least, never wrong, right Mom?!?

Anyways, a half eaten tomato and a chubby rat siting was enough for me to admit aloud that no, I would not be sleeping in my bed tonight. Add to that a quick peek behind my bed which revealed that a little pile of black dots were not dead bugs but was rat droppings. OH the humanity. Rosa thought I was joking. I’ll sleep in the hammock, I thought or else visions of rats will be dancing in my head until Christmas Eve. ICK!!!

Rosa found my complete overeaction curious....Rosa’s favorite response to anything and everything I do: “Es curiosa, la Liz.” But she hadn’t lost faith. “We’ll get rat poison,” she said. “Right now?” I asked. “Vamos!” she said.

In a completely depressed fog of mouse doom, I followed Rosa up the street where we asked what appeared to be a completely random man sitting on the curb for some rat poison. Of course he had some for 1 sol, he said, so we followed him to his house where we found inside a huge store I had never even entered before where he apparently sold sandles, rubber boots, snacks, and, why wouldn’t he, rat poison.

We came back to the house where Rosa carefully mashed up the little pellet of rat poison and mixed it with the rice she had wanted to feed me for dinner. We left a pile of poisonous food on top of her stove and behind her stove and then made plans for my room.

“We’ll put your bed in the middle of the room,” she suggested, “and leave the food near your stove and in the corner of your room.” “Listo,” I said. So together we lifted my bed and placed it smack in the center of my room, leaving behind the Peace Corps issued bug net and bag of tejidos I keep stored underneath.

As soon as we put down the bed there was a rustling and out of the corner of my eye (Oh, how I wish I had gotten a better look just to make sure!) I saw my giant raton…yes, it’s giant now…spring from some shelves and dive through my window out into the wild.

“Salio!” I screamed. “Salio por la ventana!” Are moms just always right about everything? Oh ye of little faith. I was definitely not thinking that chubby little rat was making its way up and through my window but sure enough, there it went. We slammed the window shut and locked it and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not all is lost.

Carefully shaking every item that remained around the now visible pile of rat droppings, we hestitantly decided that the rat had, in fact, left the building. The open window was the culprit and, no doubt, the various food smells wafting from my room as I “approvechared” my newly obtained kitchen stove. Our final plate of poison food we left right outside my window where, if I’m not going completely crazy, I think I saw my little rat friend eating up outside my window while I typed away this entry.

Bottomline, I think it’s gone. Lordy, lordy, I hope it’s gone! That rat siting just about ruined a brand spanking new (to me, at least) episode of Bethenny. Not cool. Either way, the battle continues against the various creatures you run into out in the middle of nowheresville, Peru. If its not bugs in your bed, or chickens outside your door, sure enough, its mousies eating your tomatoes.

And it’s moments like these when I can say proudly, “So this is the Peace Corps.” And I’ll admit that here I have the luxury of watching new episodes of Glee on my laptop or making wheat pesto pasta for dinner. In Chiclayo, we all know, I drink more Starbucks than I ever did in the United States and spend many a’ happy afternoon in an overpriced homegoods store. Regardless, I gotta say that no matter what kind of icing you put on top, this really is the Peace Corps and ya know what? It isn’t always fun. But it surely is always an adventure.

A Peek Back at January

2.2.11

Amazingly enough I am well into the month of February busy with the “vacaciones utiles” or summer school/camp project I started last month in the library and looking ever forward to my visit home for Easter. Yes, it’s official. Almost immediately after our Project Design Training finishes up on April 14^th, I’ll be hopping on a plane and heading, oh you said it!, home.

Still a ways away, my future trip is keeping me motivated to get as much done in the coming months as possible so I can head out feeling most deserving of an Easter vacation abroad. In the meantime, I have new goals set for February, a library full of 30 kids excited about summer school, and a trip to Lima for the Peace Corps 50^th Anniversary Celebration in Lima on the horizon. But before I get to any of that, a quick look back at the month of January.

After saying a sad farewell to my parents and sisters, I entered the New Year with volunteer friends at Huanchaco, a beach right outside of Trujillo. The place was great. We stayed in a cozy hostel that was packed with travelers, volunteers, almost all foreigners and slept in tents in a yard outback. It was a night full of flip cup and card games followed by (obviously because this is Peru) fireworks on the beach.

I had a really good time and wasn’t missing my family quite as horribly as I’d expected but still something didn’t feel right. As soon as I got to Huanchaco even I felt that old anxiety- Heath knows what I’m talking about. That feeling tha tthere’s somewhere else I should be, doing something else entirely, something more. And there was of course.

I said goodbye to my friends and headed to Chiclayo where, after a day of crazy errand running, I hopped on the next bus (okay the only bus) back up to Bolivar with a huge “to do” list building and building in my mind. My community diagnostic presentation was under two weeks away thanks largely to Miryam, the Youth Development Program Specialist, who, due to a mysterious love of our library in Bolivar, had planned a huge staff trip to join me for the event.

So while most of my friends shrugged off their presentations and saved their reports on their laptops, never to be seen again, I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of almost every single one of my bosses. On their way were Marco, our Assistant Country Director, Lucia, our new Program Director of Youth Development, Miryam, our Program Specialist, Sandra, my Regional Coordinator, and Mike, my PCV Leader and former Bolivar volunteer. It would be quite a crew. I only hoped that I’d have at least as many community members present as I would Peace Corps staff. Either way there would be, at the very least, 6 people present (if I included myself) to witness me trip through my Spanish in an attempt to encourage the Bolivar community to participate in my future projects.

For two weeks I typed and typed, checked my grammar and filled in the many black I’d left over my first four months in site. As I finished up my paper, my presentation began falling into place. I would scribble my introduction or conclusion or a quick dinamica idea onto pink post-its when the worlds came to me while I read in my hammock. Once I was off to bed it was much worse. I barely slept those two weeks, all the time thinking of a new poster I should whip together or the plan for the library meeting that would follow the presentation.

Lucha, my favorite and the only, secretary in the municipality, helped me with the paperwork. Solications for the location in the municipal building and an invitation to the community, both written in a Spanish s formal it was almost nonsensical. Depite my nerves, I got the signature and seal of support from our toothless alcalde (mayor) and headed out into the community.

I began with the basic community leaders: regidores of the municipality, Lucha, health post staff, library committee members, and the ladies of PRONAMA, an adult literacy project. Still not sure if I even wanted anyone ot show up for this thing, I was tentative at first. But as my presentation came together and the staff visit was confirmed, I pushed myself, making generic invitations and going door to door.

I realized during this process how much being a Peace Corps volunteer in Bolivar (and maybe anywhere) is like running for mayor, asking for votes day in and day out. They see you coming and know you want something, know they’re nervous about what you’re going to ask of them. But all you want is their “support,” whatever that means, so you smile a big ccheesy smile and “descansar” with them in their living room, try to play down how long the event will be and ask please, please, please that they show up.

I never want to run for mayor- what a terrible existence- but I see that for 2 years that’s exactly what I’m going to do have to do, over and over again. Sell myself, my ideas and plans, form a solid fan-club that’ll work with me and, if all goes as planned, learn that they can work on their own too.

Anyways, it was a stressful two weeks that began 2011 and while I plugged away with my presentation, I tried hard to stick to my many many many New Year’s Resolutions- read more books, do more yoga, read the economist, keep in touch with friends, journal, blog, etc. etc. The list went on and on but I tried and kept working and on Thursday January 13^th, after a quick run-through of my presentation, and a lot of running around town in my black business casual dress (more for publicity than anything else) I was ready.

My visitors arrived in a dirzzle and I was terrified. With only about an hour until go-time we headed to the library to all get on the same page and came back to my house for a relatively awkward lunch. Somehow 2 o’clock just wouldn’t arrive and when, around quarter of, we finally headed over to the municipality it was locked of course…staff comes back at 2 en punto…or a little after. So we strolled around town puzzling over the zoo Universidad Alas Peruanas put in and discussing the ups and downs of a community diagnostic- surveys, focus groups, and all.

Finally at about 2:15 we returned to an open municipal building and got ready to wait. La hora Peruana is no myth, it is the law of the land engrained in daily life throughout Peru and possibly even more in Bolivar where progress, activity, just life in general, is slow, slow, slow. So Michael, the volunteer who actually built the library I work in today, helped ease my nerves as we patiently waited for newcomers until it was finally time.

They tell me the presentation went well though I saw, unmistakeably, more than one person sleep through parts. But we had almost 40 people present, almost a full house, and the posters and snacks were a hit.

When almost half of the listeners joined us in the library I was nervous, had a warped vision of what would happen from there. I gave my 10 or so minute schpeel and handed things over to Julio, our committee president, to do the rest. He essentially thanked the Peace Corps and unbeknownst to me, handed the meeting back over to me.

What happened from there is hard to explain though Miryam may have put it best when she said it was the weirdest meeting she’d ever been too…and she’s Peruvian.

There was a black and forth of thank yous and reasons why the library is such a good thing for the community followed, in the end, by the call for a new committee. They hemmed and hawed, few people (including myself) willing to speak up or take charge. Finally, as if she was sent from the heavens (turns out Miryam made her do it), Lucia stepped up, the sea parted, and progress was being made.

We voted to choose a new committee right then and there and then slowly selected five memebers who each accepted the position. 3 womend, 2 men including the second in command to our mayor. It was a good group, I thought. We voted on their respective positions, took a group pic, and signed the libro de actas. I left really excited and very very relieved.

My various bossess assured me I had done a great job and I sent them back down the hill feeling fantastic- so proud of myself for all my hard work, really optimistic for our new committee, and just completely content to have gotten through that landmark step in the two years of a volunteer.

From there I could only go on to bigger and better things and that night, I did. A bottle of wine and a move and a few extra hours to sleep in the next morning is how I celebrated. And when the afternoon rolled around, I hurried to the internet café and excitedly told my family how well it had gone and emailed thank youts to everyone who had helped out.

Overall, the presentation and all the hullaballoo that came with it, was a good thing and the perfect way to jumpstart the year and my service showing the community here thatn I am a professional with a plan who NEEDS their help. Tonight is our first committee meeting- I do hope I get that help I need. Only time will tell.

"To A Christmas We'll Never Forget..."

1.18.11

Another month has passed, along with a holiday season and a happy new year, and still, as Megan Stewart Sanders pointed out in her beautiful Christmas card, I “have been slacking a lot lately” on the blog scene. (Thanks Megan!) It is true though. Despite a December vow to get blogging and a New Year’s Resolution to do the same, I still have left you all hanging. So it’s time to play some catch up.

I guess I should start with the highly anticipated family visit to Peru. It went swimmingly! And let me tell you, the JW Marriott in Miraflores really is everything they say it is. Essentially it is America. I walked in like a bum off the street, exhausted from an overnight bus trip from Lima feeling dirty and dusty, the usual symptoms of a trip from Bolivar.

“Buenos dias,” I said, greeting the doorman and to my surprise he replied in English directing me to the front desk and then up to our gorgeous room that featured not only an ocean view but also a water filter for the whole building. There was clean tap water for your every need: teeth brushing, ice making in the ice machines, and even clean glasses of water. I was definitely out of my element.

As if I hadn’t seen food myself for months, I hurried up to the Executive Lounge where breakfast was being served. I was a kid in a candy shop. There were bags of earl gray tea, bagels with chive cream cheese, yogurt, granola, BACON, you name it. I enjoyed every bite regretting only that I hadn’t brought a larger purse to smuggle snacks back into my hotel room.

After breakfast I settled into our hotel room, hopped onto the web, and called my parents who were already safely landed in Miami where they awaited the arrival of my sisters, whom they found out later had accidentally booked themselves on 1^st class and were, at that very moment, flying in style to Miami. From there I started approvecharing that high speed internet and began downloading the Christmas spirit: A Charlie Brown Christmas, the Home Alone soundtrack, you name it, while I hung up the various assortment of holiday decorations I had collected over the last few months.

All day long I ran here and there buying stocking stuffers and strings of Christmas lights, wrapping up ponchos and sweaters and Peru 15 paraphenelia for everyone and, finally, enjoying the luxurious shower in our hotel room. By 7pm, I was ready to head out to the airport for the big arrival!

The airport was pretty packed on that Thursday night and I tried to calm my nerves knitting away at the scarf I was allegedly giving Dad for Christmas. When I saw Megs and Laur hurry in my direction, the tears just started a’flowing!!! I think back even know and just want to cry. Almost six months away from my sisters and best friends and here they were right in front of me! It was a completely amazing feeling, matched only by finally being able to sit down and chat away over a coke and a giant bag of sour patch kids.

My parents arrived soon after and again it was just an indescribable feeling to finally have them there with me. To finally be able to show them Peru! After some very excited greetings, a little disbelief, and assurances that I didn’t at all look like I had gained the almost 15 pounds I most certainly had gained, we were off. Ready for a week of adventures, for a Christmas abroad, and for hours and hours of time spent together.

It really was an amazing trip. I have to say that everything, aside for a barfing episode on my part before our flight to Chiclayo, a last minute run in with the airport authorities over the absence of my current passport (though Peace Corps assured me I would need only a photo ID…obviously UNtrue), and a near fainting spell on Meggies’ part, the trip really went without a hitch. We made it through the streets of Lima, onto Chiclayo, and even all the way up to Bolivar with not a scratch and even very few bug bites!

Christmas Eve we spent in the Plaza de Armas in Lima, where the holiday spirit and Catholic roots of the country were clear in every giant nativity scene and light display. We went to a Spanish mass in the main Cathedral and while the words were difficult for even me to understand, the spirit of the night was undeniable. At the end of mass crowds of women hurried to the rear of the church with 2, 3, even 4 baby Jesus’ brought from their nativity scenes at home. When the priest began blessing each and every baby Jesus, my mom couldn’t stop her tears and, while we made fun of her mercilessly afterward, I have to admit it really was an amazing thing to see.

Later that evening, over cups of red wine, we heard the unmistakeable bang of fireworks begin at 12 midnight. From our corner room, we watched the fireworks, set off from individual homes all over Lima it seemed, go on and on for an hour if not more. My mom and I watched together right until the end, long after my dad and sisters had retired to couch and their wine. My mom really was right: it was a memory we’ll have forever, one I’m really grateful for.

The trip itself was one wonderful memory and an unbelievable chance to finally show my family the many places I spend my time here in Peru. I showed them the hostel I stay in Chiclayo, the crowded bus I climb onto every time I want to leave or return to Bolivar, the cozy little room where I write these very blog entry, the giant raw space that is our community library, and the kitchen where I share so many meals of rice and potatoes with my host family.

And of course they got the chance to meet the people- especially the people of Bolivar. My host mother Rosa, whom they’ve heard so much about, the same Rosa who knit the sweater I gave my mom for Christmas. They met my host dad Chito who, thanks to the translating skills of my site mate Dave and me, got plenty across to my parents including the great honor of having visitors from North America in his home. My host sister Pati who immediately fell in love with her Christmas gift, a set of colored pencils, and stole the heart of my Dad who is always a sucker for a young artist. Cynthia, the oldest child of the family, who quietly took it all in and Edwin, the youngest and only boy, who immediately hid himself away to open up his pocket knife and, actually, never really came out again.

There were more people, lots of mud, and tons more crazy stories that I hear my Dad is telling left and right. Yes, there really was a big crate of chickens riding on the bus up to Bolivar with us. No, the chickens were not sitting in my Dad’s lap. Yes, Rosa did really bring up a live chicken that would, later that day, become our lunch. No, we were not forced to witness the chicken killing, nor did my Dad participate. The Vassallo exaggeration co-efficient is a time-honored tradition, so just try to read through the lines. The majority of the unbelievable, this time, actually is true.

Needless to say, all good things come to an end. So while Megs and Dad relaxed upstairs, Mom and Lu and I spent a couple last hours at the pool, trying to fit in every last conversation topic we hadn’t covered in the past week: boys, breakups, work, yoga, even the future arrangement of Meg and Laur’s apartment when I finally descend on NYC in the fall of 2012 (cross your fingers!). And later that day, after one last drink at the hotel and a quick chat at the airport about the books we’re reading and the date of my quickly approaching first visit home, they were off.

It makes me sad even now, almost a month later. It was a complete gift to get to share that week with them, too short definitely but a gift just the same. One that I truly enjoyed every second of, trying hard to appreciate every laugh and every hug and every silly joke we think is oh so funny. And once they had passed security, and I gave them one last wave goodbye, I took a taxi back to the hotel and tried to remind myself how lucky I was.

How selfish for me to feel sad when I should just feel completely grateful and blessed to have a family that just wants to share everything with each other! A family who would spend their Christmas holiday eating french fries and beer (the only two things my Dad really trusted eating) instead of the usual Morton’s steak and wedge salad. A family who didn’t mind receiving the little handmade presents I could afford instead of the mounds of designer clothes and accessories that usually end up underneath our Christmas tree. A family who flew all the way to Peru to spend a week talking and laughing and even sometimes crying with me.

And now with more than 7 months in Peru under my belt and almost 5 months as an offical Peace Corps volunteer, I am happy to have one holiday season under my belt. Excited to make more progress on my projects here in Bolivar. And already counting down to my first visit home for Easter. See you then everyone! Lots of love from Bolivar!

Happy Holidays from Peru!

12.7.10

So I, first of all, must admit that I have dropped the ball. That’s right, my blog has been seriously neglected lately so I’d like to publicly commit to keeping you people posted on my almost every move here in Peru. There’s stuff going on, I swear. And while individual days may not always be thrilling, the experience as a whole is always interesting.

Here I am back in Bolivar listening to the Frank Sinatra Christmas album and wondering if my termite swarm will come out again tonight. Not your usual holiday season, that is for sure but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the one, the only, Vassallo family for our very first Christmas abroad. That’s right, in a mere 16 days, I will be meeting my parents and sisters in Lima where after immediately enjoying a pizza hut pizza, we will enjoy each other’s company poolside at the Marriot before heading to Bolivar to see my site, visit my little home away from home, and meet the family of five that has taken me under their wing here in Peru. It should be a blast though I’m sure my mom and Megs are already a nervous wreck. (If you have the time, please call either to remind them not too worry so much! Thanks.)

It’ll be an unconventional Christmas but at least we’ll be together. I must admit that while I had a great time enjoying Thanksgiving with a ton of volunteers at the beach, I was definitely wishing I was enjoying mounds of mashed potatoes next to my fatass cousin Dana (I can call her that because she’s not actually fat) preparing for the Top Chef marathon on Bravo. Our own meal, however, thanks to one Kourtney Angle, was delicious.

There were mashed potatoes and salad and sweet potatoes and, only in Peru, pollo a la brasa. While, to my mom’s disbelief, there are turkeys in this country, we, instead, enjoyed rotisserie chicken as our poultry of choice and I must say it was delicious. Apricots bars made by my favorite conoisseur of sweets, kate diaz, made the evening. The next day, I enjoyed spending black Friday on the beach instead of at Montgomery Mall. And while my sunburn set in I chatted away with the fam back in Meg and Laur’s apartment while they enjoyed some old fashioned NYC pizza.

When we recovered from our food hangovers and frantically tried to finish our community diagnostics, we Youth Development volunteers headed out to the absolutely stunning, beatufiul beyond beautiful Ancash. There we met up for our Early In-Service Training, a rite of passage in the life of a PCV and a celebration of three months in site.

We spent a week in Ancash listening to each other’s every success and failure, brainstorming new projects and solutions, and planning for the future of our service and of our communities. It was a wonderful mix of “Oh shit, she’s done way more than I have!” and “Yes, I really do feel at home in site.” It’s so hard not to compare one site to the next, one project to the next or even one volunteer to the next. But if anything Early Ist reminded me just how different we each are. All of our sites, counterparts, and projects are going to be vastly different and so all we can do is be there for each other. I think I had forgotten about the many good friends I have all over Peru. A group movie night snuggled up on a couch in my Halloween pajama pants was a good reminder of that.

And with almost two wonderful weeks of Thanksgiving madness and IST fun behind me, I am back in Bolivar wondering about my next step. Like I wrote in an email earlier today, I am torn about that step. With Christmas quickly approaching, one part of me wants to listen to Christmas carols all day long while I wrap up the various trinkets I’ve collected for my family in the past six months. Another part of me, however, knows that I have tons of work to do. In just another three months we’ll be back together for our PDM training and I want to be ready for it.

So hopefully this month I can do a little of everything: keep writing blog posts, keep channeling the Christmas spirit, and keep moving with my work in Bolivar. In the meantime, I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are enjoying the crazy wonderfulness that is Christmas at home. Love you all! And Megs, Laur, Mom, and Dad—see you in 10 days! J

XOXO, Gossip Girl

Written on 10.20.10

So I think I just sprung into the 21^st Century- sitting in my room at a plastic table and stool stolen from the library, I realized that my ipod can play videos—not just any videos, but my much adored repeats of, you guessed it, Gossip Girl.

How did I not know that?, you may be wondering. (Well, Mom and Dad, you’re not wondering but everyone else is). Because I’m an asshole and somehow always manage to not know things like that, like how to take a video with my camera or how to post pics to facebook and then tag them.

Regardless, I could hardly contain myself while I strained to watch small but perfectly vivid images of Blake and Leighton traipsing around Manhattan in rompers I would no longer (for the time being) be caught dead in. Yes, it seems the mountains of starch and deep fried eggs have finally caught up with me. But I gotta tell ya, watching S and B bomb around town on that tiny little ipod screen made me a little nostalgic, yes, but mostly comforted that I’m not so far away after all.

So maybe I dodge donkeys and cow manure in the streets while Megs and Laur dodge high profile business men. Maybe I read Mario Vargas Llosa in a hammock made of fishing net while dad reads the same in the backyard between sips of a martini and puffs of a cigar. Either way, no matter how you do it, we’re all just getting through the day the best we can. Trying our best to, as Dad would put it, read more books, drink more wine, and keep in touch.

It’s really funny what little things help ease my various bouts of terrible homesickness, deep frustration, and desperate boredom. A reassuring email from my friend and yours, Kerri Magee, telling me it will get better. A hidden stash of twizzlers from Megs and Laur that has somehow lasted almost a month. An overpriced foursome of snackpacks I found hidden away next to the imported pretzels in Plaza Veia. Somehow these very silly things take me home again and sometimes, even better, remind me how very much I wanted to be here all along. Much more than I ever wanted to catch the most recent season of my favorite 10pm tele-dramas.

Anyway, just a little food for thought for my many (do I have 4 yet?) blog followers. Cuz ya never know what lessons you might learn from a shiny silver ipod.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

Mistake Making

10.28.10

Wow. It’s amazing to me that it’s been an entire month since I last posted a blog entry. I’m sorry to have left you all on such a sour note--that English class nonsense was quite the debaucle. But you’ll be happy to know that things have been moving along nicely since then. No run-ins with the aforementioned creepy English teacher and many more successes than frustrations.

I just celebrated my two-month anniversary here in Bolivar and am happy to have almost five months under my belt here in Peru. Yes, I’m still counting the weeks and months but every day the urge to cross out another day on my calendar fades just a little bit. And if an entire month without a blog entry means anything, it’s that I’ve been busy. Which is true.

The month of October has been filled with art classes with the second grade, typing classes with the second grade teacher, Monopoly with my host sister, and lots of knitting…and then re-knitting with my host mom, Rosa. Also this month I attended one college fair, one dental hygiene fair, two quincinera celebrations, and, somewhere in there, one round of karaoke in Chiclayo.

Things here are good. A little slow at times but definitely steady as I head into my official site visit next week from Youth Development’s Program Specialist and Volunteer Coordinator. I’m looking forward to their visit, eager to share my ideas and, excited for the beginning of a new month and the many possibilities it will bring because basically, while things here are good, I’m realizing that I need a jumpstart.

Peace Corps gives us three months to really get to know our community, to meet our host families, improve our Spanish, and write our Community Diagnostics. Somewhere along the way we are also supposed to have begun some “early win” projects, simple projects that volunteers have used again and again to quickly get involved in the community. I think I’ve done my share of early wins, tutoring in the preschool, teaching in the elementary school, typing away in the library, but I think I know deep down that I could be doing more. I know too that I’ll be happier here when I’m doing more.

It’s harder than I thought it would be to stay motivated. Especially because being motivated doesn’t just mean making sure you are waking up every morning, taking those cold showers, still speaking Spanish, and eating rice for the 12^th meal in a row. I think it’s supposed to mean that you are making sure you’re putting yourself out there again and again, risking something new every single day. And while I can acknowledge that it’s a risk just being here, I think I know deep down that I’m not putting myself out there the way I should be.

The other night Jorge Luis, a neighbor and a member of the Library Committee here, asked if I ever thought I’d end up somewhere like this. And I remembered that actually when I came to visit Bolivar during our week of Field Based Training, I got off the bus and said, “This is it. This is what I want in a site.” I saw so much potential for work, for projects, for continuing something really great that the past volunteers had gotten started. Yes, I did think, even hoped, that I’d end up somewhere like this.

I know a lot more now—more about Bolivar, more about just how hard these two years might be and why. But I still think that this is the site for me. I still think I have great ideas that have the potential to be realized here with the help of great people. I only have to get started.

I think so far my fears of falling short of my goals have kept me from really taking chances. I’m endlessly planning and brainstorming, always looking ahead to a better time to start a youth group or a toothbrushing project, in hopes of somehow creating a perfect two years here in Bolivar. And that idea of perfection is something I just need to let go of. Instead, these two years will be a series of trials and errors that need to begin now.

Being a volunteer here in Bolivar will be about taking risks. It will be all about making mistakes and realizing that with each mistake I am becoming a better volunteer. I will start where the doors are already open, where the obstacles seem small, the goals achievable. And I’ll remind myself that maybe, while I’m learning from my many mistakes in doing the do-able, doors will open to achieving what now seems impossible. I’ll start today.

Is there a young soldier at the window?

9.27.10

What is the best part of an almost completely non-English speaker teaching English to the entire high school population of Bolivar? So far, I think it must be the completely ridiculous examples that said teacher writes up on the board without at all thinking them ridiculous.

“Is there a young soldier at the window? Yes, there is. He is Carlos Sanchez.”

Yes, at long last I have finally visited the high school in Bolivar. Adamantly reminding people that I am a elementary/preschool teacher and like the little kids, I have somehow, for the past month, evaded Professor Amadeo’s pleas for help. That is, until just a few days ago.

I went with my guard up, wary that he might end up leaving me to teach his class for him. I hadn’t been given the best impression of the guy so was a little nervous to be working with him not to mention with the oh so intimidating high schoolers of Bolivar. I was very excited to find however that, first of all, the class was full of first year students still bright eyed and bushy tailed, so excited to have a gringa in their class, and very curious to hear about my two sisters who are even taller than I am! I found, second of all, that I could easily help with pronunciation without running the class itself.

Professor Amadeo put his ridiculous examples up on the board and then sat, listened, and even repeated along with the class as I went over pronunciation. It actually worked beautifully and, as I came back down from the high school my mind was already swimming with a new schedule I could arrange to make all the English classes, new ideas for increasing class participation and creativity, and new resources I could find in Chiclayo to keep the whole high school learning lots more English! I was so pleasantly surprised by the entire experience that I was actually feeling pretty eager to hike back up the hill tomorrow morning to help teach basketball.

I was also feeling really excited to begin tutoring Yampier, a five year old student who I noticed immediately upon visiting the preschool. A tiny version of a person, he sat at a table by himself and smoke in a mumbled Spanish I could barely understand. But I couldn’t help but realize that he was just a little dirtier than the other kids. He caused just a little more trouble. And he understood just a little less when it came to his classwork.

So what’s one mini-project I figured I could start right away and, possibly, give the other teachers a few pointers in the process? Tutor the class troublemaker.

I was eager to get started. It felt rather wonderful to have my box of Crayola washable markers (thank you, Mom! Who knew that Crayolas would be the best birthday present a 27 year old could ask for?!) and index cards out, preparing a lesson for Yampier. 1 sun. 2 flowers. 3 clouds…ah, to be cutting and pasting away at the miniature tables and chairs of KinderCare again. I guess this is the next best thing…coloring in five apples, figuring out how to say “we don’t hit our teachers” in Spanish, and allowing myself a little evening movie time. Things were really feeling good.

And things that first day with Yampier went very well. The next day, even better. A few temper tantrums made him storm out of the room but I rocked a couple Germaine Lawrence de-escalation techniques and he was back in the classroom with me coloring away in a matter of minutes each time.

My endeavors in the high school, however? Well, that’s a slightly different story. Last night I was sitting in my room reading when there was a knock at my door. I knew a whole class of high schoolers was getting ready for oral presentations in English and I was prepared to answer some pronunciation questions. I was even excited to go and watch the presentations this morning. But at my door I found the first year students I was visited earlier in the week and they were giggling away.

“We have to tell you something but we don’t want you to get mad,” they said, too embarrassed to even show their faces. “Okkayyyy,” I said. And waited quietly feigning patience while they passed on their message. “Professor Amadeo wants you to come back every week to help because he likes you.”

I shouldn’t really have been surprised. I found there to be something very creepy about him from the get-go but I was trying not to be judgmental, trying to get a good youth development project off the ground, and trying to be nice. And no, “he likes you” doesn’t sound like that big of a deal but it really upset me. Because, as they pounded into our heads during training, in Peru men and women aren’t really friends. If men and women spend time together they are or will one day be a couple. And I couldn’t want anything less while I’m here in Bolivar.

I told the giggling girls to tell the professor that if I was going to work in the high school, we could only be friends. Actually, that’s how they interpreted it but I really wanted to say something more forceful. Something more like, in a school setting talk like that was inappropriate and involving the students in the whole situation was completely unprofessional. I wanted to be mad but instead I was sad.

I came back into my room, sat on my bed, and cried. Mostly because I didn’t feel like I could go back now. At least not until I got some advice from some more experienced volunteers. I cried too because up until that point I had considered being the first female volunteer in Bolivar as a great strength. I’ve been welcomed by the women, the female students, old ladies, everyone. But here was why it’s a weakness. I’m sure Dave and Mike never had to wonder why a teacher asked for their help. Terrible to think Professor Amadeo asked for mine not because I’m a teacher, not even because I’m a native English speaker, but because I’m a single female.

It was just a terrible and embarrassing feeling to think that this is what he’s talking about with his 13 and 14-year-old students if not also his 16 and 17-year-old ones. A frustrating feeling to think that now I should avoid instead of enjoy the opportunity to help in the high school English classes. A defeating sort of feeling that being a girl makes such a difference. I haven’t entirely given up on working in the high school. I’m gonna wait it out and get a second opinion at least. But for now I’ll have to be content sticking with the little kids and their female teachers.

The Amazing Liz

9. 24. 10

Just yesterday I celebrated my one month anniversary in Bolivar. In honor of that very important day, I thought I would share with you all the novelty, before it wears off completely, of being the first female gringa volunteer in this little town.

Like I’ve said before, Bolivar has had three Peace Corps volunteers before me, all male. And I got the sense from the very start that most people were comfortable with the idea of an outsider. Everyone has something to say about at least one if not all three of the past volunteers and I truly have yet to hear a bad thing about any of them.

I also could see right away the excitement people, especially the women of the community, felt about a girl joining the ranks. - We know what gringos (those are the boys) can do but what about a gringa (that would be me, the girl)?!? – And at least for now, it seems I haven’t disappointed. I am, as the title reads, the Amazing Liz.

What does that mean exactly? It means that most everything I do, and don’t do for that matter, seems to shock and impress. The things I do differently from Bolivarianos cause lots of talk: Liz only drinks tea! And doesn’t drink it with sugar! Liz goes running! Liz is a teacher and speaks English! Liz doesn’t like when there are pig’s teeth in her soup! It’s interesting that the things I do the same as them cause just as much ruckus: Liz knows how to cook! Liz washes her own clothes! Liz is learning how to knit! Liz isn’t scared of getting lost in Chiclayo!

For a while there, I could do no wrong. Any answer to their million questions was the right answer…except when I had no idea what they were asking (an inherent challenge of the language barrier). Which brings me to my favorite questions I’ve been asked about the United States:

- Is there such a thing as cheating boyfriends in the United States?

- Are there black people in the United States?

- There are no poor people there, right?

- Do they all wear long skirts?...(No, I wear long skirts.)

- No one drinks soda?...(No, I don’t drink soda.)

- And my personal favorite and by far the most commonly asked question about the United States: Do people only eat canned food there?

The canned food thing I don’t get. Who told the entire country of Peru that we only eat out of cans? What do we eat out of cans besides tuna and smashed up tomatoes when mom’s making sauce?

Anyway, now that a month has passed here most of these questions are becoming less and less frequent. Now what do they ask me? “Ya estas acostumbrada? O todavia?”…Are you already accustomed to things here? Or not yet? It’s such a funny question. I’m trying, I’m working on it. But no, todavia. It’s hard getting used to being so far from home. It’s hard looking at pig ears hanging in my kitchen every morning. It’s hard to understand my host dad.

But overall, yes, the Amazing Liz is acostumbrandoing herself into the daily routine herc in Bolivar. I’m keeping busy visiting the schools, memorizing the names of a million little kids, eating lots of rice and fried eggs, watching volleyball with my host family, and now knitting a purple poncho. And slowly I’m turning from the Amazing Liz to just plain old Liz, which is surprisingly a very nice feeling.

Maria and La Reina

9. 22.10

I’ve been slacking on my blog updates, keeping notes of things I want to share but never actually writing the posts. It’s happened for a couple of reasons one being that I hate to sit in my room typing away when I should be out meeting people. Another being that some things are just hard to write about.

While I have my computer out and no real plans for the morning, I wanted to mention a home visit I made here not long after I arrived- one of those things that I think will be hard to write about it. I think the visit itself scared me or just bothered me so much at the time that I wasn’t sure I even wanted to share it. Now that three or four weeks have passed however, I still find myself lying in bed thinking about it so I figured I’d give it a shot.

It was a cool afternoon a couple of weeks ago. It had just finished raining, as it does often here in the afternoon, and I was out trekking in the mud with the town’s nurse, Maritza, one of a handful of good friends I’ve made in Bolivar so far. We were off to inquire about baking bread up the hill with one of the two families in Bolivar with a bread oven.

The woman with the oven, Erlinda, I think her name is, was easy to find. We yelled up to her house from the street and she seemed happy to invite me to bake bread with her the following day. She actually ended up flaking on me but that’s not what this story is about. At the time, I was excited about my bread-baking prospects, content to have plans to put in my date book, happy to be walking around town with a local instead of doing it alone. We were on our way back down when a woman named Maria, who had helped us find Erlinda in the first place, invited us in.

Maria is a round lady. Not pleasantly plump. Heavy. And well, kinda dirty. The kind of dirty that makes you uncomfortable when you’re not “accostumbrada” (accustomed) to it. She invited us in in a forceful, ‘you actually don’t have a choice,” kind of way. I let Martiza lead the way, happy to let her do most of the talking.

We walked first into a dark room lit only by the sun coming in through the front door. There on the floor lay a large mattress where an old lady slept soundly wrapped in wool blankets. On deeper into the home, we were invited to sit at a wooden table where the afternoon’s dirty dishes were piled high, small piles of rice and bones surrounded by buzzing flies. Across the dirt floor walked not only a kitten but also chickens, chicks, and ducks.

Water dripped from a faucet into a large cement sink which held more plates and bowls. On the ground around it were small plastic bags filled with trash, a bucket filled with orange peels, cracked egg shells, uneaten hunks of bread. When a kitten climbed up onto the table Maria whacked it to the floor with a force that surprised me. There was something about this whole visit that I found immediately unsettling.

Maria brought out tin mugs full of some desert that I hoped wouldn’t upset my stomach. I ate it slowly, in small bites. When Maria brought out a bowl of meat, I didn’t refuse but decided not to eat it if possible. I tried to be animated, chatting along with Maritza as she inquired about family, work, the upcoming fiestas in town. I followed along the best I could until Maria’s daughter who they call “La Reina” (the Queen) caught my attention.

In quiet mumbles she was asking for something of her mother. “You’re hungry? Want more food?” her mother said loudly in her direction. Maria scooped a bowl of rice piled high with chunks of fried pig. Chicharon. The girl said barely a word. She sat crouched on the bench next to her mother and shoved a brown piece of fatty pig into her mouth. She chewed loudly, smacking her lips, starely aimlessly in front of her.

La Reina is five years old. I’m used to a little younger but I know little kids. Little kids are curious. To me they’re enchanting, they catch your eye and get you smiling about everything and nothing. They ask silly questions and notice every detail. This little girl was so different from the many little kids I’d known. She did none of those things I’m so used to seeing in a five year old.

Instead, she gnawed at her pig and began to moan, quietly at first and then more loudly. So loudly that I wondered why no one else was reacting. Her mother didn’t seem to notice. Maria talked on and on, offering us food and suggesting that I teach a summer preschool program. But I could barely follow the Spanish I find difficult to understand anyway. I was lost in the sound of that moaning. Lost in the almost dead stare la Reina held while she chewed. The cat jumped on the table before her and, without a word, the girl swatted it forcefully, nearly threw it, to the floor just as her mother had done minutes before.

Eventually Maritza and I persuasively said we couldn’t eat another bite. Maria wrapped up our pig, urging us to come visit again soon. We assured her we would, left quickly and hurried down the hill back to the health post. I was glad it was over. And I haven’t been back. But I’ve seen Maria in town, seen her daughter in the preschool. And I can’t see her, la Reina, without thinking of that day, that moaning sound, the cat being tossed to the floor. I don’t like seeing either of them maybe because I know they’ll invite me in again.

There was something about that afternoon, that woman and the way she tended to her daughter like you might tend to a pet. Something animal in the way her daughter herself acted. The way she ate quickly, crouched up on that bench. The way she never spoke. The way she moaned, groaned, licked her lips and fingers. It was unsettling. At the time, I took deep breaths so the tears I could feel behind my eyes didn’t give away my obvious discomfort.

Now looking back on it I wonder where exactly youth development should begin. They say with the young people, with the adolescents, which makes sense to an extent. But what if you begin with the mothers? What if you could change the way parents talk to their children, discipline them, think about them? That child could feel the effects of those changes right into adolescence and long after. Even pass those changes onto their children. Like I’ve said before, I’m still a ways away from starting my own projects here but I can already tell how my day to day experiences are changing my plans, making them better and more realistic. It helps put my two years into perspective. With so much work to do, maybe it isn’t such a long time after all.