Moving Back to Peru!

It's been a couple years and I've decided to go back to Peru indefinitely. Stay in touch at my blog migrated over to http://whatlittlethings.wordpress.com =)

Ciao Peruuu!

Here is my last post from Peru. We presented the final results to all the organizations we're working with, I've said all my goodbyes, and tomorrow I leave Huancayo soil for who knows how long. Then one week left, relaxing in Lima, before I say goodbye to the country of Peru. Can't wait to see all of you again soon!

Vacaciones

I spent my Christmas and New Year's Huancaino-style with my Peruvian family and the rest of my vacation days travelling across the country from the beaches on the coast to jungle of the rainforest.

First stop before Christmas - Lima. As winter and the rainy season began in Huancayo (and the rest of the sierra), it was nice to escape to the summer that was starting in Lima and the coast of Peru. I managed to fit in all things tourist-y in Peru’s capital in a week:

1. We suntanned, climbed rock formations, hunted lizards, and jumped into the waves at a serene beach a few hours away from the big city = “The Sleeping Lion” they call it because of the shape of the rock castle that borders the sand.
2. We shopped in downtown Lima, walking up and down the famous street “Jirón de La Unión” that reaches from the main plaza to the government’s palace, drinking cremoladas (slushies you can’t find in Huancayo) and purchasing all the manta bags in sight – I think I have a collection of over 7 purses now, haha! On the last day we were in Lima, we even caught the beginning of Peru’s yearly telethon at the government’s palace with all the country’s famous celebrities performing to raise money for needy children at Christmastime.
3. I was denied at some hostels because I forgot my passport and they wouldn’t accept my BC driver’s license. =P
4. I finally had some really good snacks and meals – soft cinnamon buns with extra melting cream, real chunky cookies, Tony Roma’s ribs, and sushi (all also non-existent in Huancayo – been feeling deprived =P).
5. We visited Parque de Las Leyendas (Park of Legends), which was like a themed zoo. There were native animals from all corners of Peru and some not from here (my favourites were the sea lions =D).
6. We also visited La Casa de Papa Noel (Santa Claus’ house) at the Parque de La Reserva where there are light and water shows in the evenings. Actually, it was more like we saw Santa Claus’ house from the outside because the line-up was 3 hours long.

Christmastime was very family-oriented and although the holidays make me sentimental and a little homesick, my Peruvian family made me feel so at home here in Huancayo. My Peruvian mommy cooked a special dinner of pork chop and chorizo then we opened presents at midnight of Christmas Eve – all the presents were set up in a circle and we rolled the dice to choose which present would be opened next.

On Christmas day, we were off to the rainforest. Most days we visited different swimming pools, chicken-fighting, trying to teach myself how to dive headfirst (a failure), and playing water polo. There was one afternoon we visited some famous waterfalls – Bayoz and Velo de Novio (bride’s veil) – swimming underneath the falls itself. On the way back to Huancayo, we visited some other tourist sites in the sierra including Huagapo (apparently, one of the deepest caves in the world). We didn’t walk in very far because I had sandals on, but what we did walk into was in complete darkness. Our guide used his flashlight so we could find out way and so that we could see the bats and all the stalagmites and stalactites that have naturally formed themselves into interesting shapes (like a seated horse and a roaring lion).

New Year’s Eve was a fiasco. A whole bunch of relatives came over for a huge dinner and nonstop dancing (mostly huayno – music native to the sierra). The theme is all yellow, which is supposed to bring good luck – yellow “2009” glasses, yellow “Feliz Año” hats, yellow clothes, yellow underwear. Come midnight, there are a series of rituals that I wouldn’t have remembered if they weren’t all telling me what to do – yellow confetti is thrown, we greet each person at the party with a hug and “Feliz Año,” we put lentils in our wallets for prosperity, we eat 12 grapes and make a wish on each one of them, then of course – more dancing. I went to bed at the late hour of 1:30am and when I woke up at 9:30am that morning, the music was still pounding downstairs and people were still dancing!

Note re: living fungal parasite. So they were mites that caused the little bug bites all over my body every evening – I just had to use an anti-scabies cream then wash my sheets and all was well. As for the rash – I had a biopsy where they pulled a chunk of meat from inside my forehead and from the lab results it was diagnosed as chronic discoid lupus (which, to me, actually sounds sorta cool). I’m waiting for the pictures of the lab results so that I can bring it to Canada and get a second opinion. The cream he prescribed for lupus didn’t make the rash any better and he’s suggesting a corticoid injection, which I would rather have done in Canada. =P

Christmas, Here I Come!

I am a living fungal parasite.

First they tell me that the rash on my forehead is from fungus and that the fungus is probably causing the tiny rashes on my back (that I thought were just spots from being sunburnt).

Then they say that the reason I've been discovering more than 10 random bug bites all over my body every morning is because mites have invaded my body, are living under my skin (which is why they aren't contagious), moving around and causing allergic reactions. Scabies. Which is so hard to believe because when Maria was getting bitten by invisible fleas during the first couple of months, I didn't catch a thing from all the rural towns we were visiting!

But this fungal parasite starts her Christmas vacation in a week and is going to relax on the beach whether she's all fungied up or not. =)

Parenting 101

Recently, parents have confided in Sara and I, asking for our advice on parenting, which felt ridiculous as a 23-year-old who neither has the appropriate experience, nor thinks about the subject often (if at all), nor has formally learned about parenting.

Think on these situations. Imagine what I may have been thinking when asked. Imagine the general sentiment here in Peru - an infinite amount of trust in whoever is introduced as a "specialist" and the possible lack of open conversation or education on the subject of parenting.

1. Last week my nephew hit my son. Since then my son has been reacting to all new people he meets by hitting them. How do I erase information that he's already learned from imitating others?

2. My wife gave my son a bag of chocolates the other day and he started eating the whole bag even though it should have been shared with everyone in the family. So my wife took the chocolates away from him - then, of course, my son to start crying. It hurt so bad as a parent to see him cry so I gave the chocolates back to him. Who was right, my wife or me?

3. What is the best music to let my 2-year-old son listen to? I heard classical music was good for neonatals, but how about young children? The only problem is, my son won't put up with classical music. He'll only listen to reggaeton because that's the type of music that his father loves.

4. What do you think about those Baby Einstein videos? I heard that they really help to make your child smarter.

5. My little sister always wants to rush to eat during mealtimes even though we try to explain to her that the potato is still steaming hot, for example. My mom always tells us to rush and cool down the potatoes so she can eat, but I say that we should let her learn for herself (i.e. let her touch the hot potato) or just keep the potato away even though she continues to cry. Who's right?

6. My baby sister always enters my room and starts rummaging through and destroying all my make-up. How do I teach her what things she shouldn't do? How do I break her bad habits?

Me: How should I know?! I'm just a kid! Sheesh!

The Protest

My parents, being the best-est parents in the world, came to visit me for my birthday. It was a tight 3 days they were going to be here and as much as I wanted things to go perfectly, things never seem to go as planned in Huancayo. (As a side note, I have decided that I will always plan future vacations for more than 2 weeks). Not only did things not go as planned, but during the few days they were here, my parents and I experienced a series of firsts.

The Saturday evening my parents arrived, we had planned to go out for a birthday dinner, but it started to rain hard. It would be the first of three days in a row that it would hail golf balls in the afternoon. They say it was the first time it had ever hailed so much in Huancayo.

I had planned Sunday to be as Huancaino as possible, which is what my parents wanted - first, the patriotic flag ceremony in the main plaza and the parade that follows, led by the military's band. I've seen at least part of the parade almost every Sunday because I love that community feel when all the families come out, kids running around, buying paper hats and ice cream. So, my parents and I are out there, ready and on time to see the whole thing, but the flags are already up, no ceremony. Turns out, it was the day of the yearly "Marathon of the Andes." They had suspended the flag ceremony for the day to cheer on the exhausted runners who had started from Jauja.

On the Monday, the last full day my parents would be here, I had to go to work. I left early in the morning for Jauja where we were doing some home visits, finished as quickly as possible and was on my way home by noon so I could spend the rest of the afternoon with my parents. The only thing stopping us from getting back were a million huge stones, lit up tires, and tree trunks lying across the highway - the 2,500 citizens of Concepción (a city pretty up in between Huancayo and Jauja) were protesting all the garbage Huancayo was dumping in their little town. It was my first time experiencing a protest. We walked for two hours past all the vehicles, past all the road obstructions, past the crowd of protestors, past the police on the other side with their body-length shields, to the part of the highway where cars were finally moving.

Thankfully - although the protest continued through the rest of the week - my parents were able to get out of Huancayo safely and on schedule. Thanks for coming to visit, mum and dad!

A Thousand Miles

I have spent a lot of time lately, walking. I used to know a guy in Japan who would walk for miles and miles, just wandering, and I always wondered how he did it. How can someone not bore themselves to death just walking around the city for hours on end? He would come back from his walks and tell us how beautiful the cherry blossoms were in a certain part of town he had discovered or what kinds of shadows the sun makes on the hills as the sun sets. In Japan, I remember thinking, what a bore nature is. I wanted to be able to appreciate nature so bad, but I couldn’t find the time; I didn’t care to find the time to slow down.

So I’ve been slowing down here and walking from place to place, almost an hour each way. As of now, I am still consumed by the following three thoughts: “Holy bejeezus, this walk is taking forever,” “My feet hurt,” and “Am I there yet?” It’s just another example of how I am so stuck on the end result, on crossing things off of my to-do list, that I don’t know how to just walk anymore.

I’m not willing to leave things unorganized. I’m not ready to just let things be. As I walk, I realize how many houses are left unfinished. In Vancouver, I see unfinished buildings and the rush to finish construction, the rush to complete the perfection that the city is to be by the time the Olympics arrive in 2010. In Huancayo, I see unfinished buildings… as unfinished buildings. That’s just the way they are, sometimes for months or years as the family struggles to earn more money, sometimes forever.

And it makes me think of the thirty houses I’ve visited in and around the city of different types of families – different structure, different situations, different economic levels. But I’ve found that the majority of families live in houses that I would consider messy or dirty. To them, it’s okay that there are a million utensils in the kitchen out of place or forever without a place, it’s okay that all their mugs are cracked or chipped in some way, it’s okay that there are irremovable stains everywhere – in the tiles of the floor, in the cabinets, the dressers, the stove, the walls. It’s okay that their closet is actually a shelf with a blanket over top, tilted a bit and never perfectly covering the entire shelf. It’s okay if there are a million projects in-progress that may never be finished. It is a situation that would normally make me go insane, but I am learning to relax.

Skills I've Learned

My professor from Canada came to visit for a whirlwind week and packed in...

• A 2-day conference on infant stimulation that we’ve been planning for months
  
• A full day of hardcore bulk shopping in the Sunday fair that spans more than 30 city blocks of the main street through Huancayo (mostly jewellery for her and millions of other trinkets that her son can sell back home),
  
• And the rest of the week was spent doing full days of research with babies and toddlers in San Pedro de Saño (a little town just outside of the big city)
  

Part of her assignment here was to conduct mid-internship Coady interviews individually with Maria and me. The question that had me thinking went something like this: “What skills have you learned from your internship that will benefit you in your future work?” Skills, skills, skills. The first skills that came to mind when I thought of what I’ve learned here in Huancayo had nothing to do with my internship. I thought of how I could now fill the kettle without it spilling in pitch darkness, notice the slight difference in sound when the water had started boiling, and how my internal clock knew when the 10 minutes of boiling time was up (to be sure the water was purified) because I do this every morning to make my coca tea. I thought of how I skilled I was at doing laundry by hand (well, sorta). I thought of how I learned to keep an apartment clean (because Maria made me, just kidding – sorta; she was the positive influence, that’s what I meant). And I’d like to say that I can now cook, but just the other day, I suggested we add mango pieces to our past dish and Maria said that it would never work. =P It is not a skill that will take a much longer time for me to learn, I’m afraid.

In any case, I had to think twice to respond to the actual question. What skills had I learned? Not just any skill, but something that will benefit me in my future field? I’ve learned a heck of a lot about international development – which I didn’t even know existed prior to arriving in Nova Scotia for training – but to be honest, I’m not so sure I’ll be involved in this field in the future. It had to be something more abstract.

Then, it came to me. “Flexibility and patience,” I answered. It is a skill to be able to get along with people from other cultures, whether it’s the Dutch (there is the couple who started the NGO and the other two volunteers from the Netherlands) or the wide variety of Peruvians here (of different ages, ethnic backgrounds, and lifestyles). It’s about learning to accept differences, personal boundaries, and idiosyncrasies, taking everything in with an open attitude instead of succumbing to the natural temptation to judge. For me personally, it was also what I needed in order to learn the language – flexibility in the choice of words (because not every phrase can be translated literally) and patience with myself as I made a million mistakes.

As I thought of that, I realized that another skill I had developed (that I had wanted to develop) was the ability to laugh at myself. Recently, we (the interns in all the different corners of the world) were sent the letters we had written to ourselves at the beginning of everything, in July when we were still in Nova Scotia. I had written, “I hope you learn to laugh at yourself.” I think I had to lose the fear of embarrassing myself especially when you’re learning to speak a foreign language because it’s bound to happen that you’ll be telling someone, “Can I feel myself here?” (sentirme) instead of “Can I sit here?” (sentarme).

It seems to me that a fundamental issue many have once they start working full-time is that they stress out hardcore, they take things personally, they take things too seriously, and they start thinking only about themselves and their dissatisfaction. This is when these skills will come into play in my future work: flexibility (letting things be as they are instead of always fitting things into a certain schedule or plan), patience (with myself as I know that I will inevitably make mistakes and I will be the most conscious of this if I ever find myself in a more senior position, with higher expectations of myself and more susceptible to being intolerant of my blunders), and the ability to laugh at myself (to keep relaxed in this way, living life light-heartedly so that I have a balanced relationship with myself, my co-workers, my family, and my friends).

Conference Brainstorming

Here in Huancayo, the people come together. Every Sunday morning, for example, there is always a huge gathering of the public at the central plaza for the izamiento (the patriotic raising of the flags - the national flag of Peru, the flag of Huancayo, and the flag of the representative institution of the week). Each flag is held in preparation by three different groups of people. It is beautiful to see these groups coming together in their respective uniforms - the national police, municipal government officials, and elementary/secondary school students. The event is always followed by the march of the national police accompanied by the army (who has their own band) and usually another parade by the students.

It was like this – a coming-together – when we hosted a two-day workshop for infant specialists in and around Huancayo. Our goal was to bring together a varied group of “specialists” to brainstorm, share, and discuss ideas for a pilot program we intend to develop and implement with the sixty infants whose development we have already assessed in months earlier. Imagine a university professor, project supervisors of NGOs and regional government programs for children and families, their field workers, nurses, daycare teachers, and mothers (one a librarian and the other a market vendor) putting their heads together to identify key issues and come up with potential solutions.

It was, in fact, one of the primary themes that emerged from the workshop – the call for interdisciplinary teamwork. There was already a lot of good work going on and many pre-existing programs set up by different institutions for different needs, but the lack of unity between these institutions meant that a lot of babies-at-risk were lost in the transitional phases and there was often a complete absence of support for infants during their key years of development (from 0-3 years of age). Better interdisciplinary action also meant that mothers needed to be trusted and encouraged to be more involved. We witnessed an interesting dynamic enfold during the workshop as it became clear that the professor was dominating group discussions and often used academic or theoretical speak whereas we were looking for practicality and utility. The mothers later divulged that they felt out of place and uncomfortable asking questions or sharing their opinion.

We had our workshop moderator take more control over the professor’s comments while publicly encouraging the mothers to speak up. We were missing out on so much – the mothers had so much share. There were grave concerns regarding prenatal care; many mothers were preoccupied that they had irreversibly damaged their children’s development solely because they had fought with their husbands or had been crying too much during the months of pregnancy. The mothers also admitted that they continued with their traditional customs. For example, though medical professionals recommend against the customary practice, farming mothers in the sierra (living in the central Andes mountain range) still typically enfold their newborn babies tightly in layers of cloth so that they are immobile. The babies are enrolled this way daily in a certain position – upright with arms down and fingers splayed – before the mothers head out to the fields so that no damage is done from all the movement incurred while the mothers engage in physical labour, carrying their babies on their backs. This method also protects the infants from the harsh cold of the elevation and it is said that these babies also grow up physically stronger.

As we wrapped up the workshop, the participants came to the joint conclusion that there was a need to go back to the basics, to rediscover the value of the Peruvian and Huancaino culture. Just as we brought together people of various backgrounds, levels of education, and life experience for the purpose of the workshop, so too we realized that we needed to mesh the different types of knowledge uncovered – the known and the foreign, the theories and the practicalities, the science and the beliefs, the modern and the traditional. It seems that growth and positive change occurs when there is dialogue and humility.

Panchos y Anticuchos

I thought it was about time to post another blog re: food in Huancayo. Every week or so, I spend time with Roy's family living the true vida peruana sometimes helping to prepare delish comida, but usually contributing as the official taste-tester. Here, I have had many opportunities to develop my skill of enjoying and appreciating food whether it's desayuno (breakfast), almuerzo (lunch), cena (dinner), or lonche (which sounds a lot like "lunch-y," but is actually a Peruvian term referring to something like an "evening tea + snack.") In the picture, I'm in San Carlos practicing skewering hot dogs (panchos) - it's actually a lot harder than it looks to skewer through the middle of the hot dog - while Roy's mom prepares the bloody cow hearts (anticuchos). Que rico!

Now that Maria's over her month of tummy trouble that hit her hardcore upon arrival in Huancayo, she's feeling good enough to get back into cooking (her usual refried beans - good thing we bought a blender) and experimenting with random tidbits we find in the mercado (market). A few weeks ago, we discovered how to take advantage of the booths in the mercado that are dedicated solely to condiments. These booths have huge bowls of liquids of different colours - creamy looking sauces, salsas, dark green yummy muck, mysterious spices, the works. All we have to do is tell the lady what we're cooking with (e.g. pasta with spinach) and she mixes a whole bunch of the liquids together to make a unique homemade sauce just for us! Amazing eh?

Another discovery - the cheese in Concepción (a town just outside of Huancayo). Whenever we run out, we take the trip out just to buy the fresh cheese from the milk factory there. I always get the queso fresco (literally, "fresh cheese"), then María and I share the stronger queso andino (Andean cheese) or queso hollandese (Dutch cheese).

It's also become a habit that one or both of us take the almost-daily trip to the panadería (bakery) just around the corner from our apartment to not only buy bread (petit pan for me, ciabatta for María) but also treat ourselves to a churro, which is nothing like the churros we know from Disneyland - these Peruvian churros are soft and filled with melted caramel. We always get them heated in the microwave there. I'm at the panadería so often that the ladies there know me by name and I always stop to chat with them a bit. I'm also good friends with the with the helado (ice cream) lady who I always wave to - even when I haven't been buying many ice cream bars lately because the weather is getting a lot colder. Then there's the esquina (corner) lady who sits at the corner of the street near our apartment who I always go to when I have a craving for my favourite Peruvian chocolate bar, Sublime. "Hola mamita!" I always call out to her like a true peruana and she always replies, "Hola chinitaaa!"

Speaking of being chinita (the little Chinese girl)... for those of you that were wondering, the visa-renewal-trip to Santiago, Chile was duber successful. Upon re-entry, I'm walking up to the Peruvian customs officer with my passport, forms, and officially signed documents stating that I'm a volunteer here so that I can get stamped for more than the 90 days they originally gave me, all shaking and nervous - and the first thing the officer says to me is the familiar, "Hola chinitaaa!" Of course you can stay in Peru for however long you want, he tells me. So he stamps me for 183 days - 3 days more than what I hear they usually give Canadians. All for being small-eyed. =)

First Taste

You will not believe where I am and what I am currently doing. I am sitting in what I like to call my dream suite. I am on the sixth floor of what used to be a glamorous hotel, now converted into a less glamorous hostel yet still classic and filled with character. I am in the middle of downtown Santiago, Chile. But it seems like Europe and now I have a real taste of the way Europe has been described to me by a friend of mine. The city as I've experienced it so far is incessantly busy, filled with pedestrians, lights, and action.

I stand at my balcony, looking down into the grand Plaza de Armas and I see the sidewalk cafés where I can relax and watch the people traffic go by. I see a gathering of goths in their self-designated section of downtown, men playing chess in the gazebo, a crowd gathering around a street entertainer, and everyone else milling about and around. I still hear the random ¨chinita¨ when someone wants to get my attention, but also loud music, the deep and hollow bongs of the grandfather clock, and the chileño accent that i have such a difficult time understanding because they drop a lot of their S's!

Oh, the chilenos... I have never seen so many different kinds of unique faces and of those, so many that have so much character, that spike the curiosity, that can tell a story with a single expression. If i had to base it on the people I've been observing - on these first impressions - I wouldn't be able to describe to you a typical chileno/a. I can't even begin to.

But really, I could and would prefer to stay here in my hostel for the rest of the long weekend and beyond. It's like a honeymoon deluxe, beautifully decorated, lots of glass = lots of light, plants/greens for freshness, high ceilings, antique furniture, classic books on the shelf, a fully-functioning yet quaint kitchen. A lady comes in to lay out a buffet on the dining table every morning for breakfast just for the three of us (Mike, María, and I). When we arrived, there was toast, a variety of marmelades, various flavours of tea for every mood imaginable, eggs, fruits, milk.

Then there's the private balcony that has the most amazing view of downtown Santiago - far enough up on the sixth floor to get the big picture, but close enough to the earth to be able to distinguish inidviduals chatting, kissing, hugging, waving, being. I could stand there at the balcony all day and just daydream. In fact, I could just be here in this hostel all day, curled up by one of the electric heaters and reading a classic. Or dragging an electric heater over to the computer and writing blog entries. Or taking a long, relaxing, and more importantly hot shower (the first time in months), staring up at the sky through the glass opening above.

I am so glad that I decided to travel.

Wisdom

The first phase of the project has finally come to an end. We have officially conducted sixty parent questionnaires in sixty homes to assess the general development of sixty babies. As we take our first peeks at the data we’ve collected and as we clarify and refine the approach for the second stage of the project (much to the surprise, confusion, and sometimes frustration of Maria and I), I have had more than a couple moments of the “What am I doing here?” sentiment.

There is first the “What am I doing here? I’m not right for this job. You have the wrong impression of me. Everyone has been introducing me as a ‘specialist,’ but that doesn’t mean my textbook knowledge is more valuable than your empirical experience. How can I give you advice on parenting? I’m not even a mother yet. I don’t think that I know enough to teach you anything new or to answer all of your questions properly. In fact, maybe I don’t know what I’m doing at all.”

Then there’s the “What am I doing here? I’m now realizing how massive this project is. How can we interpret the data properly? There is so much more that I need to know. Why do the mothers here behave the way they do? How much of this is attributable to culture? How much of the culture do I have yet to understand? How can I possibly contribute to this project if I don’t understand the people I’m studying? I should have locked myself in my room, reading about Peru, when I had the chance to in Nova Scotia. I should have at least travelled to Latin America before. I should have...”

Of the six different areas of development we evaluated, the most staggering outcome of the infant assessments was a clear deficit in infants’ social-emotional development. This area of development refers to their ability to manage or regulate their emotional and social behaviour in a way that society considers appropriate and acceptable. And this is where it gets tricky – what is “appropriate” and “acceptable” in this context and who decides?

Some examples of questions I had a difficult time consolidating:

1. One of the questions on the social-emotional questionnaire asks something along the lines of: “Can your baby calm him/herself within a certain period of time if you leave his/her side?” We found that a decent chunk of mothers responded no to this question, but we also noticed that many mothers didn’t seem to be worried that their baby could not “regulate his/her emotions” as we would say in child-development-speak. “No, of course my baby can’t be without me,” was a classic answer. At the same time, over 90% of the mothers were housewives (amas de casa) who spend almost 100% of their time with their babies. Is it so surprising that their babies are not accustomed to being alone?

2. Another question asks if the baby ever puts a banana to his ear, pretending it’s a telephone, or puts some other object on top of his head, pretending it’s a hat. I clearly remember one mother’s answer - in a tone suggesting that she was a little offended - which, to me, explains a common attitude towards pretending/imagination here, “If my baby knows it’s a banana, why would he use it as a telephone?” This strikes my “chicken and egg” curiosity – is this attitude a result of the living situation or does the lack of pretend play (which links to creativity) speak to the way people live here?

3. During some of the interviews, Maria and I would sometimes notice violence being encouraged. “Go hit the pig to scare it out of the house.” “Throw something at the dog so it’ll stop eating out of the garden.” This had implications for one of the social-emotional questions that asks if the infant or child is ever violent towards other children or animals. But being commanded to be violent towards animals in this way doesn’t necessarily imply an inherent violent nature, neither at this age nor in the future.

The question, then, is whether we can make solid conclusions about the infants’ social-emotional development if it may be considered acceptable and appropriate, at least in some of the towns we visited, for babies to be unable to regulate their emotions without their mothers, for babies to not engage in pretend play, and for babies to show occasional violence towards animals.

Part of me feels a little disillusioned – I knew I couldn’t come here and be a hero, but I’m now recognizing a small part of me that wanted to save the world. There is the temptation to say, “This is how it works where I come from. You’re doing it all wrong. You should do it this way,” and to be harshly honest, I have met my share of development specialists who harbour this attitude. For this reason alone, I’ve found that it’s so important for me to say “I don’t know” and to not be afraid of admitting it. I’m not sure what’s best for you. How can I tell you that the North American theories of parenting are best, let alone that they apply in this context? I can’t make the conclusion that you don’t love your child because you don’t spend a lot of time with him/her – your priorities are drastically different and I respect that needing to survive can be more important than finding time to play with your child.

So, I have come full circle back to the approach I knew I should have had from the beginning – ultimately, this is about sharing. It’s about taking advantage of what little time we do have here to exchange preoccupations, thoughts, and ideas. I learn from you as much as you learn from me. I dispel some of your unawareness of the importance of play, for example. and you teach me the importance of simplicity and working hard. Your knowledge is just as valuable as mine if not more valuable. I am honoured to absorb your wisdom.

Phase 1 Complete

This week, Maria and I are wrapping up phase one of our infant stimulation project in Peru – the individual home visits and infant assessments. We’ve visited five different towns in and around Huancayo, each with a very different feel and personality. Some random thoughts and experiences to summarize it all...

1. We gave a workshop in Paucar (one of the more rural towns) teaching moms how important it was to sing songs to and with their babies. I gave my first introductory lesson on the importance of singing to your children (speaking completely in Spanish - okay, it only lasted 2 minutes), then sang song after song, hitting the dry grass like martillos (hammers), pretending to be gusalinos (little worms), and acting out Dinky Dinky spider (no joke, that’s his name here!) Even with my sore throat, I belted out tune after screechy tune, not fully believing that there I was, leading this group of moms and their babies, singing in Spanish.

2. It was an adventure in every town, locating the mothers as most of the houses are S/N (sin numero = without number). Sara and I had a particularly interesting morning walking back and forth across chacras (farms) because different people we ran into told us that the other street was Avenida Andre Avelino Caceres. As there usually aren’t any street signs in more rural areas of town, street names are often painted on the sides of houses – and even then, we never found the street we were looking for. So we piled into the colectivo (like a taxi, but they let anyone on), thankful that we weren’t one of the five packed into the trunk, and headed on to the next home.

3. The moms in Chupaca had a bit more money and almost every family, good hosts as they were, either fed us or at least served us coke. I have never had so much gaseosa (pop) in my life and I don’t even particularly like soda. On top of all this, I already have a bladder problem and try to make sure not to drink too much when we’re going out to the towns all day. Little good that did.

4. Animals are a general theme of the houses we visited. There always seem to be dogs, hens, pigs, and cows running around, participating in the assessment sessions. Often, one can find guinea pig pens with guinea pigs of all kinds of colours, shapes, and sizes. And can someone tell me if the gallinas (hens) lay eggs wherever they want to since they’re running around all the time? =)

5. The oldest babies we see are 30 months old (2 years, 6 months), and moms are still breastfeeding at this age.

6. I was surprised to see some babies with natural stark blonde hair – super adorable. Sara later mentioned that the hair colour could possibly be from malnutrition. Didn’t even think of that.

7. In Molinos, the furthest town, almost two hours away from Huancayo, we got caught in a mini storm. We could hear the thunder as if it boomed right beside our ears. The rain came suddenly and in spurts, sometimes sprinkling then other times intense with huge droplets almost like hail. Sara and I conducted an interview standing under a tiny awning with the mother, trying not to get our papers soaked. With another family, we huddled with them under a tarp in the middle of their farm, sitting on wood chips, getting bitten by fleas and tiny spiders, watching the father carve Jesus’ face out of sections of tree trunk.

8. For those of you that are wondering, I am almost always wearing a toque now to hide my silly haircut. =) It works out well for the weather – protects my face from the UV rays, but doubles as a head warmer when it randomly gets cold out. And no, I’m not the only one here who wears a toque under the blazing hot sun!

Grandmommy & Baby

There is a difference between hearing crazy stories about rural Peruvians – choosing your life partner based on a stone throw to their forehead, leaving babies in mud pens to be accidentally eaten by wild dogs – and hearing less-than-crazy but much more real stories from rural Peruvians themselves. Today was day three of infant assessments – we’re spending the next week and a half visiting individual families in their homes in five different locations in and around Huancayo.

I was surprised to meet a mother hitting almost 50 years in age with an 8-month old baby. As we worked through the questionnaire, her love for her infant was evident. It was hard not to fall in love with the beautiful baby girl, her curious eyes and full head of curls peeking out of the manta (the cloth Peruvians use to carry their babies on their back). She was attentive to her baby, was thoroughly knowledgeable of her baby’s capabilities but also subtle deficits, and was eager to honestly disclose what she knew about her baby so that we could also best share our knowledge on how she could promote the infant's physical, mental, and socio-emotional health.

As the assessment came to a close, she expressed concern for her baby’s delay in gross motor development – the baby wasn’t able to hold herself up in a sitting position and her legs were too weak to support herself standing even when holding on to a railing or someone else’s hands. From there, her story unfolded. She is actually the grandmother and not the mother of baby, she confessed. She has three children - the youngest daughter was spoiled and wild, accidentally becoming pregnant, then tried to abort the baby on multiple occasions during the pregnancy, taking special herbs from the rainforest. The baby was born anyway, but who knows how these abortion attempts may have affected her prenatal development. The grandmother was unhappy with her daughter’s decisions, but didn’t intervene until her daughter accidentally dropped the baby from her manta one day – the baby fell to the ground and rolled a certain distance away, traumatized.

It was the last straw. The grandmother took the baby and the baby's older sister into her own care, forcing her daughter to work. The daughter now sends money home monthly and when she visits, the baby cries as if her own real mother is a stranger. And such is the life of many of these families it seems.

Horror Hair

I made the mistake of going to the peluqueria (the hair salon) today. A good friend of mine, someone I work with actually, said she knew just the place. We had to take a combi outside of Huancayo central just to find her. Most peluqueras cost 3 soles ($1) my friend tells me, but this lady charges 5 soles for her work. She had to be good.

We waited a half hour for her to arrive. I took my seat and explained what I wanted in broken Spanish - keep it long in the front, trim the back, fix the bangs, which I had been painstakingly cutting by myself the last three weeks. She starts trimming the back and all seems good. I find it weird that she only sprays my hair with water because I'm used to the soak pre-cut, but I brush it off. What should I be expecting for 5 soles anyway? Then, in one fell swoop, she performs an act so wholly disgusting, rendering me speechless - she cuts almost 3 inches off the front of my hair. My hair was already so short, I was trying to grow it out, and now... I have a mushroom cut and I look like a boy.

For some reason, my friend says nothing as the peluquera cuts more of my hair off, as she shaves the back of my neck with shaving cream and a blade old-school style, as she cuts another inch off my already short bangs. The left side of my hair is now noticeably longer than the right side of my hair, my bangs aren't straight but I can't trim it any shorter because they're already abnormally high on my forehead, and I have stubble on the back of my neck. Above all this, I get charged 10 soles when she usually charges 5 and I don't understand why. I cannot believe I let this happen to me. This...is...un...fixable.

Yum!

My favourite way to absorb a new culture is through its food and the Peruvians are proud of their food. Sharing a meal is an excuse to spend time to get to know another person, talking about how the food is made is always a conversation starter, and cooking together is the most fun!

>Last week, Sara and Tabita came over for a work meeting that never did happen (because we’re still waiting for a package of materials from the US that is now two weeks over due and is being held in Lima – long story!), so they spent the afternoon teaching us how to cook papa a la huancaina (Huancayo potatoes). Potatoes are the staple food here in Peru. This, Maria and I observed as soon as we arrived here and visited El Museo de La Nacion in Lima, which was undergoing major renovations and only had two exhibits open – one on the Shining Path and the other on potatoes. It seems common here for Peruvians to eat potatoes with rice as a meal. And speaking of carbs, I remember having lunch at a friend’s house a couple weeks ago and his sister made rice and quinoa for us! That’s like eating rice and rice!

Every morning, Maria and I drink mate de coca (coca tea). One can find coca leaves being sold everywhere in the markets and the Peruvians believe it to be a cure all plant. For my uneasy stomach last week, for example? More coca leaves steeped in hot water longer would make me feel better for sure, apparently. During our coca shops, Maria and I have also learned that we can ask for the better quality coca leaves to chew on (not that we do – although, I have to admit that I’ve tried it and it just tastes like leaf).

The dish I was most scared to try was cuy (guinea pig), especially because I always see tons of live guinea pigs crawling over each other in mesh bags or cages everywhere in the streets. But when you’re in a small village and all the mothers want to show their appreciation for the work you’re doing with their infants by serving you their most prized piece of meat, there’s little you can do. The director of the infant nutrition program of Caritas (Cesar) tells me it’s super healthy, rich in protein, very little fat. So I had to try it. I held its little paw in my hand as I tried to scrape the meat off – it’s tough and chewy. They say that the skin is eaten too, but I couldn’t even chew it.

I’ve always considered myself a food junkie. The Food Network is the only channel I watch on TV and I love fine dining even though I don’t have critique-worthy taste buds – almost any kind of food or pastry or dessert or drink tastes lovely to me. But I’ve always known that I’ve been missing a huge part of the world of food – cooking! So I’ve been loving the past month that I’ve spent with Maria who lets me be her assistant. We’ve been making a lot of beans and soups; maybe I’ll perfect these by the end of the trip. As an aside, I was cutting potatoes for our carrot and potato soup yesterday when I accidentally cut a small piece of my thumb off. I put pressure on it for two hours, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. Eventually, I chose the alcohol route so it would close up. Pain pain pain. My sister says this is why I should’ve taken cooking classes in high school. Haha!

Search Him

So, I'm going for a walk with my friend, Kevin, through the streets of Huancayo. There are always a lot of people out and about in the evenings in the centre of the city. On a whim, I ask if we can cross over the walkway that spans the busy highway. It'd be fun to see the cars whizzing by from above, I think. We're walking up the stairs when we run into two young guys chilling in the stairwell. They start talking to Kevin in Spanish and I can't understand completely what they're saying. I think at first they're just saying "Hi" until I notice that they aren't smiling and that Kevin has given them 1 sol. We're being robbed.

As far as I understood, Kevin was trying to negotiate. "Search him," the taller guy said. So far, they've left me alone. I'm frozen, watching all of this in amazement and fear. The shorter guy leans in to pat Kevin's pockets (or maybe to reach inside), but Kevin pushes the guy away. I imagine he's saying something like, "Calm down. I'll give you more money." He takes out his wallet and gives them 2 more soles. They aren't satisfied. "Search him," the taller guy insists. I'm thinking of how much money I had in my pockets and in my shoes; if they only knew.

I'm really scared and a million thoughts run through my head. Give them my money. Help Kevin. Escape. Yell. There are so many people walking along the pathway just below us. I feel horrible because this was all my idea. I feel horrible as I start to instinctively inch my way towards the staircase to escape. The taller guy notices me move and puts him arm around me, blocking me. I have never felt so afraid in my life.

The taller guy lets me go for a moment to help his friend out and I run down the stairs, turning back once or twice to see Kevin getting hit in the face, double teamed. A few seconds later, Kevin is beside me. He was hoping for and waiting for me to escape. Apparently he's a scrapper, has been in many fights before, but was being passive because he was afraid of what they might do to me. On the way home, he spits out blood more than a couple times. I'm saying "sorry" over and over again. He's just happy that I'm safe. So am I. Peru can be a dangerous place. It was a lesson I needed to learn because I tend to see the world as one big happy place; I tend to be very gullible, trusting. Next time, they might not be amateurs. I've gotta be street smart and even then, you just never know.

BTU Crew

One of Rik’s projects here is a youth drop-in centre (JPC) for the so-called “thugs” of Huancayo – those who are not necessarily thieves or hooligans, but are nevertheless looked down upon in society because they are different. Most are break dancers, rappers, graffiti artists. All are kind, welcoming, and open.

Ruth, a young dance teacher from The Netherlands, has been teaching modern dance classes three days a week at JPC and it’s amazing to see the raw talent in these guys shine. They communicate with their bodies, imitating, improvising, expressing themselves – their anger, their strength, their playfulness, their creativity. It’s hard to imagine that these same guys need to work 7 days a week just to pay for food and rent, and could barely afford the 5 soles (less than $2) fee for the trip to Huaytapallana (one of the most famous peaks in the Central Andes, reaching past 5000m with snow, glaciers, and all that jazz).

The other night, we went to support BTU’s break dancing show at the discoteca. Their show went without a hitch and they were so proud of the shirts they had designed and bought for themselves, the BTU crew, with their individual names stitched on the bottom right of each shirt.

It’s interesting to think how much kindness, personality, and talent many people in Peru are missing simply because they discriminate against these youth. And how much more would these guys thrive if they did have more support from their own community? Despite the odds, they have taken initiative to spend their free time practicing, to seek out opportunities to perform, to write meaningful lyrics, to make music videos with what little they have. Why don't I have a passion? Why don't I put more effort into the things that I love when I already have so much love and support from others?

Para La Pachamama

I was just a part of the biggest and craziest fiesta that I have ever been to in my life! Families and friends come together from all over Peru at this time of the year to Sicaya (a town just outside of Huancayo) to celebrate the pachamama (mother earth). There were hundreds of people, shoulder-to-shoulder packed, mostly dressed in traditional Peruvian garb, pouring beer for each other, and dancing away. Each family proudly wears scarves around their neck etched with their name and have their own band with 12-15 saxophonists, clarinet players, a harpist, and drummers. The tradition is to make your best offering to the pachamama first, whether it’s throwing coca leaves or pouring your beer on the ground before passing the cup around to everyone and anyone else. Afterwards, the family holds hands and dances in a circle or parades through the streets of Sicaya, but they’re never an exclusive bunch – Jaap, Dorien, Ruth, and I were recruited to join the dancing and the festivities over and over again as we walked through the plaza! And the party’s not over yet! It’s still going on right now and we may even hit up Sicaya again Monday evening for the castallones (fireworks). =)

Maria and I shared pachamanca for lunch – a traditional Peruvian dish and very fitting for the occasion. They throw layers and layers of food to be cooked in a hole in the ground. Our pachamanca had green beans, spiced pork, beef, and humita (a sweet corn tamale).

Later in the afternoon, we explored the farmlands in the outskirts of Sicaya. We chatted with a family in the midst of building their own home – they had found prime earth to mix with straw to make adobe bricks, the construction material of choice in this region. We then continued on into the currently abandoned farmlands and found ourselves truly aware of our presence in the Mantaro Valley surrounded by the Andes mountains every direction we turned. We trekked up and down dirt hills, leaped across little rivers, ran through rows and rows of tall dried grass, remembering pachamama.

Culture Shock

A good friend e-mailed and asked: " What has been the biggest culture shock that you have experienced so far?" and I had to think about that one...

I have to admit that I first tried to address "culture shock" in terms of trauma and anxiety - and I've had my share of struggles! - but really, the biggest "shock" in moving here has been very positive. I would say I've been most pleasantly surprised by the wealth of culture and history here. Being in the Central Andes gives me access to the Inca civilization at its core (e.g. one of the main streets through the city was once part of the Inca trail), but I also love the diversity here from Peru's rich history before and after the Incas and from the country's geography - the Andes seem to be like a mixing pot as the sierra is flanked by the coast to the west of Peru and the Amazon rainforest to the east. Many of the people here in Huancayo, for example, consider themselves mestizo (of mixed race), usually a mix of Huanca, Inca, and Spanish. Not to mention all the people who look like gringos (foreigners) to me, but are actually Peruvians descended from the Spanish, and all the Chinese and Japanese looking-people who have also lived here for generations. In fact, Rik, the director of my NGO, is in the Amazon right now visiting a rural community whose members all have blonde hair because their ancestors came from Germany centuries ago!

I'm ashamed to say that if I had done more research on Peru and South America, this culture shock would probably have been much less potent. At the same time, because I'm jumping with a near-blank slate, I've noticed that my eyes are open a lot wider, my attitude is fresher, and I've been able to connect more with so many people who are excited to teach me about their country (the Huancas are so friendly!)

The Plaza Constitucion is only a couple blocks away from the apartment and I love sitting there, in the centre of the city, seeing people come and go, imagining their stories. And I think of how lucky I am to be here and how my own story is unfolding.