2 plus 2 equals 5 January 28, 2009

In two weeks time, I´ve slowly nestled into this sleepy town, and discovered things both transforming and spectacular.

The Trap of the Preconceived Notion

When I landed in Peru, I knew that I had to set aside all of my misconceptions.  In order to aid or advance a community in any capacity, you have to know it without judgement.  What motivates them?  What scares them?  What do they believe?  What do they love?

Unfortunately, within one day of my arrival, I had an artillery of stories and stats…all pointing toward the decline of this town.  1 in 5 adolescents is pregnant before age 18, domestic violence is a social norm, HIV and AIDS is widely stigmatized and most are fearful of testing.  People don´t use soap, waste disposal is insufficient or inadequate, unventilated kitchens result in respiratory infections, drug and alcohol abuse affects a large percentage of the population.

And I used that as a way to situate myself in a seat of superiority.  Poor Mancora, they don´t have a clue.  I have it so easy.  How can I give them what I have?

Seeing the World with New Eyes

I assisted in a delivery last week.  The mother was 19 and she was laboring quietly in an empty room, without monitors, without anesthesia, and without the bustle of six nurses and technicians.  She delivered a little girl with two encouraged pushes, in the most graceful and serene manner, and despite all the wonders of modern medicine.  She lay there exhausted, and she glowed.  And in that moment, I realized that I had neglected much in getting to know this town.

After that experience, I embraced a community with fibers tightly woven.  I heard the laughing and playing in the streets, I saw the comraderie, the pride, and the strong family ties – not in the context of a community that needed to be fixed, or of campaigns that needed to be started:  a community that deserved a great amount of respect.  A people that stood grounded in their culture, their religion, and their families.

And as I open a new chapter, with new eyes and a new heart, I am humbled, gracious and thankful.

What´s the Recipe for Good Health?

It´s natural to find disparities and compare them to a more priveleged country.  But does priveledge and first world commodities translate to better health or living a better life?  And amid the expectations, the neuroses, the mad dash to do more and to do it better – did we forget ¨being¨ among all the ¨doing?¨ 

I was introduced to Mancora through the scope of its problems.  And though many of them are great, there is a feeling of contentment and a warmth that emanates from so many faces.  They thrive despite their barriers and find song in a situation that most would scorn.  Maybe health isn´t a compilation of epidemics, rapid assessments, and treatments.  Maybe it´s an attitude.

 

the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.  

-Marcel Proust

Mancora – little pueblo, big problems January 18, 2009

My Arrival

The bus arrived two hours late, and our program coordinators, Gaby and Julio, were nowhere in sight…they expected the bus four hours late.   Meera and I poked out our gringa heads hoping to be noticed by the appropriate party, but no one claimed us.  Meanwhile, approximately 39 mototaxis tried to pick us up, and despite the sunglasses I was wearing, 8 Mancorian men tried to sell me a second  pair.  So we decided to go with the 40th mototaxi and luckily our driver knew the exact location of  ‘Casa de Calsado.’  Casa de Calsado, my new home for the upcoming months, is relatively well serviced with big volunteer bed rooms, wireless internet, an impressive book exchange, and running water (just don’t swallow it).  The atmosphere is quite tranquil and friendly, and it seems like a nice place to call home for the moment.

The Town

Mancora is a fascinating place with a myriad of problems.  This town of 12.000 people was plopped on top of a beach with little city planning or regard for things like drainage, waste management, or sewage systems.  Running water is relatively novel, but no one understands that it’s completely unsafe for drinking.  So most Mancorians have diarrhea 99% of the time.  Flushing toilets, while also fantastic, are dysfunctional, and the sewage has an unknown destination…so I’m not going to open my mouth when I go swimming.  Drainage – there’s been rain most nights…the streets immediately flood, becoming mud baths.  There’s nowhere for the rain to go…so people just slosh through the mud, and kids freely pee AND play in it. 

The Mancorian Mentality

As an American, most of us are accustomed to schedules.  People have expectations for us and us for them.  Change - the will for change, the demand for change.  It’s America’s platform.

A 9 to 5 work day? A 40 hour work week?  It simply doesn’t exist here.  Appointments are more like “guidelines” and forget about expectations.  There aren’t doctors at the clinic today? ok.  Every street is flooded? ok.  There’s some variety of mayhem and there are no police who care? ok.  It is what it is. 

So as a volunteer in this community – where the hell do you start??

Mancora – Juxtaposed

And this peruvian town, one step up from chaos, is a tourist attraction.  You can stay in a really nice hostel or hotel.  You can eat great food – italian, mexican, authentic peruvian cuisine, seafood.  You can lie on the beach all day drinking beer, or pisco sours, or margaritas.  You can surf, horseback ride, hang out at any one of 50 bars.  And this tourist town sits on the same infrastructure as the rest of the town.  And it thrives.  The whole thing is beyond my scope of reason.

So now, how does a gringa fit into a community like Mancora?  I’ve spend the last 7 days trying to rap myself around these realities.  And accepting that the mere concept of change is very elusive.  That progress can only come through patience, slow methodical movements, and in relishing small victories.

Next:  The organization, PaM (Para el Mundo)

far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.  -Theodore Roosevelt

Lost in Translation January 13, 2009

My five days in Lima passed rather swiftly, with a lot of exploration on foot, and with no direction or destination.  My first day in Lima led me to Cecilia’s doorstep:

Cecilia Bonita – my program (Para el Mundo) director is currently living in the city, and is stretched far beyond her means.  She works full-time in communication, while raising her two young grandchildren, and tries to maintain a relationship with the organization between her other passion, writing.  Despite the challenges, her spirit is bright.  The one certainty in her life that she is destined to serve others.  She radiates promise, she’s quirky, scattered, passionate, and hopeful.  How beautiful!

My second day in Lima, I went on another scattered tour of the city with Cecilia’s nephew, Juan Carlos, a native Peruvian who speaks no english.  He speaks in a unique mumble/slur that was completely incomprehendable to me.  I have found that the most frustrating things with the language barrier is my complete inability to convey emotion.  So much meaning is lost in translation.  I actually have a sense of humor, occasionally.  However, Juan Carlos now knows me as the girl whose favorite word is, pardoname?  Needless to say, the day was a challenge and I used so much brain power that I had to take an immediate siesta upon returning home.

Oltursa to Mancora

Meera, another volunteer came to Lima to take the 17 hour bus ride with me to Mancora.  Amazingly, it was the most comfortable bus I’ve ever ridden.  I looked up from my book at one point, about 2 hours into the voyage, up at an sandy looming landslide, and down to the pacific ocean about a thousand feet below, as the bus was swerving past another car and into an oncoming bus in the opposite lane.   I sometimes get this feeling of pending doom on flights, when the airplane hits turbulence…that I will certainly die, and I immediately think of all of the things that I’d forgotten to do before my untimely demise.  This moment on the bus was relatively similar, and three-fold.  So I promptly took twice the recommended ambien dose and fell into a serene dream.

Upcoming….pictures (if I can figure out how to download them)…and my arrival in Mancora.

may your luggage be as light as your problems.  -Cecilia Barreto

The Sojourn Begins January 6, 2009

January 5th, 2009

Blunder 101 – 9am

A visitor´s visa in peru allows a 90 day stay.  I was assured that the only necessary document was a valid passport…when your time´s up, take an ecuadorian mini-break, then return and continue peruvian sojourn.  the catch is the proof of return to the states.  So i´m now ticketed to return at the end of january, a flight i´ll mysteriously miss.  conveniently, the non-refundable fare was, no doubt, colossal.   Not worried based on my current income…hmm.  Nonetheless, the setback only crushed my pocketbook and not my spirits.

Atlanta to Lima – 6pm

The enormity of  my adventure hit me about 6:15pm after my disgustingly gross dinner.   What on earth was I doing?  I cried for my apartment  in Chicago, for leaving my job, for my Mom and Dad, my cats, the relationships that I felt I had surrendered, and every comfort that was now gone.  And I felt infinitely alone in the vastness of the world where I was completely alone.  And after forty-five minutes I sat back and took a breath, and blew my nose on my dirty teddy bear and realized that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  That I had given up these things for other grand truths.  That solitude brings discovery and challenges, and fear, and anxiety, and awe.  And that you can´t really have one without the other.

Hotel San Antonio Abad – 1am

My arrival in Lima was uneventful and I made the customs officer look at my return ticket, although he didn´t care.  Alex brought me to my hostel (who´s Alex?) and isn´t quite convinced that Obama can really change all he´s hoping to, but assured me he was our best chance.  (and we had the entire conversation in spanish!!)

At 2:40am, alone in my open window, the world seems a little bit smaller, and a little bit more manageable.  (there are four Vermonters in the hostel…weird)  So I sign off with eternal thanks to all of you who paved the way.  My gratitude is endless.

take a risk, take a chance, make a change, and breakaway. -kelly clarkson

67 days to go October 30, 2008

What a great October…bit cold at the end but wonderful to see some great friends.  Slowly purging the last remains of my Chicago apartment, which is bitter sweet but very liberating.  The count down is on!

Lauren and Mike’s Wedding in Boston