footsteps in peru

The other day I was sitting in a combi waiting for it to fill and then head out to my small town. As I waited I watched as this little girl helped her mother. She is probably about 2 years old and her mother is in her twenties. They are always here. The mother has popcorn, ice cream, and snack carts lined up against the old slightly graffiti covered adobe wall and she occasionally stands up and extends into the combi advertising peanuts, ice cream, crackers, cookies and other items she has for sale. In her line up there is also a stroller for the toddler when she takes naps. This particular day was not really any different from the others, except that I noticed the baby doll the little girl was carrying was almost identical to one that I had around her age. I don’t really have any memory of this doll except the stories I’ve been told and the pictures I’ve seen. His name was Michael, after my cousin, and I carried him everywhere. I threw-up on him once on a road trip with my grandparents. That might have been the end of Michael, if I remember the story correctly.

So here I am in the combi watching this little girl and her doll, thinking, ‘Oh just like me at that age with my doll.’ Then this man sitting in the combi called the girl over and handed her a piece of trash and told her to put it in the bin. Here I thought, ‘Oh, just like me.’ I have been told that I was a very busy and helpful 2-year-old after my younger brother Sean was born, running to fetch things to assist my mom. Then in an instant my moment ended and reality came crashing in. This was nothing like my childhood. I did not spend my days with my mother sitting on the street selling snacks day in and day out making a living. I did not take naps in a stroller on the side of the road with a dirt covered Michael. And I wasn’t taking empty wrappers from strangers to put in the trash.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer it is very easy to simply not see the reality that is around you. It is just easier to live and participate in the world around you if you do not see all of your reality.

A Reflection

A couple weeks ago I was sexually assaulted while on vacation. Yes, it happened during Holy Week, which I won’t get into here. This is the second time that I have been assaulted during my service as a Peace Corps volunteer in Peru; the first time was in January of 2010. After the first incident I found myself avoiding the world and have chosen to take a different route this time, like dying my hair, which I haven’t done before. I was reflecting on this instance and came to the question: why? I know that the unsatisfying answer is because I was there and am female; such is life. I put forth the following series of questions not to receive answers (because many don’t have answers), but to get them out of my own head and to give a glimpse of what goes on in the mind of at least this PCV.

Why did I sign up for this again?

What was I thinking?

What do I do now?

Why do people live here in one of the driest deserts in the world?

Why don’t people wash their hands?

Why aren’t there toilet seats?

Why is there urine on the toilet again?

I have been here for months, why are people still staring?

Why am I arguing with these people about 1:00 to 3:00 being two hours?

Why is it so difficult to communicate?

Why is it that the longer I am in world the less the world makes sense?

Why do people burn their trash?

Why is it that some days it feels like the world is slowly steeling my optimism?

How did I end up with such great friends?

How do I go back to the U.S. after this?

Why will this f*#@ing fly not leave me alone?

How do people just sit there for hours doing absolutely nothing but watch the world go by?

Are these clothes going to last for my last six months?

Does nobody read in this country?

WTF!?

Why are there so many naked pictures of women in the newspapers?

Am I really sitting in surgery watching doctors remove a woman’s gallbladder?

Do people really poop in this country with all that rice in their diets?

Really, we only get water every two weeks?

Was that a dirty diaper in the irrigation canal?

Do the dogs have to be so evil?

Who knew that sunsets in the desert were so amazing?

What did they just say?

Will you repeat that?

How much longer do we have?

Did that really just happen?

What is it with eighties music?

Michael Jackson died?

Why is there never any toilet paper or soap?

Who steals water pumps?

Do I look like I have tons of money?

What do you mean I have chicken pox again?

What baby?

Is that ringworm?

Did you see my bruise from the dog that bit me?

Why are there always cockroaches?

Why do people keep asking me about husbands and boyfriends?

What keeps me here?

Why can’t things just work the first time?

What am I doing here?

Am I actually helping anyone?

Did you really just say that to me punk?

How did I get so lucky? Is it really luck?

ARG! Why?

What was he thinking?

Why holy week of all weeks?

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the times when we are supposed to take extra care of our fellow man?

Why does it feel like all men are bastards sometimes?

Why does it suck so much to be a girl sometimes?

Why didn’t I do anything?

Why is there not more delicious dark chocolate in the world?

Why o why?

*Photo is of the square in Ayacucho during Holy Week. I will put more up about this later.

Cheers,

Kathleen

There is not really an easy starting point to sum up over a year’s worth of time especially if that year was spent in another country, culture, language and climate. So I will begin with where I am today and then talk briefly of how I got here.

I live in a small town about two hours south of the city of Lima, Peru in the Cañete river valley. My town has about three thousand people most of who are employed in agriculture. The average daily salary in my region is between 20 and 30 nuevos soles (the exchange rate is about 2.8 nuevos soles to the dollar). It is higher a bit further south in the department of Ica because their crops have a higher value. I am a water and sanitation (Wat/San) Peace Corps volunteer (PCV) as I have mentioned before so some of the facts about my town lean in that direction. The water source in Roma, the unofficial name of my town, is the irrigation canal that runs along the side of town. Right now the water is super brown since it is raining in the mountains, but it is still the source of water for my town as well as a bathtub, washing machine and sometimes trashcan. As a Wat/San PCV one of my goals is to improve the accessibility and quality of the drinking water and to that I am trying to start a project with the local and municipal mayors to repair and expand the local water system. I am also starting swim lessons, cooking classes and when school starts again I will continue tutoring student in English and math.

Now the question remains, how did I get here? If you have read my blog in the past then you know that Roma is different from the original place that I lived. I was originally place in Ocucaje, Ica, but I was unfortunately attacked by a Peruvian man one morning during my first few months of service. I was not physically harmed, but my world and sense of security was broken. In July of last year I was moved to Roma where I have a lovely host family and community. A special thanks to all my friends and family in the States who listened to and supported me through my tough times and especially to my fellow PCVs; I would not still be here if it were not for y’all.

I hope that everyone had a very merry holiday season; I know that I did!!

Until next time,

Kate