This week was dedicated to getting to know the community in order to make more contacts. Cynthia and I spent the day at the local primary school, fielding gringo questions and declining invitations to sing in English. Peruvian kids don’t ask. They TELL you to sing in English and if you don’t, this whiny singsong voice emanates from them and we’ll naturally acquiesce to whatever absurd command they want. The kids also yell out any generic American thing they can think of. I have received "Hello gringo!” “Coca-Cola!" "Budweiser!" “Goodbye! OK!” We also made some friends at the school and I stupidly gave out my email address. I am expecting to receive tons of email from a bunch of 16-year olds but I suppose popularity comes with a price.
The contact establishment is a bit tricky but Peace Corps has a method to their madness. They do not give us any specific strategy; just to “go out and meet people” so we’re forced to be more gregarious and willing disregard our cultural norms. I was at the health center all morning asking people if I could follow them around all day and explaining the Peace Corps. We take it for granted that people have heard of the Peace Corps and assume they want some naïve gringo shadowing them around all day. But as a whole, the people here are very generous and are cool with us hanging around.
That night we celebrated Roxana's birthday party. I arrived home with Patrick, whom my host mother adores. Around 7 there was this huge influx of Peace Corps volunteers whom I didn't even know were coming over. All together, there were probably at least 15 of us in my small house, politely mingling and trying not to speak too much English. Additionally, the family all came over plus all the friends. So at the high point of the night, there were probably at least 40 people crammed into two rooms. It was a cozy but comfortable and provided some good conversation.
Peruvians know how to do it up. We all bought some beer because as a nation which celebrates alcoholism, it is an endemic as malaria. Culture here dictates a different set of norms. Instead of everyone sipping back on their own bottle, the group collectively takes one bottle at a time and one glass and pours a tiny amount of beer into it. The booze is downed and then the glass is passed around. Males serve females because clearly they are incapable of doing it themselves and then pass to the next male in line. This procedure is repeated 600 times over the course of the night and it is a glorified version of power hour with 30 people. The glass is not washed out between people and the backwash is merely poured out in the communal cup on the table. Eventually it gets pretty full and a moth actually drowned in it. It was the first time I ever felt bad for a moth because seriously.....that is a helluva way to go.
Afterwards, we began the dancing. Everyone is expected to dance. Even if one can't dance, they dance in whatever spasmodic motions they know of. I was getting pointers from everyone: "Brian, you shouldn't really wear flip flops with socks when you're going to dance"; "Brian, you really shouldn't be eating a banana in the middle of salsa dancing." My salsa is getting better. I have learned not to move my feet as much and to make the movements more liquid. Around 10, we ate a huge feast with chicken, rice and vegetables. This was followed by more communal boozing and then more dancing. Around midnight, the artery-clogging cake is brought out and everyone sings “Happy Birthday.” If you're like me, you fake your way through the Spanish "Happy Birthday" derivatives because you don't know the words and hope nobody notices.
The fiesta carried on till about midnight when we all adjourned to the street and to our beds to prepare for training 7 hours later. I am up at 6 every day because we have 12-13 hour days which are totally full. My host father Humberto told me that if this was a weekend, they'd cap out at around 6 or 7AM, drinking and dancing constantly.
The next day was a bit of a funk day. There were several things which I believe contributed to this: First, I was hung over. Peruvians don't get hung over. It is just not part of their culture. They have evolved differently. Roxana was up early humming and washing dishes while I crawled out of bed cursing the world. Secondly, the air saturated with dust right and it can't really escape the valley so we all have the "black booger" effect every time we blow your nose. Finally, we all got our hepatitis A shots the day before. So that day, I was about done with Peru.
Fun Peruvian fact: cold food is not eaten here. Cold is the root of all evil. Roxana brings my lunch every day to the center in lieu of me brining it in the morning. The rationale is that it would be cold if I took it and if I ate cold food, I’d get sick. I go along with it because I am trying to fit in. but this cultural difference manifests itself in interesting ways. For example, I am not allowed to eat cold yoghurt. They do not sell cold yoghurt here or cold anything for that matter. I have to specifically ask if I want a cold beer in the bar. A glass of yoghurt has to sit in some semi-boiling water to warm it up before drinking. I question the health aspects of constantly warming up a food which is culture-based and needs to be refrigerated, but the rules of health I know of don’t apply here.
In the cold vein, I learned that everyone eventually gets arthritis. This is because when people wear short sleeves, the cold sinks into the cartilage and freezes it. The freezing can be worked off when one is young and strong, but as one grows older, it is tougher to wear it out. Eventually, cartilage just freezes and you get arthritis. I tried explaining that maybe it was the constant movement of washing clothes in a bin, but my family would have none of it. People here are so nice that we just do whatever because they are so accommodating. And maybe they are right. Maybe cold really is really bad.
We go to Lima on Saturday for our first big gardening workshop. In total have 40 hours of learning how to garden, so that when we move to our sites we can supplement the rice and potatoes with some green food as well. With the affronts to my immunological system and earthy workshops, I am fully convinced that after these 2 years, I will be unable to be killed.
I have tons of Spanish homework to do and not enough time to do it. Have a presentation later today, followed by 2 interviews. I feel busier now than ever before in my life, but I am happy.
Until next time.
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