Man, I haven’t spoken this much English since I went home to the States. I’ve re-learned words that I had forgotten, like “hot dog” and “toilet paper” and also talked about non Peace Corps topics like all the gossip that I missed on my family. My sister’s arrival has been a great break and I am proud to say that she has adjusted perfectly to life here in Perú.
Last Monday we got out of Lima ASAP. Don’t like Lima. Too big, not enough sombreros and sweat pants. We boarded the Linea bus to Cajamarca and as we pulled into the mountains 14 hours later, I felt more at ease. This was Katie’s first time at an elevation above 4500 feet and the change was noticeable to me as well. As I’d been at the coast for a week, it was strangely pleasant to be out of breath after walking up the stairs to our hotel room. We did all the touristy things that I never do in Cajamarca because I live here. It’s like people who live in New York and never did the World Trade Center. We’d be walking around and she’d point to churches and ask about the history. I’d mumble something about Atahualpa and Pizarro and something generalist about Peruvian olden times and then change the topic because I didn’t know. Katie would give me a look and then read me a quick snippet from her Perú book that she was carrying around. Because of this, it was pretty cool learning about things that I shouldn’t have been too lazy to learn about previously. However, on the topic of what ice cream flavors that the local shops had and where to get cheap hostels I was the tour guide of her dreams.
We ended up at this cool little bar called Usha Usha later that night with Barb and Olivia. I had forgotten how much I liked this place because I hadn’t been there since Carnaval in February. There’s no electricity and the place is lit via candles and everything looks cooler with candles. Local musicians drop in every night and jam on any of the bongos, drums and cajones which are littered around the place. Barb and I were invited to play with some of them. As the evening progressed and as I tried to keep the tempo on my cajón, a goofy smile crossed my face. It was good to be back.
The next day was the day we left for the campo. We boarded the combi at 10 and I saw some of my ‘chuco locals. They immediately passed me over and began peppering the “bonita gringa muñeca” (pretty gringa doll) with questions about who she was and if she was going to Sorochuco. Katie doesn’t speak Spanish but to her credit, she has been steadily learning since getting to Perú. As such, she’d default to me to translate and there would be this odd dynamic where the speech pattern would be Peruvian – Brian –Katie – Brian – Peruvian and conversation would take a bit longer. It didn’t slow them down whatsoever though and there were more comments on how pretty she was and touching her arm and inviting her down to the campo to have some potatoes later that day. It was flattering and began the first step of my sister effectively usurping my position as “resident gringo” in the town.
6 hours later we rolled up to my small mountain community and introduced her to the family. We unpacked, ate some rice and took a walk around the town where I introduced her to all the main players, including the staff at the health post, the drunks covered in flies passed out in the street and the out-of-work professors randomly walking the streets. The strike was still on and she questioned me several times, “Brian….where IS everyone? Like what do people DO here?” and I would reply that this is what we do here. We hang out in the street and sometimes move to the plaza to hang out. Sometimes we pass out in the street and sometimes we play soccer. Sometimes we talk about the rain and sometimes we talk about the sun. It goes well. It’s the life.
We spent the next couple of days just hanging out. Had some good conversations with the family using the aforementioned dynamic and they really dug her. They asked her if she would come back and why we had to leave so early, which was a huge honor. I usually get a “goodbye Brian…close the door on the way out so the flies don’t get in” but she got the royal treatment. We ate our fill of rice and she delighted my host parents by asking for seconds of nescafé and potatoes. She wondered how I was able to digest so much rice by now and I explained that after a few months in the campo, your body changes and becomes much more effective. As we speak, my metabolism is currently converting the copious amounts of rice and potatoes that I consumed for lunch into complete proteins. 8 months in the sierra leaves your body one of two things: 1.) either with a spare tire ‘round the middle and complements (usually to the women) about how nice and fat they’re becoming, or 2.) like me; unable to keep weight on (usually the males) and possessing an uncanny ability to consume plates of rice the size of your head.
Already the Sorochucinos have been asking why she hasn’t come here to teach like I have and when she will be coming back. I had to explain that unlike me, not everyone willingly wants to leave their family, language and friends and move somewhere where their work and everyday movements will be questioned (and often heckled). The apex of Sorochuco’s fascination with the gringa came on Friday after we came back from Celendin. Katie had brought some sidewalk chalk and pastels to give to my host nice and nephews, 3-year olds Briteny and Elvis. However, she had forgotten that abstract thinking is often lost amongst toddlers in the Peruvian sierra.
We had gravitated to the plaza where she tried to get Britney to draw on the sidewalk but received blank confused stares. I tried to get Britney to draw as well but she would recoil into my host mother’s lap and look scared. As this was happening, throngs of local children gravitated around us and stared at the crazy gringa drawing on the sidewalk. I asked them if they wanted to draw as well and thus began the process of trying to get one’s companions to go first. I find children from the campo to be ridiculously skittish. They’re kind of like that mouse that won’t go in the trap…they will daringly come right up to you and run away when questioned, but will return unabashedly and repeatedly because there’s too much interest. They’ll stare, but not participate. Eventually one kid will suck it up, grab some chalk and start scribbling. Then the 25 other mice you didn’t see materialize out of nowhere and begin drawing as well.
We taught some tic-tac-toe, how to draw some flowers, judged pictures they drew of the church and the municipality and then played more tic-tac-toe. Sidenote: if anyone out there happens to find themselves lost in the Peruvian sierra and doesn’t speak the language, tic-tac-toe will help get you somewhere where there’s help. Eventually the plaza was covered with drawings of combis, flowers, cows, churches, American flags, Peruvian flags, Brazillian flags (this surprised me as well) soccer balls, potatoes and everything else quintessentially Peruvian we could think of. The kids LOVED her and came to the door for the last few days looking for “la Katie.” We’d play UNO in our spare time and she eventually got to know several children who learned to communicate with her despite the language barrier. They would in turn translate what she was trying to say to the other utterly confused children. It was a good scene.
So currently I’m leaving for a few days of vacation with my sister and we’re preparing to climb a huge mountain, see a part of Perú that I have never seen before and probably get into more trouble. At least it will be with family this time.
|  | 
|
