India: Not So Black and White

While India has had it's fair share of challenges, my time there was filled with the most incredible generosity and kindness. From the moment I landed in India I was met by this hospitality (the man who shared his food with us in the Chennai airport) and it just continued from there. 

There are two instances of this extraordinary goodness inherent in all Indians that I would like to share. First and foremost, you'd think the heat alone would make anyone and everyone terribly crabby and grouchy. This is not the case.

On one of our last few days, Kayla and I were on the bus into town. Kayla took out her wallet, paid for her bus fare, and set it back down on her seat. We sit, chatting during the twenty minutes or so it takes to get into town. Before we know it we've arrived at our stop and it's time to get off the bus that never exactly stops but just kind of comes to a crawl as you hop off. We start heading down the street and make it two or three minutes when Kayla stops. She bends down and starts searching through her bag. Apparently she couldn't find her phone. As she doing this a rickshaw driver comes up. I just kind of brush him off because rickshaw drivers are always hassling us to take their rickshaw, but this one is persistent. Finally I turn around. He looks down at Kayla, taps her and hands her her wallet - complete with 5000 rupees (about $100) and her debit card. She had left it on the bus and this man tracked us down to give it back to her. In a country where people's life savings are less than what she had in her wallet, it seemed a miracle that she got it back fully intact. When we were talking about it though, we realized it was no miracle, it was simply the inherent goodness in the Indian people that prevails through their culture despite the poverty. 

One of my favorite memories of India is of something that truly never would have happened back in the States. I was spending the day at a mental hospital, touring the grounds, meeting the patients, when suddenly, my shoe broke. Out of no where, this woman comes up to me and starts speaking to me in Tamil. I have absolutely no idea what she is saying when, just as quickly as she appeared, she takes off. I continue walking, attempting to make the best of my broken shoe when the woman reappears. She comes up to me and hands me a pair of bright pink, new sandals. The staff then proceeds to tell me that she is a patient there and that she had bought those shoes with her own limited funds and then retrieved them from her store of her possessions for me. I was so unbelievably touched. This woman, who has spent at least ten years in this mental institution (it was a facility for long term care), who has very little to call her own so quickly and selflessly offered up to a complete stranger her own shoes. 

This is India. 

This is the India I have come to know and love. It is full of the little things, the little details, which add up to so much. And India taught me a lot of little things, which have added up to a whole lot.

The following are a few snapshots of an incredibly diverse country. All of these were taken in my little corner of South Eastern India which barely even begins to touch all that India has to offer, but they begin to capture the uniqueness and beauty of this country.

She's Dead.

Kayla and I were nervous about our impending stay at St. Joseph's for

the Dying Destitute. We had heard from other volunteers that it could

be quite a lot to handle and, at times, appalling. So much was said

that Alixe actually decided to opt out.

Despite the negative feedback we tried to stay open minded. We knew

that it would be difficult, but we had no idea just how tough it would

be.

After an hour long drive to Dindigal, a little town more or less in

the middle of nowhere, we reached the hospice. As we drove in through

the gate I was pleasantly surprised. We were greeted by a beautiful wall of pink bougainvilleas

and could see yellow-orange, red, purple, and white flowers further

down the path. For a place so filled with death, I was amazed by how

much life blossomed here.

We then met the ever busy Sister who runs the place. She told us to

acquaint ourselves with the hospice and that she would catch up with

us. She never did come find us.

We began to walk around the grounds. I felt I had been fairly

forewarned. I foolishly thought to myself "if this is all, I can

handle it." While my heart broke for the people we passed who were

crippled with age, had deformities, or were just skin and bones, all

were up and moving around (some with the help of a walker) outside in

the sunlight.

Apparently, these were the patients in the downstairs ward. The

upstairs ward was home to others not as fortunate.

Now, we had arrived at right about noon, so our next order of business was to help serve

lunch. Kayla stayed downstairs while I was ushered upstairs to serve.

Nearly all the beds in the upstairs woman's ward were filled - about

fifty beds in total. And out of the roughly forty-five beds that were

occupied, only maybe five had full function of their legs. These women were imprisoned in their own bodies. They could not get up. They could not move around. Many lied around in their own filth all day long until their fellow patients put them in a wheelchair and wheeled them to their one daily “rinse” every morning. These women were alive, but they were not living.  

As I let myself adjust to this sight of women, young and old, almost

all who appeared emaciated and were on the brink of death, I

let myself get absorbed in the mindless task of ladling the sauce over the rice- trying to process it all.

Once all the spooning of rice and ladling of sauce was complete, I

went in to check that all the women had received a dish I saw that one

bed was lacking that telltale metal plate - the metal plates I came

to despise as they always put hot goods in them and everyone knows

that metal is a conductor of heat. I always got burned carrying those

damn metal plates. Childishly, this was what was running through

my mind as I was carrying one of those metal plates to the plate-less

bed.

I'm walking over to hand this burning hot plate to this one woman

when, from behind, I hear:

She's dead.

I stop. This can't be I'm looking at her frail body, draped in a

purple night gown and I can't wrap my mind around the fact that the

woman lying is front of me is no longer with us. All the patients

around her are engaged in devouring their meals, some are even chatting with the women in the beds next to them. None of them seemed phased by the dead woman lying a bed or two over

from them. This doesn’t seem real. 

I ask if we should put a blanket over her The "nurse" (she's twenty,

speaks minimal English - but is the only "English speaking" nurse) who

has not even finished her studies, puts a blanket in front of her bed.

Confused, I ask again: "Should we put a blanket over her?"

No response.

At this point, Kayla has finished serving downstairs and comes up in

search of me. The nurse, Michelle (who is an absolute sweetheart),

then enlists our help in something I never thought I would

do.

She motions us to help her pick up this woman's body and lay it down

on the blanket.

I took a step back. All I wanted to do at that moment was call my dad.

I was compelled to ask him "how do you do it?"

How do you do it?

I don't know how my dad does it, but I shut down. I cradled this

woman's head in my arms and, with Kayla and Michelle, we lowered her

down onto the blanket. Michelle wrapped the blanket around her and

handed us course string to tie the blanket around her body with.

One string at her neck, one at her elbows, one at her stomach, one at

her knees, one at her ankles.

Just tie.

Hidden by the blanket, it looked like the body of a child - so small,

so fragile, almost nonexistent.

We went out to get the cart to bring her outside to the "cemetery."

Down the ramp we went - empty handed. Back up the ramp we went - up to

retrieve her body. Back down the ramp we went. Down with her body

catching its last glimpse of sunlight before it would be sealed away

behind concrete wall.

We stopped under the shade of a tree. Michelle went to fetch the

father to say a final prayer for the woman.

As we were standing under that tree, a single, silent tear rolled down my cheek.

As the other nurses gathered around and the father prayed a final

prayer, one of the patients went and gathered some flowers. He secured

them right under her hands - one final act of love.

Those same pink bougainvilleas that I thought were so full of life were

now her parting gift in death.

Kayla and I watched as they slid her into that concrete mausoleum. And

we watched as they sealed it. And we watched as they walked away.

We mourned for this woman. We mourned for this woman that we never even met. And we mourned a little for ourselves, for the change that comes within when you carry, tie and watch a dead body disappear. 

This was all within the first hour of being at the hospice. And while

death is hard to watch, spending the next few days watching the dying...there's no way to

describe the impact that has.

In my short time at the hospice for the dying destitute, so much

happened. Things I cannot express with words, stories and emotions

that can only be conveyed with body language and even tears. And then

there are some experiences which I will never be able to share -

experiences which will always be wholly mine.

While some experiences I truly can't write out, there is one more from

the hospice I would like to share. Later.

For now, each country has taught me a different unique lesson that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. South Africa taught me Ubuntu - I am because we are. Peru: Poroy - for today.

In India, more specifically at the hospice, being spending so much time around death and around people who are struggling to live, I've learned that it's not enough to just value life, you must value living.

Channel Your Inner Rori Gilmore...

I can't believe three weeks in India have already flown by! It seems like it's been just a few days and not a few weeks! India is surreal. No words can truly do it justice. India is an assualt on the senses - the smells (generally burning trash), the sights (especially watching the driving!), and the sounds (I am greeted by a cacophony of honking every morning which goes well into the night. Actually, I am now quite certain that every car, truck, richshaw, and bike has a different horn sound!) can be overwhelming at times! Despite all this and the brutal heat, Indian people are the kindest I have ever met.

I'm spending my first month here in India interning at the Madurai Messenger monthly magazine. This magazine is sent free of charge to over 800 schools, hospitals and libraries throughout Madurai. Upon arrival, all volunteers are asked to write their "First Impression" of India as one of their articles. Below, I have included my First Impression article as well as the Culture Kitchen article that Eddy and I worked on together. Eddy (one of the guys in my group) and I had the honor of representing America for this month's Culture Kitchen article. Essentially, the volunteers chosen have to decide upon a traditional dish from their country to make for all the other volunteers in the Journalism office at the tiny Projects Abroad kitchen. It proved to be quite the experience!

For those of you who know me well, you know that I am absolutely obsessed with Gilmore Girls. Every Tuesday at eight o'clock, my mom and I would plop ourselves down on the couch (generally with a bowl of overly buttered popcorn) and laugh and cry with the Gilmore Girls for an hour. Rori Gilmore, the daughter, was an aspiring journalist who became editor of the Yale Daily News and later went on to report on the Obama campaign when the series sadly came to a close. When I told my mom about all the articles I am writing (I have a few others besides these that I am working on), what do you think her advice was?

"Well, just channel your inner Rori Gilmore!" (Can I just say that I love my mother :) )

So, here is me channeling my inner Rori Gilmore! I hope you enjoy!

A Warm Welcome

To be honest, I was a little apprehensive about coming to India. In October 2011, I embarked on an eight month adventure with a group of six other American volunteers. Under the care of Projects Abroad, we are travelling to five countries. So far, we have experienced crazy and chaotic Ghana, diverse and exhilarating South Africa, and the magnificently beautiful Peru.

Whenever people asked me about my concerns for this trip, I would always respond that I was anxious about India: from how Indians dress to the religions they practice; from the food they eat to the language they speak; from how they drive to how they don’t wear shoes inside (which I actually quite enjoy now). Everything about India seemed to be so culturally different from the US.

I quickly learned that I need not have worried.

Upon arrival to Chennai, I was absolutely exhausted. After three days of travelling, we walked out of the airport at 12:30am and were greeted by a wave of heat, a cacophony of honking, and a surprising number of people at that hour.

We then entered the departure area at the airport ready for our journey to Madurai, only to find the exact opposite of what we had encountered outside. It was completely dead. Apparently it doesn’t open until four in the morning. With no security to go through, no open shops to browse, and no restaurants with food to devour after days of surviving on airplane food, we formed a circle and all fell fast asleep on the floor.

When I woke up, an Indian man had settled nearby. Without us asking, he offered us some of his food. He didn’t speak a word of English, but generously shared his naan and chili powder with us.

A few minutes passed before his family joined us. Our new friend, his two English speaking daughters, his wife, and the seven of us, formed an even bigger circle and spent an hour together enjoying good food (we shared our Reese’s chocolates and sweet tarts from the US), great conversation, and of course, wonderful company.

This experience was incredibly touching because despite the language barrier, or the fact that we were strangers, or it being three o’clock in the morning, this man and his family went out of their way to make us feel welcomed. It was an experience rather foreign to us. Something like this would never happen at Los Angeles Airport. It was an unforgettable welcome to a beautiful country.

Immediately, all my fears were assuaged and I knew that my time in India would be filled with the same warm hospitality, generosity, and kindness that this family had shown us.

Culture Kitchen - American Style

We are proud to be from the land of the free where hot dogs, sixteen ounce sirloin steaks, meat loaves, pork roasts, and fried chicken are devoured in outrageous quantities. Now, when you throw two Americans into Indian society where virtually no meat is consumed and ask them to whip up a traditional American dish sans an oven, they have to get a little creative.

So, after much consultation with other American volunteers, it was decided that good ol’ mac n cheese is a classic American dish. The challenge: we’ve only ever made mac n cheese out of a box complete with the fake cheese powder.

As the directions were to cook two dishes, we chose s’mores as a uniquely American dessert. I (Tyler) have a pretty big family. I am the oldest of eleven cousins all of whom are at least eight years younger than me. Whenever we get the whole family together at my house it is absolute madness! After a few grueling hours of throwing the brood of youngins’ around in the pool, it is tradition for us to make s’mores. This is always my favorite part of the day – not only because I love s’mores, but also because it is great fun to watch all the kids make an ooey gooey mess! The only problem with s’mores is that after you eat that first one, you always want s’more!

With my close ties to this delectable dessert, I decided it would be fun to introduce the journalism staff to this treat. For those of you who don’t know what a s’more is, it only has three ingredients – graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate bars. Generally, you cook the marshmallow to golden brown perfection over a crackling fire. However, seeing as we are in India and only have a gas stove at our disposal, we are asking the volunteers to roast their marshmallows over a stove top. These treats are absolutely irresistible!

As it turned out, deciding on the dishes was the easiest part! It was finding the ingredients which proved to be quite the task! The first obstacle we were forced to overcome was one we never thought we would encounter: our temptation. We found it. We found the holy grail, the road to el dorado, the fountain of youth. We found boxed mac n’ cheese. Despite our overwhelming desire to purchase it right then and there, we overcame that enticement, deciding that the volunteers deserved an authentic American cooking experience. After making this devastating decision, we purchased the plain macaroni noodles and left the store before we could change our minds.

Our following stop did not end in tragedy. However, we did hit a few bumps along the road. We discovered that there are only two types of cheese in India: processed cheddar and plain cheese. As these were our only two options it made the decision a little easier. Our next task was to track down “milk” chocolate. Here is where our two cultures collided. Unbeknownst to us, in India, “milk chocolate” is our equivalent of “white chocolate.” We kept asking for milk chocolate and they kept bringing white chocolate. After a few minutes of being lost in translation, we finally figured it out and were able to locate milk chocolate or “white and milk chocolate” as it is known here. While we miraculously found marshmallows (albeit flavored), the last little problem we faced was the acquisition of graham crackers. We knew that finding them would be a long shot, but what we didn’t know was that no one even knows what they are. Needless to say, we had to improvise. Instead, we purchased True Marie Biscuits which proved to be an adequate substitute.

Finally, we were ready. It was time to teach the volunteers a little something about American ingenuity in the kitchen. Our weapons: a two burner gas stove, some pots, a whisk, and our mental acuity. It was bound to be interesting.

Things were going according to plan until the mystery lumps began appearing in our cheese sauce. To this day, we still don’t know what they were. We followed the recipe to the letter, yet when we mixed the milk-flour mixture with the simmering milk, the flour started clumping up. It was postulated that the flour had perhaps burnt, but that didn’t make any sense seeing as how the milk had just only started simmering. Even as we both took turns whisking furiously, the lumps just wouldn’t seem to go away. So we kicked the heat up a notch and mixed in the cheese, whisking away all the while. After the cheese had all finally melted and our sauce was a perfect tint of orange, we mixed the sauce in with the pasta. Despite the lumps, our mac n’ cheese turned out to be pretty delicious. In fact, it was the first culture kitchen dish that has made volunteers go back for a second helping.

After our unexpected yet triumphant success with the mac n’ cheese, it was time for dessert.  Surprisingly, none of the other volunteers had ever tried and only one had ever heard of s’mores. After a brief explanation on the art of making this messy treat, Kim Clarys, from Belgium, was the first volunteer daring enough to take on this daunting task. After the others saw her countenance change in delight upon her first bite, it was a fight to see who would get the skewer to cook the next marshmallow. True to its name, everyone wanted s’more after they had had their very first s’mores.

All in all, we think it’s safe to say that the Americans put on the best culture kitchen to date. 

Pictures to follow! Also, the week after next I will be working at St. Joseph's for the Dying Destitute - a hospice which gives the impoverished, ill elderly a place to be clothed, fed, sheltered and to have company. Please send positive thoughts my way as I'm nervous that this will be one of the most difficult (albeit most likely the most rewarding) placements I will work at.

The Road to Happy Destiny

I don't even know where to begin! The last three weeks have been such a whirlwind! From working at the archaeology/community project in the middle of the cloud forest, to hiking the Inca Trail (or the Road to Happy Destiny as Kayla so lovingly calls it), to saying our goodbye to Peru (I leave for India TODAY!) - the last few weeks have been absolutely unforgettable.

Now let me tell you a little something...if I thought I had become a professional cement mixer in Cape Town it was only because I had yet to realize my talents as an expert machete-ist. My machete was commissioned everywhere around Huyro. I macheted all the weeds around the banana field to prevent them from strangling the new trees. I macheted all the overgrown plants at the local school (school started on Tuesday at they wanted it to look nice for when all the kids returned.) Essentially, because they are lacking basic modern machinery such as weed whackers and lawn mowers, we were the school's lawn mower. I macheted overgrown plants in drainage ditches to allow the water to flow through so it wouldn't drown the fields. And I matcheted plants that went over my head to clear ruin sites so that we could map and explore them. I macheted until my hands were covered in blisters and then I continued to machete until all those blisters popped. Quite frankly, if I never have to pick up a machete again it will be too soon!

You can tell we were all very happy macheting...we only got a little
dirty in the process!

The Inca Archaeology / Community Project was absolutely incredible though! Along with all the macheting mentioned above, we read to kids at a local library started and run by previous Projects Abroad volunteers, we explored and mapped totally off the map ruins, and we worked on the fields around El Establo. All the volunteers live in a community house, El Establo, and it is working to become a completely self sustainable place. The project opened in 2007 and in five short years they have cultivated banana fields, corn fields, coffee plant fields, and they also grow passion fruit and a few other fruits. They also have chickens, ducks, guinea pigs, and rabbits there to eat. Additionally, just four months ago they got electricity by utilizing the endless rain and water supply. They use the rain water to run a turbine to create electricity used for lights and other basic things.

 El Establo

We did so much hiking while we were there exploring a ton of ruins which I absolutely loved! Not only did I get to see indescribably beautiful scenery hiking in the cloud forest to these ruins, but I was also able to see how the Incas lived through exploring these off the beaten path ruins which truly showed their way of life. They created an unbelievable network of roads and were able to accomplish unbelievable feats for the technology they had.

Probably my most memorable experience at El Establo was waking up at 4:56 in the morning to this in my room:

I heard rustling and started saying "Kayla? Kayla, is that you?!" My flustered cries woke her up at I turned my flashlight on to find this rustling through my room. I only heard it because the poor snake had tape stuck around its next. We sat in our beds for a few minutes unsure of what to do. It was an intense stand off between us and the snake. We were stuck in our beds and it was curled up in striking position. Finally, we decided that Kayla should go get a broom to get it out of our room and I would stay in the room with a flashlight so that we would know where it is. Kayla walks out and thirty seconds later I hear her scream.

There was ANOTHER snake hiding in the brooms.

That shriek woke up the house and it became a great ordeal getting the snakes out of the house. After some time, we finally achieved getting them out, but at that point everyone was so awake that we got little after that. Along with snakes there were also the biggest spiders I have ever seen at El Establo! That was fun...

This is the local soccer field a two minute walk from El Establo....not a bad view, huh?

On Thursday we said goodbye to El Establo in preparation for the Inca Trail. We drove the nearly four hours, mostly petrified, to where we would start the four day trek/journey/death trap to Machupicchu. Day 1 was pretty mellow and we just cruised up and down, enjoying the views. It was Day 2 that we were all anticipating with much trepidation. It's essentially all uphill and when you finally reach the top, you go straight down stairs that were most likely created to induce the need for knee surgery.

So Kayla, Billy, Macrina and I left first Saturday morning determined to tackle Dead Woman's Pass (the name of the highest point of day two at a whopping 4,215m [nearly 14,00ft]), without is turning us into dead women (and man). The first half hour wasn't too bad and we were all thinking okay, we can do this. The first half hour was extraordinarily deceiving.

To be honest, I don't think I have ever been in a more beautiful place. The scenery on Day 2 was indescribable.

Example One:

Example Two:

The thing was that you are so incredibly exhausted that it is difficult to appreciate it as much as it deserves. There seemed to be a million, never ending stairs! They just went on and on for miles...literally! Finally, you make it out of the forest and think it's finally going to flatten out. Again, the trail likes to play tricks on you. Just because you made it out of the forest in no way meant that you were done climbing. In fact, it just meant that there were more stairs to be climbed. So, I took a deep breath and continued on. At this point, we were all spread out a little because it was so strenuous. Honestly, what saved me on this trek was snickers bars! I would not have made it without them!

SO MANY STAIRS!

Finally, Kayla and I met up and had our eyes on the prize. We could see the top. Dead Woman's Pass was within reach...almost. After trekking for what seemed like an eternity we finally settled on a twenty stairs then take a break approach for the home stretch. I channeled my inner Dory and instead of "just keep swimming," "just keep going" became my mantra.

After two hours and forty minutes, Kayla and I were the first in our group to reach the top! (No it's not a competition, but we were pretty proud of ourselves nonetheless.) It generally takes people six hours to do what we did in just over two and a half. We ascended 1500m (over a mile) in six kilometers (roughly 3.5miles). It was steep. We felt on top of the world when we finally reached the top. As you can see, we also felt super strong!

Day 3 was much easier and also extraordinarily beautiful! We woke up on Day 4 at 3:30 in the morning to get going. After only an hour and a half of hiking we reached the Sun Gate which is where you are supposed to get the ever so famous view point of Machupicchu.

This is what we got:

While a little disappointing, it still felt like such an accomplishment. Billy and I stuck it out for a little while and the clouds cleared JUST enough for us to get a glimpse of Machupicchu from the Sun Gate. That was pretty rewarding. After that, we descended down into Machupicchu to walk around and enjoy the place we had worked so hard to come see.

MACHUPICCHU!

The Gang at the Top of Machupicchu

The Inca Trail was an unreal adventure that I am proud to say I have crossed off my bucket list!

There were surprisingly lots of llamas at
Machupicchu

Since we finished the Inca Trail we have had two days in Cusco to unwind, recover, and reflect back on our time here. In South Africa the “Ubuntu” mentality made a lasting impression on me. Here in South America, “Por hoy” has had the same effect.

One weekend, we were leaving Cusco and we drove past the city, Poroy. Poroy was shortened from “por hoy” which means for today. Here in Peru I have really focused on being present and have learned just how important it is to be in the moment, to be living for today. Whether reading to Luci and Derek, hiking with the group, teaching my students, macheting away, or dying on the Inca Trail, I was simply there in that moment. This ability is so important to me because it is so seemingly impossible to do back at home. At home constantly thinking about what you’ve already crossed off your checklist, but more so, what you still have to do. It’s a constant rat race running around, always thinking about what’s to come and never just enjoying what is.

In Peru, I’m simply enjoying what is. I’m enjoying the here and now and this is an incredible gift that Peru has given me that I will carry with me forever. I think one of the things that contributed to this is that Peruvians are ALWAYS celebrating. Every day we hear cannon fire marking some celebration. You make think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. Literally there is cannon fire EVERYDAY. Actually, the cannons just went off about two minutes ago. Whether it’s dia de las comadres, dia de los compadres, carnevale, dia de la virgin de something (there are LOTS of them), or dia de los ninos, there are always celebrations generally whose purpose is simply to appreciate one another. (When your child is baptized, your child’s godmother is your comadre – they have a different day to celebrate the godparents, but this day is to recognize the role the comadre plays in the parents’ lives. Yup – the Peruvians think of everything and anything to celebrate. J )

So here’s to remembering that I am because you are and the importance of being here, wherever that happens to be, being wholly here, right now. 

The Plaza de Armas at Night
There really is nothing quite like it.

The long promised...

teaching update.

Fittingly, I am finally writing this blog after the teaching program has ended.

Overall the teaching project was an incredible experience. I'm actually fairly certain that I learned more than my students! I had no idea just how difficult English grammar is! Along with my students, I learned the rules (and MANY exceptions) behind the present simple, present progressive, present perfect, past simple, past progressive, past perfect and future tenses! And this was just skimming the surface of all the grammar tenses we have!

 My teaching partner, Laura (a 20 year old girl from Denmark) and I had to read up on all the rules for these tenses, decide how we wanted to approach each tense with the class and then create worksheets to practice the tenses. In all honesty lesson planning was the most difficult part! My usual day went a little like this:

We always started off class with a descriptive writing prompt either reviewing the previous day's grammar, vocabulary or giving our students a creative writing assignment. We mostly started class off with this because our students NEVER arrived on time! (Occasionally, I felt like I was working with kids and not adults! - I forgot to mention our project was teaching teachers English. Sometimes I thought that it would have been easier to work with kids!) At the end of every week Laura and I would take home their journals and correct them.

Every week we sang a new song with our class to practice pronunciation and increase vocabulary knowledge. One week our song was  "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles. We talked about the the sun represents happiness and peace. One day our writing prompt was "Look at the lyrics to 'Here Comes the Sun'. What in your life brings you peace and happiness?"

These were some of the responses:

Luci: In my life it is very important the friendship with God and with my friends. I feel joyful when I sing for God in the Church.I think it is better to arrive peacetime for all the world. The peacetime is when all the people live as brother.

Julia: The sun in my life brings happiness and work with enthusiasm. Too, I can play with my children in the park and swimming in the pool. But the sun can be dangerous for it is necessary to use caps and ointment for the sun. (Apparently she didn't completely understand the prompt but her answer gave me a good chuckle!)

Ramiro (My favorite answer - at least what I can read of it. He has nearly illegible handwriting! It remind me of my father's writing!): The sun is the life and the hope of a new beginning. When the sun beams, all it's right. ...the fields full of flowers, birds, beautifull animals and a wonderful smell in the air it and new energy to my life. ...I love the sky blue, the mountain green, the forest full of sweet fragancys, the white clouds crossing the sky, the birds flying and singing beautiful tones, that is the life for my.

I couldn't have been happier when I read all their responses! While filled with spelling and grammar errors, they wrote beautiful responses!

After our descriptive writing we would delve into grammar (not my favorite part of the day!) It was a tedious process explaining all the different grammar structures and this took up a good portion of the class but they caught on quickly and we were able to progress through many more tenses than I thought we would.

My class
Left to right: Juanita, Alicia, Laura, Julia, Ana, Me, Magdeli, Luci, and Ruth.
Ebert is kneeling in front.

Once grammar came to an end, we would introduce new vocabulary ranging from emotions to verbs to anything else under the sun. Vocabulary was always a hoot because we would play games to reinforce the words and they would ALWAYS cheat! (This is part of the reason I felt like I was working with kids!) They were SO competitive but we had a good time.

Generally twice a week, Laura and I would write stories to do listening and reading comprehension. I have to say that this was quite the exercise in creativity for me! But it was much better that we wrote them because we could cater the stories and comprehension questions to their abilities.

We always ended class singing a song. This was my absolute favorite part of class! Unlike in my Spanish class where when we sang a song in Spanish everyone just mumbled my students actually sang! We sang everything from "Heroe" by Enrique Iglesias to "Imagine" by John Lennon to "Smile" by Uncle Kracker.

My class really struggled with pronunciation so the last few weeks we began practicing tongue twisters. It was absolutely hysterical! It took all my will power not to crack up when they would attempt to say "Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore," "Purple paper people put pink pants on," or "Five brave viking fought ferocious vultures." One day one of my students, Ebert, challenged me to do a tongue twister in Spanish - "Tres tigres tragan trigo en un trigal." I conquered that one. :)

After six crazy weeks, classes came to end. It culminated at the Ministry of Education where every group gave a presentation. My class wrote a poem that they read. My favorite part was at the end Ramiro had written a surprise stanza in which he referred to Laura and I as "beautiful butterflies." After they read the poem, our class called Laura and I up and gave us each a rose and a beautiful necklace! I was so incredibly touched! They worked so hard over the past six weeks and I felt like a proud parent to see them up there reading a poem in English that they had written!

On the last day of class, we gave them a mini test. We had to take a few home to grade and when I was going through them I received this as a nice and comical surprise:

The teaching project was truly a gift. For one, I now know that I do not want to be a teacher! But it also taught me lessons in patience and lead me to have a greater appreciation for all educators. Kudos to all my teachers! I don't know how you do it, but THANK YOU!

A few other updates:

Ariana is still living with us. Nimia went to a judge with her and the judge ruled that she should go to an orphanage because her father is extremely abusive (all the police officers where Ariana lives told Nimia not to let Ariana go back home because they are well aware of his drinking problems and violent behavior.) Ariana refused to go home and didn't want to go to an orphanage so Nimia, being the angel that she is, sought out temporary custody of Ariana.

Now that the teaching project is over I leave tomorrow for Huyro where I will be working on an archaeology and community project. They're even going to let me use a machete! I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to let me wield a machete but I'm sure after the first day they will revoke that privilege!

Huyro is essentially in the middle of nowhere so I'll be incommunicado for a little while but I will let you all know how my machete experience goes when I am back!

One weekend we went river rafting (which I highly recommend!) and
Kayla somehow convinced me it would be a good idea to jump
out of the boat! It was absolutely freezing but SO fun!

Peru is so incredibly beautiful I can't even describe it! This is a picture
from the most beautiful hike I have ever been on!

No Puedo Olvidar

I swear I actually am working here, but here’s the thing – truly incredible things just keep happening that distract me from writing about my teaching adventures.

Sometimes I just cannot believe how truly blessed I am. Today is a prime example.

But first, I have to back track a little. In my last blog I wrote about Yolanda and how her arrival sparked a heart-wrenching conversation with my host mom. I regret to inform you that Yolanda did not return to the house. Instead, Theresa took her place the very next day.

After Yolanda left, I expected that we would get a new girl to come help out. What I did not expect was a third girl, which was the situation I walked into when I got home today…kind of.

Nimia is starting a new business and posted an online ad for ladies in other cities to help her spread the word and sell the product. Low and behold, a woman called Nimia up yesterday saying that her twelve year old daughter had run away and did not want to come home and could Nimia please give her daughter a job. Nimia, being the absolute sweetheart that she is, brought the girl home.

So at dinner tonight I got a glimpse into Arianna, the twelve year old girl’s, background. She is the fourth of eight children, but the oldest passed away earlier this year so now there are only seven. She absolutely loves learning and communications (Spanish grammar) is her favorite subject (Quechua was her first language). Arianna ran away because her father is extremely abusive and she refuses to return to that hostile environment. I never would have guessed that this intelligent, chatty, bright, YOUNG girl would be running from such a situation as she exudes such confidence. Sadly, tonight is the only night I get to spend with her as Nimia is taking her to child protective services tomorrow.

However, at dinner tonight I was trying to talk to both Theresa and Arianna as Luciana and Derek are out of town so it gave me a chance to get to ask them questions. While both looked to Nimia to repeat what I said before answering, they were quick to respond and I could tell they that both have an invested interest in their education. Theresa actually starts school in March at a nearby collegio (secondary school) which Nimia will pay for in exchange for Theresa working at the house on the weekends. She seems very excited to start school (a pleasant surprise compared to most American kids [myself included] response to having to start school).

 Finally, Nimia looks at Theresa and goes “Don’t be shy! If you have any questions, ask her!” Then Nimia turns to me and says “Theresa wants to learn English.”

Immediately, I see Arianna’s face light up as well.

So I asked the girls, “Well, after dinner tonight do you want to learn some English?”

They both nodded vigorously.

And so it goes. After dinner I went upstairs and grabbed all my extra scratch paper from class along with my assorted colorful pens (red, blue, pink, orange, purple, and green to be exact – I never leave home without an array of colorful pens!) and brought them down to the dinner table.

I started off with lofty goals. “I am going to teach them to put together a proper sentence,” I thought to myself. So off I go trying to explain how “to be” is an irregular verb and is Spanish there are two verbs (ser and estar) that translate to this one English verb. I got blank stares in return and realized that I was talking to twelve and sixteen year old girls and that this was their first English lesson. So I asked them, “Well what do you want to learn?”

Without hesitation Arianna shouts “numeros y colores!” Now this is mostly because she already knew a few colors and numbers in English. Regardless, it was a solid starting point. We quickly progressed from numbers to colors to body parts to foods, family, animals, clothes, things around the house and then various adjectives, emotions, and verbs. We covered a lot for one night but they wanted to just keep going!

To be honest, I tuckered out before they did! (In my defense, this was my second English lesson for the day!) When I finally checked out (at 11 – nearly two hours after we started this English lesson) they stayed downstairs and continued to write more words often (accompanied by drawings) using all my colorful pens (I swear using different colors helps you learn more quickly and efficiently!)

In the middle of talking about body parts, Arianna got up and started shuffling things around. A few minutes later, she came out carrying a cd and put on music for us to listen to while they learned a little English to (a girl after my own heart – I ALWAYS listen to music while doing my homework!) Occasionally she would stop writing whatever she was working on, look at the cd case and pick a new song. Once, she looked up at me and asked, “Sabes la cancion ‘No Puedo Olvidar’?”. I told her I didn’t know that song, so she played it for me.

No puedo olvidar. I cannot forget.

How this little twelve year old girl who is suffering in ways no one should ever have to could possibly have known how picking that song to ask me about would touch me, I do not know. What I do know is this - no, no puedo olvidar esta noche ni esta experiencia…no puedo olvidarte. 

Arianna's Notes on Body Parts and Colors

Arianna and Theresa working away at the kitchen table!

"This is my Peru."

     Well, I had every intention of writing this blog about the teaching project as that is what I am here to do. However, as this year is so graciously teaching me, things rarely go as planned. Alas, there is something else that has come up that I would like to share with you.

     I had a conversation with my host mom today over lunch that I honestly don´t know how to characterize. It was touching, intense, and heart breaking all in one. Now, my host mom only speaks Spaish and I often can´t keep up with everything when she gets going to I have had to paraphrase some of what follows.

     This conversation started talking about a young girl, Rebecca, who lives with us. Rebecca is 15 (and maybe 4´8") but looks about 11 (similar to Gowin in Ghana). Rebecca has been living with the family since she was 11 and is essentially part of the family. I learned more about her past today.

     She comes from a small pueblo (village/town) outside of Cusco. When she arrived here she only spoke Quechua - the native language of the Incans, but no Spanish. (Fast Fact - a few of my students first language was Quechua.) She has had to learn Spanish over the past four years. She still does not know how to write in Spanish (I asked her), but she goes to school and is learning more and more. All that I already knew.

    Today, I learned that when Rebecca came to live with the family, she had only the clothes on her back and no shoes on her feet. She was/is cognitively and physically stunted because her family is very poor so all they ate was corn meal.
 
     Now, I have to tell you that Rebecca is the most positive, upbeat little girl! She is constantly smiling! The trade was that the family would take Rebeca in - feed her, clothe her, pay for her schooling, etc.- in turn for her help with things around the house. This is something that Kayla and I have struggled with a little because we (very) frequently hear, "Rebeccita, una favorita por favor!" and off Rebecca goes to tidy the kitchen, buy bread, or on some other errand. However, the education and life skills Rebecca is getting in return in invaluable.

     Another thing I learned today that infuriates me, as well as Nimia, is that Rebecca´s father receives 100 soles per month  (the equivalent of $40) for her. Throughout the four years she has been here, her father has not put one penny away from her for when she turns 18 and is on her own. While bits and pieces of Rebecca´s story came out during the conversation, it ruly started when I started talking about Yolanda.

     Last night, Kayla and I came home from Pizza Tuesday (a tradition started with the group in Cape Town that we have carried on here) around ten. We walked back into the laundry room to pull our clothes off the line and we found this girl just standing there. A little taken aback I ask, "¿Quien eres (Who are you)?"

     No response.

     I begin to gather my bearings:
     "¿Como te llamas?"
     -mumbles
   
     Thankfully at this time Rebecca came downstairs because she heard us come in. She informed us (in Spanish) that this new girl will be living with us for a while.

     Okay - I think - let´s try this again more calmly and not as shocked:

      "Lo siento. Me llamo Tyler. ¿Como te llamas?"
      "royand"
     ¿Que?
     (very quietly) Yolanda"
     "Yolanda! ¿De donde eres (Where are you from)?"
      Crickets.
      "¿Cuanto tiempo esta aca?"
       Silence.

     Rebecca (who is generally doesn´t speak much) finally steps in. "She can´t really speak but she´s going to live here for a year."

     Kayla and I exchange glances unsure of what to think.
 
     Fast forward to this afternoon, when we return home for lunch. I did not see Yolanda so I asked Nimia where she was and Nimia told me that she was with her mother. I then asked Nimia is Yolanda was going to return and got a meager "Ojala (I hope)" in response.

    It turns out that Yolanda, like Rebecca, comes from a pueblo on the outskirts of Cusco. When Kayla and I first saw her I would have put her around 15 (she´s about 4´10" and was disshelved). LIttle did I know that she is 20 and has never lived on her own. I couldn´t ascertain why she can´t speak, but the reason she is here is for speech therapy lessons. Her parents had to decide between rebuilding the dilapidated house or getting her help.

     They chose the house so now she´s here. Again, similar to Rebecca, Yolanda will work for Nimia in exchange for food, shelter, clothes, and speech therapy lessons.

     Apparently today, Yolanda started crying (Understandably - I can´t imagine how difficult it is to be uprooted from your home and dropped into a bustling city and not even be able to really communicate) so her mother came and got her. Her mother and siblings are supportive of her living here in Cusco because they know that without this help she has no opportunities and they don´t know what will happen to her. Her father shares their fears, but is unsure about her being here because he fears she will be taken advantage of or worse because she can´t defend herself - not even with words or cries for help.

    Sorry for the long discourse but I hope you´re still with me because this is where the conversation really starts.

     Nimia begins to tell me how she truly admires girls like Rebecca and Yolanda who are willing to work because so many girls who come to Cusco for this kind of trade never actually want to do anything or revert to stealing. She told me the story of one girl she had hired who treid to steal all her jewelry. The girl was supposed to be watching then baby Derek. Instead, she snuck into Nimia´s bathroom and began taking her jewelry. Derek somehow pulled something down that struck him on his head and he began to cry. When Nimia went upstairs to see what hapened she found the girl in her bathroom taking her valuables.

     Apparently this sort of thing is not uncommon in Cusco when girls from outside pueblos come to work for families and end up stealing their valuables.

    From this girl, Nimia moved on to tell me about another girl who had worked for her for a few years. She adored this girl, but quickly realized that whenever Ayul (Nimia´s husband) or one of Nimia´s male cousins walked into the same room as the girl, her whole face and character would change. When Nimia inquired why , she learned that the girl had been molested.

    The girl became pregnant from the man who molested her and decided to abort her pregnancy. Due to all this trauma, the girl went to seek help and therapy and spent some time at a residence where whe could receive the help she needed. Nimia regularly called and visited to check in on her. After a while, no one took her calls. She went to the residence a month later and learned that the girl´s family had taken her home.

     Nimia worried for the girl´s safety as the girl had repeated confided in Nimia that if she went home she felt that she would be assualted again.

     Six months later, Nimia heard that the girl had been shot three times by the man who molested her. She survived but was not in good condition.

    At this point, NImia is getting more and more invested in the conversation and shows real concern for her fellow Peruvians.

     She tells me about life in the poor countryside and that girls as young as 13 or 14 are getting pregnant because the government will give them 100 soles per month per child. I was shocked to hear that by the time girls are twenty they will have 3 or 4 children just so they can get money from the government. Nimia strongly disagrees with this practice and expressed that she wishes the government would invest the funds in job training or education instead of just handing out the money. (I strongly concur as this is often how I feel about our welfare system.)

     From this, she began speaking about the insidious violence that has permeated Peru since 1998.

     "It got worse after Toledo was elected and before we knew it there was violence and strikes everywhere - in Lima, Arequipa, and even Cusco. I have seen it with my own eyes here in Cusco. One day, I heard gunshots and walked out to find someone shot in the street."

    At this point, Nimia started crying and my heart went out to my surrogate mom who was talking about the broken country she loves.

    "How many have to die before the government does anything? How many mothers have to lose their children and how many children have to be disfigured before the government does anything? We have no human rights here. Horrible things happen but there are no consequences. First there were just a few instances of terror but now there are more frequent threats and acts. Just a little while ago they found a bomb at the Cusco airport. The Cusco airport brings tourists into our country. Why would someone want to hurt those who are helping to support us?

    The people in Peru are so beautiful and we have so much potential to grow our own economy but now we are dependent on tourism and no one is working to build a better Peru.  I just keep asking myself when is our government going to do something.

This is my Peru."

     Just like at Bonnytoun, I had no idea how to respond. The Peru I´ve seen has been indescribably beautiful. Everyone has been extraordinarily welcoming and I´ve felt safe here (especially in comparison to Cape Town). I am aware that Peru has it´s hardships and that poverty is a rampant reality especially in rural areas, but I had no idea the depth of the issues or the pain it instills within Peruvians.

     While I knew all alon Nimia has the best and most genuine intentions, I had struggled with the "trade" Rebecca and Yolanda are making. However, by the end of our conversation, I realized that this is Nimia´s way of trying to do something to help change her Peru. Little does she know that she is changing me too.