vida en peru

i have been told

2012-08-27T11:36:00.002-07:00

http://levoyagedeimling.blogspot.com

2012-08-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

attentive loved ones have inquired about the continuation of my blogging...

if you want an argentina/france blog, tell me so and I will make it happen

16 Agosto 2012- the despedida (going-away party)

2012-08-20T21:36:00.004-07:00

The last night of the Parenting Workshop was the same night as my going away party.

My closest women friends planned the day to come cry with me in waves. They each came to the house, one at a time, to give me a small gift, a hug, and a cry. Then, talk about the past two years and how we will keep in touch.
It was a beautiful and rough day. Finishing up my packing, seeing my room without "me" in it. Looking at the large (but so small at the same time) suitcase I would be carrying with me. And, crying with these women I love so dearly.

I spent a large portion of the day staring up the mountain willing elvis to arrive in time from the alpaca ranch to say goodbye.

I swung by the library to check on how Encuentros de Padres was going a few times, and the president of VALE was running things wonderfully. She asked me to come back and give the prizes to the parents with punctual attendance at the end of the workshop.

Once the homemade pumpkin pie and pizza for the going away party were coming out of the oven Gustavo, Mikel and I popped into the library.
Ssusan, the new VALE president, had organized the parents;
"And now," she says "before we give the parents their awards, some of you would like to say a few words to Srta Luz about how she has affected your children's lives."
I could have died (is it overly dramatic to say that? ... not so much)

Many parents spoke. More than I could bare. I twitched and smiled and laughed and cried. I attacked each parent's little ones with kisses and bear-hugs.

A couple of the teachers shuffled their little ones to me with cards and drawings they had done at school that day.
The fifth grade class presented a song they wrote.
A few of the 6th graders presented a puppet show they also wrote.
Every single parent formally presented themself to me, shook my hand/hugged me in a kind of make-lu-feel-as-uncomfrotable as possible parade.
Their thoughtfulness and attentiveness was astonishing.

The older boys grabbed some benches from the library and we paraded back to my house to eat. Some of the elders as well as some of my teenagers showed up at the house. Many women were bearing gifts comparable to those that are given at weddings; baskets of maiz, freshly pressed cheese, a hand woven headpiece, embroidery.
Such an honor.

I was stressing a little about cooking and serving food and drinks, and suddenly I had more hands and help than I could have asked for. With Mikel doing the cooking and Elizabeth serving the drinks I was able to serve the food and talk to everyone. But here was something missing.
Washington and Roxana begin a series of games with the little ones.
I was incredibly impressed wth Washington in particular because I know no other adolescent male who would give two shits about playing with kids, let alone sing along with them. He wasn't the least bit self conscious to be a kid and compassionate male leading childrens activities.
The kids who lost each round had to come give me a kiss, hug, or 'palabras'.
The parents and teachers were having as much fun as the kids were watching them fight over the seats in musical chairs...

my darling robert too shy to give me a kiss

a bear hug will do... rildo knows he is next

sweet norma

brandi is having way too much fun

Games were followed by my 'palabras'.
I formally gave words and gifts to some of the people closest to me, personally, in my service.
Mercedes, Don Juan y Juana, Elvis... and lastly: Roxna.
This was my 'toast' to Roxana:

Roxana, we have metamorphized together more than I could have ever imagined in these two years. I feel honored to have been a part of your life and development, and I cannot thank you enough for being such a profound part of mine. My shy, quiet, observing Roxana has become a brave, dependable, active, leader. When you speak, we all listen. You are the most responsible and clever young woman I have ever met. I love you and always will.

We both collapsed into each others arms in tears for more time than allowed the rest of the guests to feel comfortable.

Even when everyone else was gone, Roxanaa nd I were still hand in hand until I boarded the 3am bus for Arequipa.

14 Agosto 2012

2012-08-19T22:45:00.002-07:00

Usually when I don't write in my blog it means that things are inexplicably boring or depressing and I cant bring that upon my loving family.
However, this past week has been inexplicable in a completely new way.
I am proud and happy and sad beyond words.

The VALE commitee of women hit the ground running.
This group of young female leaders is not going to let their kids go uneducated, and has taken an active roll in ensuring the after school program and library's success.
First, the protest with the kids in the street outside the Municipality.
Second, they formalized their organization with a "libro de actas", named their president, secretary, and treasurer, and defined their goals and vision as a group.
Third, they got the library painted by the Municipality, and got the Muni to agree to pay the salary of a teacher to their new president.
Fourth, they organized and taught "encuentros de padres" a two week workshop for parents.

I am so beyond proud of these women and filled with hope for this little community I can't possibly attempt to elucidate in any way.

Hirma and I attended a Peace Corps training together about a year ago, and planned the themes for Encuentros de Padres- the Parenting workshop:
How to help your children raise their self-esteem
How to help your kids with their homework
Healthy intra-familial communication
Family Planning
Nutrition
Hygiene

Daily eco-friendly practices

and Household money management

but, as my number of days in site evaporated, we realized it was more than we could do on our own and invited the committee of women to participate. The women devoured the idea, and completely took over.

Each woman picked a theme she wanted to give and prepared a powerpoint paired with an interactive activity. My responsibility was to help them develop their presentation to keep it sweet, to the point, and interactive. I only gave one talk: nutrition. The women were absolutely fabulous. They did such an amazing job I was even hands off, completely, for a couple of the days.

They opened the library on their own. They picked up the borrowed projector and lap top and hooked it up properly. They executed the talks without me by their side.

It is amazing what women are capable of when someone tells them they can do it.

The best moment for me to observe:
Roxana is in the committee of women.
She chose the theme family planning, I think because she found the sexuality lecture at camp ALMA particularly fascinating.
She brought her powerpoint to me the night before presenting and it was beautiful. I helped her make things a little more clear, and she was ready to present.
Her day arrived, she plugged in her little USAID donated USB and before my and 40 other eyes, froze when her first slide popped up.
"Oh God, she is frozen. Oh God, what do I do?
Do I help her?
Do I give the presentation for her?
Should I give her more time to get herself together?
Is she going to come around and speak words?!"
I was freaking out in my head. For what felt like a lifetime to me I watched her fixed, deer-in-a-headlight eyes.
Just as I was about to step in and give her a few prep-lines... ...she stared. The perfect words began to roll off of her tongue and they didn't stop until her 45 minute talk was up.
She was perfect. A woman. A leader. A 15-year-old professional speaking among uneducated, illiterate, loving parents on how to plan for a healthy family.
Picturesque.
The girl I met two years ago would have needed me by her side, and I was there and ready to catch her if she fell. But, she didn't need me, instead, I needed to let the wall catch me from falling into tears and demonstrate to her my faith in her capability.

parents with punctual attendance received books to take home and read to their kids.
These books were donated by "leche Gloria" the National Peruvian milk manufacturing company that sends a truck to purchase milk from the locals

Interesting how it took me leaving, and the community knowing no one will be there to catch it if they drop the library ball, for the women to begin to practice playing catch and jump in the game.

6 Agosto 2012

2012-08-06T19:17:00.001-07:00

the buck has been passed

local host country nationals have taken over responsibility for my programs
peace corps volunteers have taken over my leadership positions
accounts have been closed
what-nots have been mailed

the only things left to do are 3 more lectures, pack, and say goodbye

my physical heart and lungs actually stopped for a few seconds today
it hurt

I talk so much shit, but Peru will forever have a very special place in my heart.
I fly to Argentina in 14 days.

the elvis update

2012-08-03T09:35:00.004-07:00

many of you are familiar with the elvis situation.
please pardon the repetition necessary for the following "catch-up"

elvis is the son of my family's alpaqueros.
Ichu (alpaca food) only grows in the altiplano, so in order to raise alpacas, one must live at about 4,000meters+ altitude. That means no roads, stores, plumbing, or electricity. It also means harsh living conditions like the burning strength of the sun paired with freezing cold nights and no firewood.

So, typically, one family lives at that altitude and raises the animals of multiple Madrigaleñan families (we are at around 3,200meters altitude). They hike down to my community about once a month with meat and receive their payment for the months work. Typically, these families are the poorest in the Colca Canyon.
Elvis is the son of the very traditional and quechua-speaking Pablo and Claudia Puma, who were hired to raise my family's alpacas. He used to hike down to the rural village of Tapay to get an education, but because that village is so inaccessible the teachers rarely show up to teach and he was behind about 6 years in his education. He is 15 years old, and when his father decided Elvis should study in Madrigal he was operating at a 3rd grade level. He was malnourished, and did not speak Spanish well at all, let alone read it or do basic mathematics. My host family lovingly offered to house him, but quickly realized the challenge they had gotten themselves into by signing up to be the primary care-givers for a 15 years old ball of hormones functioning like an 8-year-old. They told Elvis he had to leave the house for a series 'innocent' of lies and thefts, but I convinced them to let him stay in the house and I would be his primary caregiver. I would ensure that he fulfilled his responsibilities, feed him, purchase his school supplies and clothes, and work with him on his homework. They agreed to let him keep his room, but he had to do one chore a day to get breakfast from them, he would get lunch at school, and I needed to attend to him in the evenings.
This worked well for a year. He advanced to 4th grade, began speaking and reading spanish closer to an acceptable level, improved in basic mathematics, and above all becuse to show a light inside him, a curiosity for the world.
At the same time working with him and his family was a constant battle. I was constantly fighting with and for him. He continued to disappear to the streets when he wanted to, and lie about his responsibilities. I continually had to go on work or personal trips to the city and leave him abandoned for a couple days at a time. We exhausted each other. But our need for one another grew exponentially over the years. He has become a nephew, I his aunt.

My family reconfirmed with me a couple months ago that after I go he has to leave. His drunken parents are not welcome in their household and they don't want to have anything to do with his immature self.
Because I work with the NGO Quechua Benefit so much they agreed to hold a place for him in their 'boarding school/orphanage' even though he is outside of their age window. I met with their director and she agreed to create a position for him as "special helper" to the albergue. He would be older than the rest of the kids there and this would come with certain responsibilities. It is a great situation for him, and when Elvis' father came down from the ranch one month ago I arranged a meeting with him and the Director of the albergue. Pablo approved of Elvis moving to the boarding school/orphanage and the paper work was put in motion.
The following week Pablo went back up to the ranch and Claudia came down for the festivals. She informed me that Elvis was absolutly not going to the boarding school/orphanage. When I asked her where he was going to live she shrugged and looked away. When I asked her why she wouldn't want to take advantage of such a wonderful opportunity for him she said, "Who will help me on the ranch when I need it." I told her Elvis can come back to the ranch when she needs him and she shook her head and looked away again. "It's too far away", she says. It is indeed 1 1/2 hours farther away. Instead of hiking down 10 hours to her son, he would have to hike up 11 1/2. In reality small in comparrison to the benefits he would be receiving.

So, I dropped what I was doing, and went up to the ranch with her and Elvis to get mother, father, and son in a room together. Mikel gave me security by agreeing to go with. The hike...

The first day was 10 hours up, and I struggled. It was like climbing stairs two steps at a time for 10 hours with little oxygen. We breaked 3 times to eat some toasted corn or bananas.

We arrived just before sunset, our hut a 6 foot square, of which we were incredibly thankful because the stone walls blocked out the freezing night winds of the altiplano. Even in our below freezing sleeping bags we woke about every hour to stoke the fire with bush roots and moss.

In the morning I met with Elvis and his parents and proceeded to watch the two adults bicker and conclude their conversation with ‘He wants Elvis to go, she wants Elvis to stay.” As if that was an acceptable conclusion.

With nothing accomplished, I wanted to hike down to Tapay to know it. Mikel and I left around 9am and were in the warm microclimate of Tapay by dinnertime. The tiny village tucked into a tight gorge of the canyon was in festival, and the band’s music echoed up to us the entire journey down. But, the tourist hostal was comfortable and we were showered and asleep before nightfall.

In the morning the Madrigal band woke us up with spicy beef stew, and many smiling faces. Both the band members and myself were surprised and proud to see one another in the rural Tapay.

The tourists were long gone, hiking up and out of the canyon by the time Mikel and I set off, but some sort of strange exhaustion and longing for food and a strong drink boosted us up the canyon at a locals’ pace arriving in Cabanaconde in half the time we anticipated.

While I might not have gotten ahold of any solutions for my darling Elvis, what I did do was come to know him better and gain some more of his mother's trust by staying in his home and visiting the village where he was born.
Perhaps she will come around...

The vale update

2012-08-02T13:18:00.001-07:00

Exactly one month ago the VALE committee of 3 madrigal teachers expanded to 8 women.

A group that used to be only 3 educated and involved professionals expanded to include 3 local mothers and 2 local teenagers (including mi Roxana).

The alumni committee invited influential women from all over the community (no boys allowed) to decide what they want the future of their library to look like and hold elections to place responsibility in the hands of capable locals after I go. The woman who was elected president has only lived in Madrigal one year now. She has a degree in education and moved to Madrigal recently married to a Madrigaleño. Ssusan is bright, motivated, and has already gotten the ball rolling in getting the Municipality to potentially fulfill the promises already made.

In this meeting we not only delegated responsibilities to the new members, but all the formal paperwork for the grant was passed over from me to them, and they filled out the paperwork necessary to be a formal organization recognized under Peruvian law.

Because our petition with more than 200 local signatures was ignored by the municipality, Ssusan presented the idea to have the kids march in the “fiestas patrias” parade with signs to explain to the community that the kids still want their library, and if the adults don’t stand up, the library and after school program will be shut down.

By the end of the week the women had formal certificates and badges recognizing their membership in the committee and they were walking proud.

The following week, the children and committee members marched in the street. The night before the youth had prepared 10 posters calling for the community to act. My personal favorite was Meche’s idea; Because the mayor spent $5,000 on the bull fight for the festival (a REDICULOUS proportion of the community’s yearly budget spent in ONE day), we made one classy poster that stated “We want 5,000 books for our library”. The children and women were very proud to walk and we got questions afterward from locals about what is going to happen to the library. Success!!

The following week Ssusan and Meche meet to re-write the official application requesting the Mayor pay for a librarian. Ssusan presented the following day and reported to us that the mayor is willing to pay S/. 450 a month (half of what we requested), and has applied to the Department to get money to build a library that will be stocked with computers and shelving. This doesn’t mean to me that any of this will actually happen with in my lifetime, but it is only a good thing.

In the meantime, there is money left over from the original grant that the women plan to allocate towards a circuit of individuals that will attend to the library on a rotating basis as well as re-stock some art supplies that have dried up such as paint and markers.

I can’t say that I couldn’t ask for more, because I definitely wanted to see more from the community, and it is still extremely possible that the library will sit locked up for a few months before loose strings get tied up, and the possibility of the committee falling apart after I go is also a reality(mentally, I need to prepare myself for this potential reality). However, these incredible women are showing valiant initiative on a purely volunteer basis, and my hope for future of these children I have come to love remains a-light.

24 Junio 2012

2012-06-26T17:38:00.002-07:00

The last four days were ALMA.
There isn’t a better way to describe it: ‘alma’-spirit.
Actividades de Lideres Mujeres Adolescentes

It was a 3-day leadership camp for select female adolescent leaders from all over the Department of Arequipa. There were 30 young women participants and 15 volunteers (Peruvian and American) running the camp.
After 6 months of planning, and thousands of dollars of donations from friends, family, strangers and NGOs (Quechua Benefit, Village de Andes, and more) it can’t be described as anything but a success.

The moto of the camp was “Know Your Potential”. We focused on two specific themes: vocational orientation, and health (this included a huge focus on creativity for both themes). Every talk was oriented around learning through play and interactive activities.

The girls arrived Thursday afternoon to be divided into teams with whom they would compete all weekend. They received points for participation, punctuality, answering questions correctly, as well as winning the sports challenges. After icebreakers and name games they had a two-hour obstacle course meant to just be pure fun and getting to know one another. It successfully exhausted them, and they were released to their rooms for monopoly, playing cards, and the movie Tin Tin projected in their dorms.

The first full day the girls were up bright and early after many of their first experience with a hot shower. This day’s theme was Vocational Orientation.
They had a field trip to visit the best university in Arequipa (and one of the best in Peru-UNSA), then received a series of workshops.
The first was given by Mario on professionalism where the girls took an aptitude test and discussed professions that interested them.
Then they got a talk from Chris and Mario about the steps one needs to take in Peru in order to enter University.
This was followed by money management and saving by Tim and Chris. It was the most fun finance talk I have ever seen in my life.
Then I had organized a panel of professional women to come and talk to the young ladies about where they came from, and how they became successful women.
After lunch America taught the girls how to build a resume,
Mila gave a talk on professionalism and communicating with you body (eye contact, hand shaking, etc) linked to a game of charades followed by mock interviews that Amber organized.
At the end of the day they received a workshop from Richard on Spanish-speaking artists, and how the lives of these famous artists influenced their work. The girls then spent a couple hours expressing their emotions through differing artistic mediums.
The day concluded with an egg-drop contest organized by Tim and Amber that lead to many-a-joyously-screaming adolescent.

Each night consisted of breaking off into teams and processing and reflecting on the day. The girls were in their rooms by 9:30pm but the volunteers stayed up until about 11pm or later to prep for the following day’s activities, dreading the 5:30am wake up call we were responsible for making the following morning.

Saturday was focused on Health (physical and mental).
It began with a sexual education talk given by a Peace Corps doctor that we flew down from Lima- Thank you Suni! Not only did the girls learn about the changes happening in their body from someone educated, but they learned about STDs and safe sexual practices.
This was followed by an activity given by Mario and Rocio about healthy relationships discussing family interactions, romantic relationships and male and female stereotypes.
After lunch they had a nutrition workshop given by Tim and myself then I gave the girls a yoga class that discussed the importance of physical and mental fitness as well as learning a new way to meditate.
They then moved on to mask making. With Kim, they talked about how some people are different on the outside than the inside and spent hours making masks to put on their ‘outside’ that expressed their inside, using the ideas of expression from the art talk the day before.
Amber wrapped up the day by talking about setting and meeting goals,
then after dinner Kim and I made a Jeopardy game that reviewed the weekend’s information. The “daily double” questions consisted of each team’s counselors competing against one another in physical challenges. More screaming adolescents. Somewhere in there the girls and all the volunteer counselors played flip cup. No worries, water, not beer.

Sunday morning Amber organized a closing ceremony involving a processing what to walk away from ALMA with (America), as well as a photo show of the camp (Lu and Tim), prizes for winning and non-winning teams(America and Tim), certificates (Mario and Amber), and cake (America and Rocio). Special thanks to Kim and Divya for feeding us all weekend!
Obviously, this was a HUGE team effort.

ALMA is one of the projects I am most proud of for helping organize in my Peace Corps service. Thank you to all of my friends and family who donated money to make this camp happen.

22 Junio 2012

2012-06-22T20:16:00.004-07:00

Why do I feel like Lu does not work well with others?

Exhausted and impatient.

By the time I leave Peace Corps there are going to be huge teeth marks in my tongue.

I miss working with and for professionals

19 June 2012 take two

2012-06-22T06:13:00.001-07:00

A question that I have been revisiting regularly for the past couple years is this:

What is it that flipped the switch in the parents of western cultures’ society? What is it that made an entire community of parents decide to sacrifice for their children? What was it that gave them the push to get their children out of workers’ clothes and into the classroom?

I keep coming back to WWII.

Something big. Upsetting. Makes it worth fighting when you lose your freedoms or security.

Now, being aware of this, I have begun to see a pattern.

When I read the book, The Help, the moment where the working class women decided to speak up in numbers was when a neighbor was murdered and a fellow maid was arrested.

When my ten-year-old student was raped, then the women started to think about their childrens’ safety and stimulation and begin to stand up for the after-school program.

Why do we have to wait for the terrible to happen for us to feel passionate? Why can’t we see what is right and good without having to experience horrendousness to be able to recognize it’s opposite?

Is change that scary? One would rather live in the wrong until something more frightening shows its face?

19 Junio 2012

2012-06-22T05:21:00.001-07:00

The reality that I am leaving is sinking in for me as much as my host family and Peruvian friends.

It was the blanket.

Doña Juana and I were planning the weaving days, when we are going to do what, and we realized the slight race against the clock. It shocked us both.

Now, everyone is focusing on making every moment count.

I am spending less time on yoga and books and more time just sitting together. Tonight my host family was hanging out in my room eating their new favorite: sloppy joes, which I translated to ‘juanes cochinos’, big hit. I had no desire to get back to my book, and they just kind of hovered. I think I can count on one hand the number of times Don Juan has been in my room, tonight was one of the best.

My mother sent me a care package that was a s’more making kit (thank you, mom!). It was the first time I had eaten a graham cracker in 2years, and put together as a s’more… longer. I explained that ‘s’more’ means “quiero mas” and that is exactly how it hit. Making s’mores has this romanticism to it as is, but in this situation, where we are trying to pour the last of everything we know into each other, the excitement had its own satiation.

Right now the dog just came in the room to cuddle up in bed and I found myself saying, “No, ma’am, you finish chewing that dried goat leg on the floor. When you are done, you can come to bed.” To which I received a little wining temper tantrum.

When is that sentence ever going to come out of my mouth ever again in my life?

I attempted to make sharper cheese before I left for Lima. It involved what felt like an era of pressing, simmering, cooling, salting, and wrapping… after drying it turned out to be a better texture than the cheese we usually make, but actually more bland. I know, you cheese expert you, you are just thinking,
‘how can you attempt to make good quality cheese without a thermometer or refrigerator?! Silly girl!'
I know, oh wise one. It was worth a shot… and perhaps two or three more.

16 June 2012

2012-06-17T09:36:00.002-07:00

this weekend were Close of Service med checks in Lima.
now that a bit of every liquid in my body has been extracted and processed I feel only mildly abused.

I did meet some incredible people.
Thank you Sarah (property of Libby) and Charlie (property of Jules) for being so flexible and pleasant even through the goopy peruvian food and carrying poop samples around in bags...

Charlie is the tallest man I have ever met, strong, kind, thoughtful, handsome, and one week out of the Marines. He finished his service in Afghanistan only to head to South America to visit his sister, and my good friend, Juliane before she finishes her Peace Corps service in Northern Peru.
What a family, I know.

Can you imagine a Military or a Peace Corps that works together? Instead of armed forces being brute strength and pressure, and instead of Peace Corps being this fluffy 'live the hard life get little development work done'... what if we put our differences aside and worked together?
Charlie expressed severe frustration with the situation in Afghanistan. Their corrupt government forces civilians to fight, we kill them when they attack us, the civilians hate us. We leave, their corrupt government continues to abuse their citizenry (especially women), and the whole world is angry at us for not stepping in to protect. He feels a strong pull to be there to help, but we are stuck in this conundrum of death. They try to build roads and bridges to send a message that Americans aren't bad people and there to kill, but our interests in controlling oil cannot be neglected.
We talked a lot about how the lack of literacy and general access to education for the population of the communities around where he was based affects their understanding of the war and why we are there.
We talked about how the military officials aren't trained in the local dialect, so there is a huge disconnect and inability to explain.
What if, when the military is sent out on a mission, it is paired with Peace Corps volunteers sent to educate and provide health access to civilians? What if Peace Corps became something more intense, something dangerous and right in the heart of present politics and policies? Would that not carry so much more potential for real progress, change, and success stories?

I can say, I would join.

10 June 2012

2012-06-14T09:18:00.001-07:00

I love Sundays.

Everyone was on the patio together, including Elvis’ father and brother who had come down from the alpaca ranch.

We did the week’s wash.

Jerkied and marinated meat Pablo brought down.

Milked and fed the cows.

Cut hair.

Bathed.

Played.

Now, I am looking at a cheese recipe to see if we can’t make our cheese a bit more sharp with the limited supplies we have.

I love this.

Also, Pablo is very interested in sending Elvis and Roni to Casa Chapi to get an education as well. I feel SO good about that. While he is a loving father, he and his wife are not a good influences with their drunkenness and domestic violence. I will feel MUCH more free to leave knowing these guys have a safe and stimulating home…

9 Junio 2012

2012-06-14T09:14:00.001-07:00

There were quite a few wins this weekend.

The kids loved the astronomy trip and are begging to go back again next year.

Mrs. Quico’s husband thinks sending their kids to the Casa Chapi Orphanage to get an education is a good idea. They are going to view the space next week.

The women are thinking! They are coming up to me with ideas; On how to make the community more safe, how to create an environment that is more stimulating for their children, how to keep the library open and accessible, how to get the afterschool program running again. Just the fact that they are actually thinking, being creative, and coming to me with ideas has left me full of hope.

We are absorbing a couple of these women into the VALE committee and having a brainstorming session in one month.

My chest feels light.

7 June 2012 take two

2012-06-14T09:13:00.001-07:00

Ironic. The morning that I am gently reprimanded by my host father for being un-lady like by yelling at a macho, lying, irresponsible councilman is the same day I am asked to speak to community parents about the child rape situation.

Who says I want to be lady-like? Who says these women and girls should be?

Why do I feel like I am fighting the suffragist movement on my own?

Miryum is a teacher in the elementary school. She is beautiful and patient and one of the kindest people I have ever met. Because of the rape incident this week, she asked me to come and speak at the monthly parents’ meeting at the primary school.

“Can you tell the parents to be more aware of where their kids are, an not let them play in the streets? Maybe they will listen to you.”

No, I can’t.

First of all, it is never the victim’s fault in rape cases, and the last thing I am going to do is hint at the fault belonging to the parents of the 10 year old walking home from school. Second, he was a neighbor, a friend, someone the family knew. He invited the kids into his house for a snack. Culturally, it would have been rude for the kids to say no to their neighbor offering them food. Especially when they are hungry, and people offer each other food here all the time.

I don’t have the answer. I don’t know what could have prevented something like this (except an after-school program….) other than education.

I agreed to speak, and decided to focus on awareness.

I informed the parents that something violent happened in the streets of madrigal to one of our young students and everyone involved in the situation was affected, including the teachers in the school, and that is why they asked me to come speak today. I asked them to think about what everyone can do to make Madrigal a more safe, stimulating environment for their kids. I asked them to think about what they can do, what the teachers can do, what the local nurse can do, and what the municipality can do.. Then, in July when we have Encuentros de Padres, we will not only discuss their ideas, but help put them into action.

Then, I quizzed them: So, when is Encuantros de padres? Hands go up “July”

What do I need you to do until then? Silence… then guesses

“watch our kids closer?”

dammit, “no”

“Be more conscientious and careful with our kids?”

“yeah, kind of”

“I need you all to be aware of what is happening with your children for the next month, and think about what we all can do to make their lives better.”

Here is to hoping.

7 Junio 2012

2012-06-08T14:56:00.001-07:00

I had to send the Casa Chapi reps on house visits on their own today so I could travel to Chivay and find a new car for the field trip and I wanted to secure that Stefanie made it to the health post with her mother.

She did.

While the car was an hour late and broke down more times than I can count on my hand, it was a fantastic trip for the kids. We had about 40 total from the Primary and Secondary school. When the lights went off for the first time in the planetarium there was a unison “oooooooo”.

prepping in the library

the elementary school group

a moment when the bus was moving

entering the planeterium

pretty sure that telescope is looking deep into robert's soul

learning about how greek constellations and andean constellations differ

the big guns

5 June 2012 a Peace Corps Day

2012-06-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

I know this is a play-by-play entry, but that's the way its gonna roll my fine sirs and ladies...

Today, there was this Venus thing happening, so I organized a trip to the planetarium in Chivay with the help of the astrological photographer David Something who runs the telescope there.

45 permission slips signed by parents and school directors.

3 Teachers/chaperones signed up and actually excited to participate.

I get a phone call from the driver of the combi I rented, "I am in Chivay at the mechanics. I will be an hour late, but I will be there."

Fortunately, I had scheduled 2 hours worth of wiggle room into the program, so we were good.

I spent the morning escorting Casa Chapi representatives to prospective families. Casa Chapi is a place for alpaca farmer's children to live so they can receive the education, food, and protection the high altitude ranch houses to not provide (kind of like how Elvis lives with me, kids typically live with an aunt or madrina. If the child does not have an aunt willing to care for them on a daily, they stay at the ranch). All of the children I was taking the representatives to are undernourished, dramatically behind in their education, and unhealthy.

The mother that I felt was most important to see today is the mother of 8. Four of her children live with an Aunt in Madrigal and attend my after school program. I do not believe that their aunt cares for them like a mother would. Mrs. Quico only came down from the ranch today to fulfill her spot in the rotation fixing lunch for the Primary School. We met in the kitchen while she was working; stoking the log and manure fire, chopping starch after starch, stirring the immense pot, all the while with a baby coughing on her back.

While my friends answered her questions, I stepped back. I had de-briefed the mother on the program, de-briefed Casa Chapi on the mother's situation, brought them together and set up the quechua-spanish translator. Now, I wait while my friends try to convince her to trust them with the lives of her kids.

Being useless at the moment, when the baby started to cry I went to the mother's back. As my fingers delicately braised the chubby little arm she calmed. Hear head heavy with the exhaustion of sickness and not enough food, all I could think was, "give her to me". I am in no way ready for a child, and this mother is nothing but loving, and yet...

The mother explained to the Casa Chapi reps that she had no authority to make this decision, and needed to go back to the ranch and talk to her husband about it. This leaves my friends and I with little hope. As Mrs. Quico has no cell phone it will be very hard for Casa Chapi to find her again, especially once I am gone and they have no connection to the local word on the street about when she is passing through town. We leave a little defeated to go to the next two families who are also skeptical and equally impoverished.

I feel defeated.

Quechua Benefit had donated children's clothes and blankets to Madrigal through the program "Warming Wawas" a program where they pay locals to knit clothes then get the clothes to recently born babies, most in need. I rushed to the stash, pulled a few items for Mrs. Quico, filled out the paperwork for the donation, ran to the health post, got an extremely loving nurse who speaks Quechua to come with me with baby tylenol and anti-biotics, and we headed back to the school. Mrs. Quico was just cleaning up when we arrived. She glowed at the sight of the blankets I brought, and fingered the little knit hats with pleasure. "One for each " she said in Quechua with a smile. I had brought matching hats of different sizes for each of her littlest children. Veronica, the daughter whom I was hoping to place in Casa Chapi wraps her arms around my legs, "Srta. Luuuuz!" then goes to her mother's back to play with the baby while mom is distracted with the nurse. They look so much alike. The baby, the child, the mother. It is all in the eyes.

Back at my hut I boiled up some quinoa and tomatoes for Elvis and I to take in a tupper on the field trip. He is too academically young to go as part of my student program, but as my "sobrino" he is part of the venture. Everyone knows my family is his guardian and wouldn't question me bringing him. I also had Milady on my hip because there was no one else to watch her that night and the mother and sister requested I take her.

The kids collected punctually; I occupied them with trivia on the planets and solar system while we waited for the delayed car.

Then, Officer Noa comes around the corner, faster than I have ever seen him walk. He plants the cultural kiss on my cheek, skips the formal introductions and says,

“They said you are going to Chivay.”

“Yes, why, you need a ride?” I smile.

“Yes, well… there has been a small emergency… we need to take some people to Chivay.”

Noa and the other officers have helped me in the past. They helped me with the Elvis situation, taking it up with the neighbors for me when I couldn’t sleep due to their drunkenness, even humanly killing and burying the sickly cat that Elvis brought home for me to save one day. I owe and trust these officers, especially Noa.

Assuming they have arrested someone I want to be clear, “The car is for my students, but there is room. We leave in 5 minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is the roof, we have to get at least this one Señor to Chivay.” Says Noa.

“Whatever I can do to help.” I say, but I am nervous.

The car arrives. The kids pick their travel buddies. We load the bus. Meche, my fellow chaperone, counts. All heads are seated. She keeps the kids occupied while I run to tell the officers it is time. They tell me they need three more minutes. That’s fine.

I tend to not butt into other people’s business in town. Unfortunately, often, to them, it makes it look like I don’t care, but where I come from, being nosy is not to be respected. Also, I often don’t want to know. I avidly, don’t want to know their drama. It generally is petty or extremely upsetting. But today, it wasn’t in my cards to play the ignorant gringa.

5 minutes go by. Then10.

Meche comes to the station to find out what is going on. I am chatting with one of my students and her mother about nothing. I am assuming that the man that won’t get on the bus is the man that caused some sort of domestic disturbance I my student’s house. The mother’s face is red. I assumed it was a scuttle between her and her husband. The police officer is telling my student that she is a good girl, that she did everything right, that she is ok now. I figured my dear Stefanie got help when their parents were fighting. I am playing with her and her little brother, trying to distract them from the reality I created in my head.

Meche isn’t afraid to be nosey. She walks in the door and the first thing out of her mouth to our student’s mother is, “What happened?”

I can’t understand a word that comes out of the mother’s mouth as she bursts into tears. Meche doesn’t either. She scuttles in closer to the mother. I actively distract the kids trying to pull their attention away from mom being upset. At this moment the officers come out dragging a man whose head and feet are hanging between them.

‘Really, Noa?’ I think ‘You want to put this man on my bus with my kids?’

Meche runs back to the car, moves the students far from a space she designates for the officers and their guy. The kids and mother trail me, and I get a vomit bag from the corner store for this stranger. Everyone is seated. Meche’s face is white.

The car won’t start.

Meche pulls me off the combi for a second.

I heard some words around the word “violación”

I don’t get it. Meche is speaking jumbled in incomplete sentences.

“wait, what? Slow down.”

“That man raped Stefanie.”

It doesn’t register. I don’t understand the simple words spoken to me.

He vomits. Not in the bag.

He pees himself. He crawls onto the floor. The officers pick him back up.

The car won’t start.

It still hasn’t registered to me what happened. All I know is I despise this man.

Meche and I realize this car isn’t going anywhere, so the officers go to the health post with the guy as I run to search for the one man who owns a combi in Madrigal. 45 minutes later I find his car, parked, empty and the owner nowhere in site. I call Meche and tell her to send the kids home. We will try again tomorrow.

Defeated.

I make an announcement to the community that the trip was cancelled and head straight to the health post. The nurse is alone with the drunk. “Have Stefanie and her mother left?”

“They just went back to the house”

“How is he?”

“Very bad, alcohol poisoning. We need to get him to the hospital in Chivay.”

Apparently the guy continues to stop breathing. She has him on oxygen and an IV. There is no transport from my town at this hour.

Stefanie has gone home. There is no one attending to her needs at this moment.

The Sun has set by the time I have found out where Stephanie lives.

One neighbor, unaware of why I am looking for Stefanie says, “It is too bad you guys had to cancel the kids’ astronomy trip. But, I say everything happens for a reason. What if something worse had happened on the way?”

I nod, start to feel better for a second, not going is better than an accident. Then I remember that I am looking for the house of my 10-year-old student who was raped today. Everything happens for a reason?

From pacing around town, it finally registers. What happened.

I don’t know how to feel.

“El ha violado Stefanie.

El ha violado Stefanie.

El ha violado mi Stefanie. Quien viene a la biblioteca todos los dias. Quien no ha venido hoy porque lo cerre por el viaje…

‘That guy raped Stefanie.

That guy RAPED Stefanie.

That guy raped MY Stefanie. Who comes to the library every day. Who didn’t come today because I closed the library for the field trip…’

I knock on her family’s door.

I explain that I am no substitute for a psychologist, but I am here, now, to talk. I explain the importance of not pretending this didn’t happen. I talk to the mother, the father, even the son for a while but the mother is nervous about bringing things up with Stefanie.

“She is calm, playing now.” She says.

I explain how Stefanie doesn’t understand what happened, and peer pressure the mother into taking Stefanie to Chivay tomorrow for counseling. The mother starts to cry.

“Can I send her to your house later?”

“Of course, any time, but I would love to talk to you too. I can help you with this.”

“We will come by later.”

They didn’t.

Third defeat in one day.

On my way back to the house I try to swing by the Elementary school to plan with Meche and Hirma how to make the trip happen for tomorrow. Meche and I run into each other on the street outside the health post just as they are loading the guy, wrapped in blankets into the bed of a milk truck.

Meche is cursing, “Let the son-of-a-bitch die. I hope he dies. She is 10 years old….”

I slap her on the arm.

“Meche! He is one of your students in 50 years if things don’t change.”

She looks at me accusatorily. “I am affected by these things. My friend had to calm me down on the phone when I heard.”

I look at her. Dry.

Funny, when I talked to Hirma later that night she reacted like myself. Dry. Unable, or unwilling to absorb the information provided. It seems that the people who have seen the worst, react in this way. Having seen it so many times, one can’t be affected or they would go crazy. One can only work every day to stop these things from happening, but that doesn’t prevent the headlines from coming our way in a very realistic manner… all the time.

How do I help them? Have I been sent out on an impossible mission?

31 Mayo 2012

2012-06-01T10:18:00.001-07:00

My host father was drunk in the fields today, so milking, making cheese and wuacta-ing were particularly annoying and I had to stay later than expected.

I run back to the house, fix lunch for everyone, and by the time I am finishing cleaning up there are little ones at my door, “Srta. Luz, hay VALE?”

“Of course I will open the library, let me go get the key and we will go right now!”

“Yaaaaaay!”

Then Belen says something like, “But you don’t need a key, you just hit it really hard,” she motions with the shoulder, “and ploock!”

I find this kind of strange. I mean, the wall the municipality constructed to protect the books made me nervous at first, but we have never had a break in. Today, I was no more worried than any other.

Here I am, talking to a short mob of about 12 kids about lowering their voices and washing their hands while I unlock the door, I push it open, and half the wall collapses. Into the library, thank god, and not onto my kids.

Immediately I scan the books and appliances with my eyes. Everything is there.

Fury. My heart goes wild. What do I do? This is so dangerous.

“Belen, who did this?”

Silence

“It is ok, sweetheart, I just need to know who did this. Can you tell me?”

Then 11 other voices chime in, “The hostel manager.”

They tell me about how they were playing outside last night after I left, and he told them to leave, came in the hostel, and when he left the wall was bad.

Honestly, this sounds about right, a 13-year-old brain temper tantrum because I didn’t kiss his feet last night. He acted out of anger, then when the wall actually started to collapse he got scared and bulted.

I tell the kids to wash their hands outside while I get my head together. I call Hirma and Meche. No answer.

Do I close the library for the day? Do I report the vandalism to the local police? Do I insist we move the library somewhere more secure? Will the municipality ever fix this? How do I keep the books safe until they do? Why is this such a constant fight?

I struggle to keep the kids outside while I lift the wall and prop the door up with some of the broken wood. I let them in and build an imaginary wall with a bench and tell the kids they cannot enter it. I put one of my 10-year-olds in charge and duck out to Hirma’s quick once the kids are engrossed in their art projects. No answer. Sh**.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, in the middle of the street, I could have had a breakdown. I could have collapsed under the weight of the last straw being piled on my back. Honestly, I thought I would have.

After pacing back to the library, back to Hirmas, back to the library about 5 times, it just left me. I breathed in some calm that had left me about a year ago, and went to my house and got the hammer and nails.

While the kids’ numbers tripled in the library, I hammered.

“Srta. Luz, can we help?”

“You sure can, I need all your strength to hold this in place while I hammer.”

Huge smiles, they jumped on it. They even wanted to do more once we were done. They paced the wall, looking for ways to make it stronger.

“How about we put a nail here so that part doesn’t bend.”

“Here is a hammer and a nail, my fine sir, have at it.” which was followed by a lesson in my novice knowledge of carpentry.

All I could think was, ‘…carrying the knots. You are learning to carry the knots.’

Today, in the library, outside of the usual book reading and artistic masterpieces there were two lovely marionettes built, and a diagram of the denominations of biology drawn. One little one skipped away with glee pulling the threads of her ballerina and watching the appendages twitch, and a shy adolescent learned how to look up a question, summarize, and create a diagram out of a paragraph.

I did my best to keep the kids out of the halls, but I did not have them clean the bathroom today, as planned. I placed the soap I brought to clean the bathroom next to the hammer and nails. They can start that next week, they rebuilt their wall today.

30 Mayo 2012

2012-06-01T10:17:00.001-07:00

There is a Peruvian children’s tale.

A man and his son decide to go to town to sell their donkey.

They clean the donkey up so he is attractive for sale.

To not get the donkey dirty or tired the two are walking by the donkey’s side into town and they pass a farmer, he laughs at them for walking when they have a perfectly capable donkey to ride.

So, the man tells his son to hop on.

A few kilometers later they pass an elderly woman pasturing her sheep.

She scolds the boy for riding the donkey and making his older father walk.

So, the son hops off, and invites the father to ride.

The father rides for a while with the son walking along side.

They pass a young man irrigating his field. He scolds the father for having his boy walk, the boy will be tired and unable to work the fields tomorrow for walking so far today.

So the father invites the son onto the donkey with him.

It is too much weight for the donkey…

Sometimes the story ends with the donkey falling off a bridge due to the weight and being carried away by the river.

Sometimes, the donkey falls from the weight and gets too dirty to sell once they reach town.

The library and after school program space is in the back of the municipal hostel. When we first moved in there was never anyone in the hostel. So, we weren’t bothering anyone when we played games, and the mayor allowed us to use the hostel bathrooms, that was part of the charm of the space he gave us. Now, there are more guests in the hostel (teachers and project engineers rent a room for months at a time). And, the bathroom is pretty much never attended. It always smells like urine, has a disgusting overflowing trash bin, and is caked with dirt. However, it is better than what the kids have at home, and I always have toilet paper for them to use. Sometimes, I think some of the kids only come to the library to use the bathroom on a daily, which is fine with me.

Admittedly, they like to play in the halls. We have a rule that they can’t go upstairs to the bathroom without permission, and there is no playing in the halls, ever. However, with 30-40 kids in the library every day I can’t exactly be monitoring the halls outside the library. Usually, I can hear them, and I stand at the library door and give a polite holler, “There better not be any VALE kids playing upstairs ‘cause that is not allowed.” And they slink back down timidly.

Today, the kid who “manages” the hostel came in to the library, “You have to control the kids better, I had to clean up feces from the bathroom floor yesterday.”

“Wow, I am sorry, how do you know it was a VALE kid? It is a public space?”

“Because they are the only ones who go up there.” Not true.

“Honestly, I am dong everything I can. I put a sign up, I tell the kids to stay down here, what else can I do? I can’t leave all these kids in here by themselves.”

I was honestly asking for a recommendation. What else can I do?

Can you imagine, a parent sends their kid to the library. The kid vandalizes the library bathroom, and the neighbors say it is the librarian’s fault? Weird right?

He took my asking as a me saying, ‘no’, and stormed out.

It was then I came up with the idea that the kids clean the bathroom everyday like they clean the library, but he was long gone before that popped into my head to confirm with him.

So, this guy, wants me to be more strict with the kids.

One girl was being particularly rambunctious today. When the kids aren’t doing art, or reading nicely I send them home. I have probably had to send less than 5 kids home the entire year the library has been open. The library is a privilege, I can’t help kids learn if it is a mad playhouse.

Well, little Fatima came back.

I sent her home.

She came back.

I sent her home.

She came back.

I sent her home.

It was ridiculous. Meanwhile, each time she came back she is being loud and obnoxious. I try every method I know from sweet but firm to strict with deep voice. Finally, she comes back with her mother. You have got to be kidding me.

“You see, I have to go to the parent meeting,” the mother says, “and her sister is here doing her homework, and we can’t leave her home alone or she will cry.”

My mind:

1) I am not a babysitter.

2) What would you do if the library wasn’t here? I haven’t seen you at any of the sustainability meetings.

3) How will she learn if she gets to stay here? She is safe in the house. Perhaps she needs to be home alone and cry. Or maybe you need to set it up for someone to watch her.

My words:

“What would you like me to do? I can’t have her here running around yelling and playing with dogs. People are trying to do homework.”

Her mother, “I will talk to her, but I need her to stay here.”

I can see the girl is a little startled with the situation, “Fatima, if you promise to sit quietly you can stay, but you have to be quiet or you will have to leave no matter your mom being home or not.”

She nods and repeats to me what she is going to do.

This woman, wants me to be more lenient with the kids.

PCVs literally exist to provide the community with what they want/need and cannot provide for themselves. How can one do that when the community doesn’t agree within themselves? Where does that leave the PCV?

A drowning donkey?

29 Mayo 2012

2012-06-01T10:16:00.001-07:00

Blanket weaving has been put on hold because it is barley harvest.

Last year, my host father was fulfilling the job of the father and eldest son; He was bringing in the bushels that were cut this weekend, and whacking the heads off with a large, heavy eucalyptus trunk.

Then my host mother and I were breaking the heads apart with smaller, but thick branches of eucalyptus, and brushing the shells away with the perfect tool, a thorn bush branch, before winnowing.

This year, it was just the tree of us again, so my host mom asked a neighbor to come and help in exchange for a bushel of barley. I was proud to become “la hija macha” the daughter doing the eldest son’s work. Exhausting.

My host father carried over a bushel that weighed more than he does. Threw it in front of me. I kneel on it to press it more flat to the ground. Stand. Lift the trunk, throw it down to slap off the barley heads –wuacta, is the verb in quechua-. Rotate the bushel and hit –wuacta- repeatedly until all the heads are broken off. Carry the bushel to the women to do the detail work and catch what I miss and sort. I then whack the heads apart that survived, and receive my next bushel.

*please note the relationship that the sound of a verb has with the verb itself in quechua. what we would call onoponopeia, they just call a verb. whack-wuacta*

Because my throat is still a bit sore, and my cough haggard, my host mother insisted I wear a scarf all day and brought me boiled water with herbs to drink instead of chicha. “demasiado calor” my host father said whipping his sweaty brow, I pointed to my sweaty scarf and rolled my eyes. “like I said, so cold out today!” he joked, and we all laughed. While it gets down to below freezing at night, because of the altitude, it is toasty in the middle of the day, mid 70sF.

While my energy is low because my body is still fighting, my spirits are high. I have let go of the fight, passed it into able hands, and am living limpid.

My evenings at the library are more rewarding than ever because I can observe. The kids just come. The little ones know where their favorite art supply resides. The big ones know how to look up their homework questions in the books now. I exist to smile, open the door and fix the stapler.

25 Mayo 2012

2012-05-27T15:23:00.000-07:00

We aren't running the after school program right now. I am just opening the doors to the library in the evenings and allowing kids to use the last of the art supplies and books to do their homework.

The recommendations my superiors made about the program were:
1- Do not bring in more books until the people show more effort. perhaps you can organize a book exchange, but don't house more books here until you know the people will protect them.

2- Get anyone to man/woman the library. Even if it is a non-professional, it is a starting point. things can change later if it goes well.

3- Get your hands out of the dough. Flour the committee of women's hands so they are ready, and pass the bowl. Have faith in what you have done, allow them to take the lead.

So, now that I am not teaching on a daily, just keeping order in the library and helping kids find answers to their questions, I feel like I have one real task: to say, "good job".

Everyday the kids come and make art and do their homework completely on their own. Every time they finish something, whether it be a crayon flower, or the definition of "invertebrate" they always want someone to see it and say, "good job".

It is the same with the women. Complimenting them on our work together over the past two years, "you have done such an amazing job" and encouraging their strength and power like crazy so they keep going after I am gone is my occupation right now. It is so important, and so good for them, and so good for me. It is the perfect way to wrap up my service.

26 Mayo 2012

2012-05-27T13:26:00.000-07:00

Have you ever sat with sickness?
not gone to the doctor?

For the first time in my life, I experienced an illness, beginning to end, and allowed my body to fight it off itself without modern medication (mainly because i didn't have access to it).

day one.
tired. very tired. unexplainably tired. sore throat. still working

day two
tired. fever. sweats. sore throat. not able to work.

day three.
tired. fever. inflamed, sore throat. can't swallow with out serious focus and intention. headache. forced myself to work

day four.
tired. fever breaks. swollen, sore throat. clogged sinuses. headache. able to work

day five.
less tired. no fever. red, swollen throat, horrible cough. sinus headache.

day six.
functioning normally. sore throat. still hard to swallow. nasty, phlegmy cough

day seven.
the throat is less sore. still coughing up phlegm and battling less-intense headaches.

Every morning before heading to the loom mamai juana was keeping tabs of my cough. From her kitchen she would auditorily monitor any throat sounds coming from my bedroom and counsel me on herbs and treatment. The most important being that I couldn't come out to the fields with her to weave unless I was sufficiently bundled and my throat scarved (even though it gets as hot as 75degrees midday).

I didn't even know my body could fight off such an illness with just water, herbs, vitamins, and rest. I am proud of and impressed by her for the first time in a long time. More than ever, I am convinced that rest and time are the most healing properties on the planet.

24 Mayo 2012

2012-05-25T12:39:00.001-07:00

Peace Corps Youth Development Director, Activities Coordinator, and Volunteer Leader came to Madrigal to meet with the mayor. He confirmed he would be present

he wasn't

they left

I can not make the program sustainable.
So

Me and the committee of women are training mothers and women on the importance of the qualities the program and library provide, and how to be activists.

22 Mayo 2012

2012-05-25T12:20:00.000-07:00

the loom

my future blanket

16 Mayo 2012

2012-05-20T16:22:00.001-07:00

There was a woman, a guru, who opened an ashram; A place to meditate, a place to find peace.

One day, her friends living there came to her and reported that community members had been saying negative things about the ashram she had founded. The guru said, “for each positive report I hear about this ashram I will tie a knot on the right side of my scarf. For each negative report, I will tie a knot on the left side of my scarf.”

A few weeks went by with the guru collecting knots.

Her friends came to her one day, and saw that her scarf was full of knots. She removed the scarf from her neck and showed it to them.

“you see, the scarf weighs the same on both sides.” And she hung the scarf around her neck again.

What is not optional is bitterness. I can’t fight that I feel a bitter taste in my mouth and don’t know how to turn it into something sweet anymore.

What is optional, is anger. Anger comes from loss of control, from disempowerment. Both a mentality I define.

Usually, when I feel anger, I chant/pray to channel it. I let it enter me, I feel it, I mean really feel it, and once it has had its way with me and I can recognize where it came from and why it is there, it leaves me on its own. Once the passage is over (whether it be 2 minutes or 2 hours) I am back to myself. But, lately, the anger just keeps coming and coming. I can’t chant enough to get it to work its way through me, and I have to return to the world half-way through a baptism.

Once upon a time, I used anger as fuel. Now there is so much, it is clogging the engine. Perhaps the engine needs an upgrade, a creative change that converts this energy more efficiently. Perhaps I need to find an alternate source of energy, one very different from juvenile anger.

That seems like a lot of work to do on the self. Not only am I looking for an alternative renewable energy source, but I need to find a way to metabolize the energy thrown at me in a new way.

Perhaps, this is what I came here for; To learn how to carry the knotted scarf.