After six weeks of service, with intense experiences at farflung locations in the mountains and in the jungle, it was very good to be together for two days along the coast.

We had our retreat at Kawai, a church camp about an hour and a half south of Lima.

On the first evening everyone had a chance to share something of their service, presented in a small frame of 10 to 15 minutes. Slowly we made our way around the circle, and by the end, we had a sense of being in a sacred space, privileged to be together.

The following day, a Saturday, was devoted largely to presenting the findings of the research projects that students carried out while on service.

Through interviews and other research methods, they explored  natural medicine, race, special ed, English ed, music in Ayacucho, Mennonite churches around Cusco, perceptions of dreadlocks, health care and education in Vito, the raising of coffee, governmental and nongovernmental programs to address poverty,  fish farms, and more.

One student added a second project, seeking to complete a hydroelectric generator in Lucre that had been started by a fellow student earlier in the year. On the last day of service, Alberto was able to draw current from the Lucre River. The generator was built from scrap metal and nails, a misshapen bicycle rim, plastic soda bottles and other castaway items.

On Saturday night, we enjoyed a bonfire and s’mores, listening to the pounding surf. We gathered for worship on Sunday morning, enjoyed a coffee break, and then focused on re-entry back in the States.

That evening, at Casa Goshen, before leaving for the airport, we enjoyed a final supper prepared by Alicia (papa rellena, chicken, rice and salad) and two birthday cakes (thank you, James, Abbie and Alicia).

You arrived with some expectations about what SST in Peru would be like. In what ways did the experience meet your expectations and in what ways was it different from the reality?

• How sharp is the contrast between Lima and the rest of Peru.
• I expected the first week of service to be most challenging, and it was.
• I thought SST was supposed to be hard. I ended up having to graciously receive so often and I had so much fun and made so many memories that I forget SST is supposed to be hard.

What surprised you most about Peru or Peruvians?

• Their willingness to be vulnerable with me, a guest.
• The diversity. Each part of the country is completely unique in landscape, culture, food, language, people, stories and experiences. I never got tired of learning new things and meeting new people.
• In Vito, there weren’t many comforts. It was an impoverished town, with seemingly little to take joy in. I was surprised then by how real my little host sister’s laugh was. I didn’t know there was such a thing as a quality in laughter. Much like comparing the taste of a home-grown garden tomato to a tomato in the supermarket, Leydy’s laugh  was on another level. Her laugh was full and throaty and genuine. It was contagious. It was like I was re-taught how to laugh.

What was the single biggest highlight of your time in Peru?

• My biggest highlight was being able to give stitches and work in a clinic.
• Lucre opened my eyes, heart and spirit because I was able to experience poverty and learn the true  meaning of love.
• Unanswerable
• Spending time in ancient ruins in the mountains.
• This question is good for a tourist trip but does not capture the deepness of our time here. There were very joyful times, places of deep contentment, and sore stomachs from laughing so hard. These things are not a specific highlight but instead come from actually living in the country, with the people, and with yourself.
• Final retreat — sharing as a group. It was amazing to bring so many stories, thoughts and emotions together and see the similiarities of our vast experiences.
• The final retreat on Friday night, listening to everyone’s stories. I felt a sense of connection as if a string were being strung betwen us, going around the room, tying us together.
• I think my favorite part was seeing the Incan ruins. I was a child again and I was filled with wonder, excitement and giddyness, seeing the giant rocks impossibly carved and raised into the mountainside. I relearned how to appreciate life with wide eyes, a mouth hanging open and a laugh breaking out unexpectedly. Somewhere along the way in my American life I’d forgotten that.

What was your biggest challenge on Peru SST?

• Being patient and learning to cope with things that make me uncomfortable. Our joke at the beginning of SST was “Well, this is what’s happening,” and it stayed in my mind throughout.
• My biggest challenge was feeling helpless. Seeing other families suffering and knowing there was nothing I could do about that. What I learned was that I may not be able to make a big difference, but at least I can make a start, by helping one family.
• Reconciling my position of privilege in a community that has nothing led me to face the feeling of hopelessness.
• The first two days of service, when I felt lonely and isolated.
• I became more aware of problems of poverty and domestic violence. My biggest challenge was knowing about these problems but feeling unable to do anything about them.

What will you remember most about Peru SST?

• The group. All the stories shared with these new friends.
• The people working in the chacras. The 10-year-old boy with no food to eat.
• My family in Vito — their quiet strength, loud banter, smiling eyes and inexhaustible energy, even when they have nothing.
• My service family in Ayacucho. I never expected to feel so loved and so much a part of the family. The comfort and joy I experienced with them made my service time wonderful.
• I will most remember the peace and joy I felt being with our group. The atmosphere was one of openness and acceptance.
• I really grew to appreciate people whom I never knew before SST and yet now they will have a lasting impact on my life.
• The people, my family in Oxa, the jungle crew. The reunion of all of us and being vulnerable and sharing our complete truths and emotions. Connecting with one another. The times I laughed so hard. Stories. Feeling joyed and grateful.

The town of Vito, deep in the Andes.

Philip shares a journal entry. He and Hayley served in the remote town of Vito, three hours along a twisty, bumpy dirt road from the small city of Chalhuanca, in the state of Apurímac.

The sun was shining high in Vito when the officials finally came to inspect the body. Hayley and I arrived on the scene as well, having just eaten lunch. Earlier that morning, over breakfast, we had heard about the woman who fell.

The official record keeper was a  man named George, whom Hayley and I met as we walked down to the stadium to catch up with the rest of the party. When he found out we were studying pre-medicine, he allowed us to come down and inspect the body with Ruben (an on-site nurse in Vito) and Mills (a doctor from Mollebamba). George was from Antabamba, as was the rest of the team: other officials, and a young army man with a pistol. A few neighbors came to help move the body.

A teenage boy had found her in the early hours of the morning. They deduced that she fell off the cliff around 4:30 a.m. while returning from her field. When I first saw her, she looked as though she were taking a nap. She was dressed typically as a woman of her age: heavy skirt and a few layers of sweaters, all bright colors. The way she was lying at the base of the cliff made it seem as though she were merely sunbathing in the afternoon.

Yet on closer inspection you could see her shoes were knocked off, her wrist jutted out in an odd direction, her palms were bloodied; and the serene look on her face appeared more grimace than content. Someone called out from on top of the 12-meter cliff. They had found her hat.

Scissors were called for, to cut away her clothes. When none were brought forward, a pocketknife appeared and the doctor used that. She was old, tan and wrinkly. Her skin was stretched tight over her small, thin legs. She was the size of a child and before long as naked as a baby. They inspected all over her body for lesions and bruises.

The cause of death appeared to be a fractured skull or internal bleeding. Probably both. It was then that the secretary began asking pointed questions to her sons. Did she have any quarrels with her neighbors? Do the brothers get along? Did she plan on leaving an inheritance? If so, who stood to gain?

It had never occurred to me that this could be a murder. I looked up at the hill to see a gathering of people come to watch the proceedings. This was Vito. There was no way she was murdered. Still, questions had to be asked.

When she was finally picked up and moved, her arms and legs were stiff and unflexible. She looked like a beautifully prepared mummy. When they pulled on her arm, there was a sickening crunch. I thought for certain her arm was dislocated, but it was only the gravel grating underneath her as she rolled over.

The examination took all afternoon. If at first I was uncomfortable looking at a cadaver, by the end I wasn’t bothered at all. They had to shoo away some boys who snuck down and were peering over the fence. The sun was dropping lower in the sky when we went up to town. Soon it would be dark.

Her death was a reminder that cold and infections and malnutrition were not the only ways that people died here in the mountains.  Falling is just as deadly, and there are many mountain paths.

Josh and Michael with some of boys at Kimo.

Josh shares a journal entry, a profile of a young man who lives at a camp called Kimo, owned by Unión Bíblica, an evangelical church. Kimo, which means “happiness” in Asháninka, the local indigenous language, is a home for boys who have been abused or neglected by their parents, or whose families are unable to provide for them because of extreme poverty. Luis is a pseudonym. Josh and Michael served at Kimo, which is situated near La Merced, a gateway to the jungle.

“Tienes un padre?” Luis asked Michael the evening of Father’s Day. We were studying in the classroom as dusk descended upon the camp when Luis wondered whether Michael had a father.

Luis was making a boat out of paper and ridiculous amounts of glue while we worked on our journals. I went upstairs to get something when Luis asked his question. Michael was a bit taken aback by the question, wondering exactly where this would lead. He answered that, yes, he had both a mother and a father.

Luis then went on to explain how his mother had drank herself to death, and how his father would beat him and his brother when he was inebriated. Once Michael told me about the short conversation, I was just as taken aback. The reason something like this surprised us the way it did was because it was just a little strange hearing such a sobering story from someone like Luis.

The first thing you notice about Luis is he laughs and smiles so often it’s easy to forget he came from such a difficult situation. From the way he goes about his days, you would think that he’d never had a bad day in all of his 11 years.

He’s right in the middle-age group of all the boys, but it might be hard to guess from his behavior and his size. Luis is the skinniest of all 17 of the boys; you could debate the fact that he sets a new standard for the term chicken legs. It’s deceiving, however, because Luis likes to wear sweaters and shirts that are far too big for him.

While the majority of Peruvians have very dark hair and eyes to match, Luis is a little different. His hair is a dark shade of brown — easily mistaken for black though his caramel-colored eyes are big and round, always in search of something mischievous to get into.

His voice is very distinguishable, easy to pick out in a group. Higher than it should be at his age; probably, you could even call it raspy.

My favorite part about Luis, however, is how much he laughs and smiles. Merely making eye contact with him from across the room is enough for him to make a goofy face at you, and you can’t help but make one back. Almost anything you do will make him laugh. If he has a fake laugh, he’s mastered it.

Sometimes, especially when groups from other countries make a visit to do service, he acts a little younger than his true age. He plays the cute card: tickling, smiling and laughing his way into everyone’s hearts.

Just as I’m writing this journal entry now, Luis made eye contact with me, made a face and laughed as he turned away.

Anna with her host mother and sister (and two paintings given as gifts).

Anna shares a journal entry on the phrase “Para mí, para ti,” or “For me, for you.” As part of her final research project, she interviewed women in Oxapampa, including her host mother, Teofila, known as “Pauli,”  and her host sister, Jenny, and created a chapbook, complete with portraits.

Para mí, para ti.

It rings nicely. Together it rolls and rhymes and feels as if it’s always meant to be said together. As one thing. Is it one thing?

Do we give so that our hearts feel good — para mí.

Or do we give to make a child smile, a mother sigh with relief, a teacher feel less burdened by coloring sheets — para ti.

I buy keke plátano at the panaderia on the corner on my way home — para mí.

And I share it with Jenny my host sister when I meet her outside my door in the garden — para ti.

I draw the shiny plant in my sketchbook at the kitchen table — para mí — near to my host mom, Pauli, as she cooks lunch so she knows I appreciate her cooking and presence — para ti.

I read my books every day allowing myself to get lost in a different story — para mí — on the couch next to Jenny as she flips through TV channels and yells for Tome and Preciosa, her dogs, because I want her to know I enjoy her company and respect her love for the two wild puffs of animals she cares for, even though I can’t share that same love — para ti.

I swoosh color onto paper to create flower arrangements resembling the lush gardens around me to feel rejuvenated and feliz — para mí — and I give them as gifts for Jenny’s 40^th birthday — para ti.

Is it para mí or para ti?

Or para ti, para mí?

Do we “do” for you or for me?

SST is supposedly from the outside, para ti. Service, volunteer, giving time and asking nothing in return. But it feels more like para mí.

How much of my presence is appreciated, wanted? Or am I a knot, extra space?

I find myself more a help as time goes by.

They have me draw murals for the kids to color to explain the geography of the community. I am helping. But how much?

SST is for me. Para mí, I decided. The teachers are experienced and have control of the class; my family here has a fulfilling life with parties and friends, errands, and favorite novelas to watch.

I am here para mí and para ti, or for them, an extra excitement, curiosity, an alien, mystery, a friend, an observer, a temporary daughter, a challenge, but a fun one.

Such an irony of SST.

Para mí or para ti?

We said goodbye to the 19 students in our summer SST group at the security gate at the Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima late on Sunday night.

Saying goodbye at security. We’ll miss you!

They were scheduled to depart on Delta Air Lines flight 150 at 1:10 a.m. and arrive in Atlanta at 9 a.m.  The connecting flight was scheduled to arrive at O’Hare at 1:10 p.m.  About half of the group plans to return to Goshen via van, and the others will fan out to other locations, including Denver, St. Louis and Chicago.

We spent a wonderful weekend at a retreat center along the Pacific, an hour and a half south of Lima. More details (and photos) to follow on the retreat, which included presentations on personal research projects and lots of time to share stories and process the experiences from recent service assignments.

Claire and Anna.

By Karen and Duane Sherer Stoltzfus
Peru SST Co-Directors, 2014-2015

One way to teach English words to a child who speaks Spanish is simply to say a word in Spanish (sapo) and then have students repeat the word in English (frog).

Or you might draw a picture of a frog with an accompanying set of clues: “Es verde, muy verde. Le gusta saltar. Vive en la laguna. Dice: croac, croac, croac. Que es?”

Anna has found that a series of posters like this one are more fun for everyone. She teaches at a private kindergarten, Los Tres Reyes (Three Kings), a primary school that features art and music in its instruction. She helps in a class of a dozen 4- and 5-year-olds.

Anna at the Tres Reyes school.

Teaching can be a challenge, especially when put in charge of a class of 3-year-olds, as happened the day we arrived. Just when Anna thought she might be losing control of the rambunctious ones, she came up with the idea of playing “Get on the Train.” She lined up chairs and soon the children were on an imaginary ride, pointing out all kinds of animals and scenes as they passed by.

The experience at Tres Reyes opened up new career possibilities. Though Anna does not see herself as a teacher, she came to appreciate spending time with children in a new way. From Oxapampa she applied for a job in Chicago that involved organizing events and activities for children at an arboretum (Anna graduated in May with a degree in environmental science).

Claire is working at the nearby Jardín de Ninos Los Jazmines preschool and kindergarten. She rotates among three classes, for 3-year-olds, 4-year-olds and 5-year-olds, each with about 25 students. On the day we visited, the students were outside, in red, white and blue uniforms, marching.

Claire at the Los Jazmines school.

It was tiring work for the young ones, and Claire was doing her best to keep the stragglers in line and in step. The children will be participating in regional parades.

She assists teachers in the three classrooms and pitches in as needed. She helps children with their homework, serves snacks and meals, plays with them during breaks and even helps clean classrooms.

Claire and Anna arrived in Oxapampa just as the city was about to host Peru’s biggest music and arts festival: Selvámonos. They said thousands of people were there, staying up well past midnight, listening to a rich mix of Latin rhythms and modern beats, played by bands with colorful names from Peru and all over the world (for example, the Oxa Cowboys from Oxapampa, the Texas Hammer from Brazil, and Rebecca Caldera and the Crazy Riders from Argentina).

Goshen students doing service elsewhere in the jungle came to Oxapampa to spend the weekend with Anna and Claire. They managed to get front-row seats. For a while, several of the students, including Joshua and Zach, were appearing on national TV, courtesy of their great seats. They also ran into Josh’s host brother from Lima who came to the festival to promote his personal line of clothing.

Trying out one of the local bakeries.

Oxapampa is a lovely city of 10,000 residents located in a verdant valley of the Andes, about 5,905 feet above sea level. Settled in 1891 by a group of colonists from Austria’s Tirolean Alps and Germany, the city in central Peru features a rich blend of European, indigenous and Peruvian cultures that is reflected in languages, architecture and food.

The city has attracted migrants from the surrounding towns who have come for education and employment or simply want to live in a quiet and well-maintained community.

Sometimes called “Little Switzerland,” Oxapampa is located in the Pasco province in an area known as the selva alta (high jungle) and features a moderate climate; this time of year, the days are warm and the nights cool.

Claire and Anna introduced us to “el campo,” the name for the airport park in town. Years earlier the airport shut down and the town created a linear park that could serve as a model for other municipalities with airports. Why maintain an airport with all that noise and traffic when you can have a park?

Anna and Claire are next-door neighbors. Anna lives with her host mother, Teofila Espinoza Nieves, and Teofila’s daughter Jenny Navarro Espinoza. Claire lives with another of Teofila’s daughters, Noemi Navarro Espinoza, and her husband, Julio Hector Natienzo Quispe, and their children: Ivan and Andres. Leslie, a daughter, lives in Tarma.

Anna and Alma Claire thought it would be fun to give their families a taste of U.S. American tradition on July 4. They made brats and hotdogs and prepared potato salad. Meanwhile, the families surprised them with a decorated cake that read: “Feliz cumpleaños Anita y Alma.”

Two afternoons a week, Anna and Claire volunteer at an after-school program supported by Compassion International.

The families will be reminded of their stay in Oxapampa long after they have left. Anna made two floral paintings that already hang on either side of the sofa in Teofila’s living room.

David rides a mototaxi to the Asháninka community where he’s spending his service term.

The two young men walking toward us in the plaza in Santa Ana looked like the Zach and David we remembered — only different. Both were tanned and sporting beards. And in another telltale sign that they were living in a jungle community nearby, they had bug bites on their legs and arms.

They had walked an hour or more downhill from their home community, San Miguel, into town. We piled into two motos for the return trip, which, even on motos, took about half an hour on a bumpy dirt road.

David and Zach are living and serving with people for whom Spanish is a second language in a tiny settlement deep in the central jungle of Peru. San Miguel de Marankiari is an indigenous community perched on a hillside far above the Perené River Valley, in the province of Chanchamayo and the state of Junin.

Zach outside his bedroom.

San Miguel is home to several dozen indigenous Asháninka families (about 100 people in all), who live in the jungle at the edge of the Amazon. Tribal history tells of an elder and his three wives, displaced from their ancestral homeland in the valley below, who founded the community some 60 years ago.

Zach and David spend time teaching English to classes of school children. On the day we visited David devoted time to kitchen vocabulary: plate, cup, pot, fork, spoon. He illustrated each of the items on the whiteboard.  Meanwhile, in a classroom next door, children gathered in close around Zach as he used family photos to introduce words for sister, brother, mother, father.

They also participate in the routines of life in the community, including playing soccer barefooted. Traditionally, soccer is reserved for boys and volleyball for girls. On at least one occasion, David and Zach showed that these lines can be crossed, as they joined in a volleyball game.

Zach shows his students photos of friends and family in the United States.

Both have become students of the Asháninka way of life. They learned to harvest, dry and package coffee beans. They wash their own clothes (and in Zach’s case, hung the clothes to dry on coffee plants). They have joined in the making of pachamanca, in which the earth is used as a sealed oven for cooking yucca, chicken or pork, and corn. They have planted banana trees and helped out in other ways on their families’ small farms.

Fruit appears to always be within reach. From his room, David looks out on a mango tree.

Minutes after we arrived, we were treated to a bowl of tangelo oranges and slices of papaya.  Lunch later that day included quito quito juice; chicharrón, or fried, armadillo; and a platter of chicken and yuca, wrapped inside steaming leaves of the bijao plant. We tried to learn a bit of the native language to thank them (“pasonki”) for the delicious (“pushini”) meal.

Zach and David dig into a delicious lunch of chicken and yuca wrapped in flavorful leaves.

More than 25,000 people still speak the language of the Asháninkas, one of dozens of native nations that originated in the Amazon basin (now parts of Peru, Brazil, Ecuador, Colombia and Bolivia).

Many people still live far off the beaten path, but the Asháninka people are quickly becoming westernized due to forces often beyond their control. Their native language, customs, traditional diet and ways of life are disappearing as members move to cities to pursue an education or make a living.

In San Miguel, electricity, water and sewer systems, and even satellite television have arrived in recent years, bringing comforts but also changing life. Community members are trying to preserve the best of their traditional lifestyle. The founders of Ecomundos, a non-profit organization based in San Miguel, are proud of their Asháninka heritage and are helping the community maintain its distinct identity and customs and stay free of destructive outside influences.

David demonstrates his ability with a bow and arrow.

Community leaders hope that cultural tourism, in which a limited number of outsiders (no more than 100 per year) pay to visit and stay overnight in San Miguel in order to experience the unique aspects of Asháninka culture, can provide incomes to families who choose to remain in the village. On the day we visited, San Miguel was also hosting a group of French doctors who had come to study traditional medicine.

Many of the residents of San Miguel still live in houses built of carrizo (bamboo), dress in their traditional cushmas, cultivate traditional foods such as yuca and plantains during the day and hunt for game at night, sometimes with a bow and arrow.

Zach and David pose with family members after lunch.

A friend in the community made bows and arrows for David and Zach. They’re hoping to be able to take them along home using a PVC pipe as safe storage. The cushmas will be easier to pack.

Service in San Miguel means entering into the rhythms of the community. David and Zach wake with the sun and go to bed not long after nightfall, usually around 9. If it’s raining, Zach may fall asleep to the sound of chickens, as they like to gather underneath his bamboo hut to stay dry. If it’s clear, they can look out on a canopy of stars.

Jessica stops for a photo on her way home from the clinic.

If you are bound for the city of San Ramón, as Jessica was, you have a choice of many different bus lines to get there — but all share the same challenging route.

From the dry, coastal city of Lima, the (La Merced line) bus climbs and winds, reaching the mountain pass of Ticlio, the highest point in the central highway, an ear-popping 4,818 meters, or  15,807 feet.  It’s a forsaken place, relentlessly cold, where no one lingers, ready made for an apocalyptic film scene.

The road quickly descends. Eight hours from Lima, you arrive in San Ramón and La Merced, the lush sister cities of the selva central, situated only six miles apart in the province of Chanchamayo. This is the main entrance to the land of the indigenous communities of the Asháninka, Yanesha, and Amuesha. These ancestral communities have managed to preserve their language and lifestyle over the centuries, though not without many challenges. In the late 20th century, this part of the jungle experienced tremendous political violence. Groups like MRTA and the Shining Path took thousands of the indigenous people as prisoners to strengthen their social based organizations.

This is also one of the regions that best preserves its biodiversity. Natural protected areas like Pampa Hermosa offers travelers the opportunity to see several species in their natural habitat. Monkeys, parrots, frogs, bears, butterflies, ants, birds, and even pumas, are just some of the species you might see. Tour guides promote trips to nearby waterfalls. In this area you can also buy coffee made from locally grown beans. Markets sell bananas and oranges and fruits that are less well known to North Americans, like quito quito (or naranjilla) and arazá.

Jessica with Dr. Elera at Clinica Elera.

But life in the city of San Ramón, where Jessica is living and working, can be difficult for many people, especially for those who have migrated from smaller communities for education or employment.

Jessica, who is in the process of applying to medical school, set out to make the most of her time at the Elera Clinic. On her first day she received training in how to use an electrocardiogram. She observed surgeries.  Soon she was traveling with members of the medical team to provide care in remote jungle communities (driving for a couple of hours and then hiking for another hour).

The cases often reflect the difficult life that people lead in the rain forest, from wounds suffered while farming and long delayed treatment to tropical diseases that are unknown in more arid parts of the world. The clinic’s founder, Dr. Gustavo Elera Arevalo, is well known and highly regarded in the area. Patients seek him out because of his expertise and compassionate care (He pioneered a technique, the “Elera Drop,” for temporarily alleviating pain in patients with kidney stones. The technique involves lifting and gently dropping a patient who is resting sideways on a cot).

Jess with her host brother.

Through the ever widening network of doctors that she learned to know, Jessica added a part-time service position at the public medical clinic in San Ramón. She works there on Saturday nights and a couple of weekday mornings. Weekends can be busy. She once assisted in stitching a wound on a woman who had been struck by her husband.

Jessica’s host mother, Jeny Mesa Ramo, is a nurse at the Elera Clinic. Jeny and her husband, Carlos, have two children, Lucila and Carlos. Jeny invited us to her home for a midmorning snack of tamales.

In the early afternoon we took a cab to the Kimo camp, situated alongside the Chanchamayo River, just outside the city of La Merced. There are two ways to cross the river here. One is to swim (as at least one Goshen student did in the past). The other is to ride a huaro, a small electric-powered cable car, that can ferry six or so people at a time.

Michael, Jess and Josh visit a local Asháninka community.

We rode across with Michael and found Josh waiting for us on the other side. They are serving in a camp owned by Unión Bíblica, an evangelical church. The camp, named Kimo (“happiness” in Asháninka, the local indigenous language), is a home for boys who have been abused or neglected by their parents, or whose families are unable to provide for them because of extreme poverty.

The ministry, called Programa Girasoles (Sunflowers), began in 1987 as work with Lima street children out of a van. It has grown to seven homes for abandoned children throughout Peru. Each home has room for up to 40 children and all are funded by donations.

Josh and Michael with several of the boys from Casa Girasoles.

Kimo is home to 17 boys, ranging in age from 4 to 18. The boys attend public school in La Merced — and receive English lessons from Josh and Michael back at Kimo. A private tutor also visits Kimo each weekday afternoon.

Michael and Josh also do maintenance work at the camp. They built a multi-shelf storage unit for the classroom and have applied fresh coats of paint indoors and outdoors. They learned the process of gathering 10-foot plants to dry and weave onto rooftops.

In the evenings there’s time to play soccer or hang out in the comedor, or dining room. It’s a full day. They are usually  in bed by 9 p.m.

We visited with the program directors, Henry Viguria Huaman and Eva Yasauk Krivenchuk, over tea and breads. They told us about how the boys are being raised here as young Christian gentlemen, with a reward each year for having done well. The goal this year is to raise money to visit Machu Picchu.

Josh and Michael by the Kimo area waterfalls.

Josh and Michael are among seven students who are serving in the selva, the “Jungle Crew.” Students in each community have taken turns hosting the others. Jessica, David, Zach, Anna and Claire had a sleepover at Kimo one weekend.

Kimo is a beautiful jungle property of 145 hectares (358 acres). In addition to the home for boys, the property is used as a retreat center and campground for Unión Bíblica and has hiking paths and 14 waterfalls.

Our afternoon at Kimo went quickly. We had just enough time for Michael and Josh to take us on a hike to see one of the waterfalls on the property. Shortly after nightfall, they walked us back to the cable car for our ride across the river. Before flagging a cab, we watched them return to the far shore, tracking their flashlight beam across the water.

Abbie and students show their HANDS, one of the new English words for the day.

A large sign at the entrance to William Thomson, a private Christian school in Ayacucho, promotes an “alianza estratégica,” or strategic alliance, with Goshen College, “la universidad de Indiana.”

Abbie is the key to that strategic alliance this semester, teaching English in four or five elementary school classes each day. In one class, we watched her lead children in activities to learn “shoulders,” “hands” and “feet.”

As a Spanish education major, Abbie is in her element. The school administration would like her to devise a test to measure the English proficiency of students before she leaves. She led us on a tour of the school, which featured a song or two in every class that we visited.

Meanwhile, across town, Morgan is teaching at another private Christian school, Apóstol Pablo. We arrived during a week of festivities celebrating Apóstol Pablo’s 10th anniversary; some events definitely put the cool back in school. One day, children brought in their family dogs for a race.

Morgan with her young English class.

Morgan led a class of 4-and 5-year-olds in a different kind of race: learning colors. She held up objects and pointed to pictures on the wall, as the children called out “brown” or “white” or “pink” or “grey.” To keep things interesting, she picked up speed as she went. She also taught them a color song: “Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. These are the colors of the rainbow.”

Abbie’s host parents, Dionisio Bautista Gómez and Elizabeth Huarcaya Yarasca, have personal connections to the schools: Dionisio serves as administrator of Apóstol Pablo, and Elizabeth of William Thomson. Their children are Luis,  Herbert, Diego, Wendy and Wanda.

Dionisio is also pastor of an Assemblies of God church, where they hold services seven days a week. Dionisio and Elizabeth took us on a 15-minute cab ride and then a 10-minute walk up a steep hill to a property where they hope one day to build the first Mennonite church in Ayacucho.

Abbie and Morgan are neighbors, of the closest kind. Morgan’s host mother, Nieves Bautista Gomez, is Dionisio’s sister. Nieves and her son, Javier, live in an adjoining house. On the day we had lunch with Dionisio and Elizabeth, Morgan happened by and she was immediately invited to sit down and have trout as well (she declined, having just eaten).

Morgan and Abbie have also been serving one day a week at Hogar Casa Luz, a home for children operated by a network of Assemblies of God churches in the city. They help with homework and simply spend time with the children.

On our first morning in Ayacucho, when we arrived at the Centro de Salud San Juan Bautista, a busy Catholic clinic in Ayacucho, patients were spread along a long hallway, waiting to be seen.

Kate and Asia in front the Centro de Salud in Ayacucho.

Asia and Kate were serving at the clinic five days a week, rotating among the different offices, including pediatrics, dental care, lab analysis, and emergency room.

During our visit another service opportunity emerged, at the Luz y Vida comedor, which for several years has blended school tutoring and noontime meals for children from impoverished homes on a hillside overlooking the city. A donation courtesy of a former Goshen College student who served here, Gretchen Geyer, led to an initiative.

Asia and Kate, joined by Abbie and Morgan, will head to the market to buy food and other supplies, and then prepare gift baskets. Mabel Santiago Quispe, who has managed the comedor, will serve as their guide in delivering the foodstuffs to 10 or more families in the neighborhood.

Asia and Kate’s host mother, Ercilia Gonzales Pincos, would recommend that they include quinoa, the complete protein and Andean super grain, in those food packages. When she invited us to her home for lunch, she served a dessert that she called “Misky Peru” (think Quechua for “Delicious Peru”). Served in a bowl, the dessert, with the texture of an American hot cereal, featured quinoa, milk, sugar and cinnamon. The dish truly lived up to its name.

Abbie, Morgan, Kate and Asia pose for a photo in Morgan’s living room.

Ercilia said quinoa’s local reputation is often that of a common meal — food that elicits a groan from school kids — even as quinoa commands ever more sales abroad. “La gente no la aprecia,” she said (“The people don’t appreciate it.”). Ercilia’s dessert, however, could be a stroke of marketing genius. Asia and Kate and Duane all had seconds.

Before we caught the overnight bus back to Lima, we sat in Ayacucho’s plaza de armas for an hour or so as the sun went down. It’s one of the loveliest plazas we know. People of all ages fill the benches — and on a busy Friday night a young couple may ask to squeeze onto a bench beside an older couple. A clown may suddenly appear and strike up a conversation. Children may chase after pigeons that were cleaning up spilled popcorn.

We toasted Ayacucho with ice cream from one of the dozen shops that ring the plaza (a cone of mango and another a blend of chirimoya and limón). Then we walked toward the bus station, wondering whether Goshen might be able to design this kind of gathering place to complement its dynamic downtown.

Alberto in the peach orchard with Duane and his host mother, Margarita.

When Margarita Ayma Carlos finished her work day at the La Fuente medical clinic in Cusco, we joined her for the 30-minute bus ride and 10-minute cab ride to her home in Lucre. The setting appears idyllic: small hamlet surrounded by mountains with a river running through it.

This time of year, the days are sunny and warm, and the nights are cold — as in three-blanket or four-blanket cold.

Each of the towns between Cusco and Lucre promotes its specialty: Oropesa, the bread capital, is known for pan chuta; Tipón, for cuy; and Saylla, for chicharones, or fried pork strips.

Lucre is the destination of choice for trucha, or trout, courtesy of the Lucre River. Every time we visit, it seems, there is another trout farm open for dinner. In March, we saw Micah helping Margarita and her family channel water from the stream to their newly installed trout pools.

Alberto at work, helping to landscape his family’s trout farm.

When we visited this month, we found the pools full of trout and Alberto helping with landscaping — which, in this part of the country, more often than not means moving rocks. Other days may find him moving some of the 10,000 trout into different pools, according to size. He’s also tending peach trees in Margarita’s nearby orchard.

Two weeks into service, Alberto estimated that he had eaten six or seven tout. He can count one more. We enjoyed a supper of fried trout strips with Alberto and Margarita, there by the river, shaded by a ridge that Alberto had climbed earlier with his host brother, Jared, 10. The family served 25 or so people at their restaurant the Sunday before.

Alberto and Jared are close companions. They traveled together into Cusco for Inti Raymi, or the “Festival of the Sun.” Jared is giving Alberto an introduction to Quechua, and Alberto is returning the favor with English.  At First Mennonite Church of Lucre, which the family attends, much of the service is in Quechua.

At Promesa school, Peter works with Brook to teach an elementary music class.

Headed back toward Cusco, in the suburban town of San Jeronimo, we visited Peter at Promesa, a private Mennonite elementary and high school that serves about 350 students. Peter is assisting in both English and music classes.

On this day, he was helping in Brook Hostetter’s music class (Brook, a recent Goshen College graduate, is working full time at Promesa). On several vocal exercises, “Miss Brook”  sang an opening line, and “Mr. Peter” would lead the students in singing the response. The class also included some challenging hand rhythms and a stand-up piece called “Danza de Pollo,” or the “Chicken Dance.”

We had a chance to meet with all four students on our first day in Cusco. For dessert we each ordered a piece of cake and sang in celebration of Peter’s 20th birthday.

James, Irene, Peter and Alberto in Cusco’s San Francisco plaza after celebrating Peter’s birthday.

We joined Peter and his host mother, Francisca Tipa Flores, for a visit in their home, admiring the wood furniture made by his host father, Rolando de la Cruz, a carpenter who was working downstairs in his shop. As we were waiting for our bus across the street, we caught a last glimpse of Peter: he was in his upstairs bedroom, playing a violin.

(Quick side story: Peter is a violinist who left behind his instrument in Goshen. But just before service started, Celia found a young man in Lima who was selling his violin at a good price. We all met in front of a Wong supermarket and walked to a nearby underground garage. Peter played to the parked cars for less than a minute and reached into his wallet for soles.)

Peter in San Jeronimo with his host mother, Francisca.

In Cusco, near the monument to Pachacuti, the Incan ruler credited with assembling the empire, we met James in the office where he is working at World Vision, an international organization that focuses on the health and well-being of children and the communities that support them. World Vision links sponsors from the U.S., Australia and other countries with children in the Cusco region.

James works on a translation at his desk in World Vision’s Cusco office.

James, who is fluent in Spanish and Japanese, helps to translate cards and track correspondence that is sent back and forth. For example, in response to the prompt  “what I liked about my vacation,” a child wrote to a sponsor: “A mi me gustaba pasear en los tardes despues jugar futbol  banarse en el rio.” Below, James provided the translation: “I enjoyed walking around in the afternoon. Afterwards, I played soccer and bathed in the river.”

Noemi Callasi, the donor supervisor, and Maria Gamarra and Nelly Flores, other staff members, said James was a godsend, as they were struggling to translate materials on time. He also had a chance to make several visits to mountain communities. In one case he was asked to help translate when about 20 girls from a boarding school in Australia went to visit Peruvian children they were sponsoring.

James with his host family in San Jeronimo.

On the Saturday we wrote this blog, James happened to call to let us know that he was helping World Vision’s official translator close the communication gap between a team of doctors from the U.S. and families from the region. The doctors were offering free cleft palate and cleft lip surgery to families whose children qualified. Saturday was for screenings. He was expecting to help with translation during the actual surgeries in the following week.

James lives fairly close to Peter, along the road that runs from Cusco to Lucre. We visited one afternoon with his host family, Frida and Saturnino Gomez, and his sisters, Dirsia and Alison.

Our final family visit came on the hilltop overlooking the city of Cusco, where Irene is living with Gloria Mamani Nina and her husband, Mauricio, and their children Madeli, Johan “Benji” and Jhonatn.

Irene with her host mother, Gloria, her host brother, Jhonatn, and his rabbit Nieves.

Irene was the first student in our group to report for service. Our study term ended with a despedida party at around 10 p.m. on a Thursday. The next morning she and Alberto were at the airport at 6 a.m. to fly to Cusco. By 3 p.m. that Friday she and her host mother were traveling by van over dirt roads to a remote mountain town for a mission trip. Before the weekend was over, a half dozen people were baptized.

During our visit, Irene changed assignments. She had been working at San Juan de Dios, a Catholic hospital. Through the good graces of a friend of Goshen College, Chris Raber, she found an opportunity to join the medical team at La Fuente, a Presbyterian clinic (where Alberto’s mother works). Chris is a Mennonite missionary who works at the clinic part time as a physical therapist.

La Fuente aims to heal the body and also minister to the spirit. Doctors and other staff members regularly pray with patients and share their testimonies.

During Irene’s first day of service she traveled to a remote village outside of Cusco. Her host mother, Gloria, was part of the team, along with another Cusco traveler, Katie.

We happened to sit in on an interview session Dr. Nathan Wilson, the clinic director. He asked Irene a series of questions, including how she would share her faith with patients and what she would say to give hope to a patient suffering from diabetes. Irene responded with poise, talking about her formative church years in Ohio.

In a closing indication of how the interview was going, Dr. Wilson asked Irene whether she could be at the clinic at 8 a.m. sharp for Bible study on Galations the next morning (each work day begins this way). And she was.