... to be THAT person, but with 2 months left to finish everything up, I've been a little too busy to write. ... Sorry.
Feel free to check out these pictures I posted on Facebook.
Hasta pronto ...
The Harvest
A milestone, everyone. Our garden now has enough real-live plants to actual make food from it. We made the ceviche with the cilantro we picked. And the spinach salad I made for myself was perhaps the most delicious thing I have ever made ... maybe because I spent two months growing it ...
Ceviche, the traditional dish of my region, is made with raw fish chopped up and bathed in lime juice and salt, with onions and cilantro.
I washed and cut up the Spinach, then added carrots and tomatoes, with a splash of lime and salt and pepper al gusto.
Ceviche, the traditional dish of my region, is made with raw fish chopped up and bathed in lime juice and salt, with onions and cilantro.
I washed and cut up the Spinach, then added carrots and tomatoes, with a splash of lime and salt and pepper al gusto.
Several awesome things
Exciting Thing (ET) 1: I have a cat now. She loves me. And my life is so much better because she's in it. I don't even care (yet) that she has fleas.
ET 2: We're doing sessions with men now, and we're getting a lot done. Last night we gave a talk to a sports club in a nearby village, this afternoon we gave a session with the banana exportation workers, and tomorrow night I'm giving one to a mototaxi committee. My MRA (wooden Male Reproductive Apparatus) is coming in handy! (Best five soles I've ever spent.)
ET 3: The carrots in my garden are almost ready to eat!
ET 4: Engineer for the latrines project is coming tomorrow to start the whole They're-Really-Going-To-Get-Latrines thing.
ET 5: My teens are in the midst of doing their community activities. I got to go shopping for beads today for the Message Jewelry their going to make, Saturday we are rehearsing the movie that they are going to be filming very soon, and next week we are walking out to a very rural school to give a Sex Talk.
ET 6: The new health post doctor just approved a space for us to use specifically as a center for health promotion. Which is kind of a big deal because the last doctor (recently promoted to the head of the entire Dept. of Health in Tumbes) wouldn't let us use any spaces because he needed them as unnecessary closets and for future "residents" who would eventually come to live there. Por fin! A doctor who sees the benefit of having health promotion put before people hanging their laundry on the second floor of the health post!
... That last one might have been a little bitter.
:-) At any rate. Lots of exciting things are happening. I'll post more photos when I can!
ET 2: We're doing sessions with men now, and we're getting a lot done. Last night we gave a talk to a sports club in a nearby village, this afternoon we gave a session with the banana exportation workers, and tomorrow night I'm giving one to a mototaxi committee. My MRA (wooden Male Reproductive Apparatus) is coming in handy! (Best five soles I've ever spent.)
ET 3: The carrots in my garden are almost ready to eat!
ET 4: Engineer for the latrines project is coming tomorrow to start the whole They're-Really-Going-To-Get-Latrines thing.
ET 5: My teens are in the midst of doing their community activities. I got to go shopping for beads today for the Message Jewelry their going to make, Saturday we are rehearsing the movie that they are going to be filming very soon, and next week we are walking out to a very rural school to give a Sex Talk.
ET 6: The new health post doctor just approved a space for us to use specifically as a center for health promotion. Which is kind of a big deal because the last doctor (recently promoted to the head of the entire Dept. of Health in Tumbes) wouldn't let us use any spaces because he needed them as unnecessary closets and for future "residents" who would eventually come to live there. Por fin! A doctor who sees the benefit of having health promotion put before people hanging their laundry on the second floor of the health post!
... That last one might have been a little bitter.
:-) At any rate. Lots of exciting things are happening. I'll post more photos when I can!
Quinceñera
Last night, my host sister, Keysi, turned 15.
Turning 15 is a big deal in Latin American culture. It signifies the entering into womanhood and is usually accompanied by 15 damas, 15 cakes and a really big party.
True to her style though, Keysi decided not to make a huge deal of it. Opting instead to invite family and only a few close friends, with the family computer serving as the DJ. She had three simple cakes -- just enough to feed those present. Her best friend, Patricia, stepped in as her godmother. And she put on a fluffy pink dress just long enough to pose for pictures before changing right back into her jeans and tank top.
I stood mostly in the wings, watching my little host sister flash her cheesy popstar grin and tilt her head slightly to the right for the camera the way she always does. I couldn't believe that just two years before, she'd been this tiny middle schooler in my youth group. Now here she was, wearing lipstick and dancing with her father to the quinceñera waltz.
So grown up.
I stood next to my host mom, Norma, as she gave the traditional toast. And I took the camera from my host brother Samir so he could take his turn to dance with his big sister. I posed for pictures with Keysi behind the cake, and nearly teared up when I saw her coming down the stairs in her beautiful pink dress.
Sparkling. Vibrant. Confident and poised.
Up until that moment, every birthday, wedding, baptism I celebrated here in Peru reminded me of all the ones I was missing back home. But as I stood watching Keysi ... my Keysi ... I realized that this might be the last birthday I ever celebrate with her.
And suddenly, I felt ashamed. How could I have ever considered coming here ... sharing my life with these people, and letting them share theirs with me ... a sacrifice?
Turning 15 is a big deal in Latin American culture. It signifies the entering into womanhood and is usually accompanied by 15 damas, 15 cakes and a really big party.
True to her style though, Keysi decided not to make a huge deal of it. Opting instead to invite family and only a few close friends, with the family computer serving as the DJ. She had three simple cakes -- just enough to feed those present. Her best friend, Patricia, stepped in as her godmother. And she put on a fluffy pink dress just long enough to pose for pictures before changing right back into her jeans and tank top.
I stood mostly in the wings, watching my little host sister flash her cheesy popstar grin and tilt her head slightly to the right for the camera the way she always does. I couldn't believe that just two years before, she'd been this tiny middle schooler in my youth group. Now here she was, wearing lipstick and dancing with her father to the quinceñera waltz.
So grown up.
I stood next to my host mom, Norma, as she gave the traditional toast. And I took the camera from my host brother Samir so he could take his turn to dance with his big sister. I posed for pictures with Keysi behind the cake, and nearly teared up when I saw her coming down the stairs in her beautiful pink dress.
Sparkling. Vibrant. Confident and poised.
Up until that moment, every birthday, wedding, baptism I celebrated here in Peru reminded me of all the ones I was missing back home. But as I stood watching Keysi ... my Keysi ... I realized that this might be the last birthday I ever celebrate with her.
And suddenly, I felt ashamed. How could I have ever considered coming here ... sharing my life with these people, and letting them share theirs with me ... a sacrifice?
The Evil Eye
For the past few days, I have been rather ... well ... cranky. Easily angered. Bitter. Basically a terrible human being. And all the things that normally make me feel better – venting, exercise, chocolate – weren't working. This, of course, made me even more frustrated ... and more cranky ... and a worse person. It didn't take long for people to notice, and I was soon offered a possible cause for my situation.
The Evil Eye.
Now before I go on. I have to say that I do not believe in The Evil Eye. I believe in science and fact checking and Western medicine. But there are a lot of things that seem crazy but I have faith in anyway, so when someone suggested that El Mal Ojo was afoot, I tried to keep an open mind.
For those unaware, The Evil Eye works something like this. A person or animal shoots a glare at another person or animal, causing them to feel crappy, fall ill or die.
In fact, just last week, a 42-year-old man died suddenly in his home. A few days before, an owl (yes, an owl) had flown into his abdomen, wounding him. He went to the hospital, was given a once over and sent home with some antibiotics. His daughter claims that he was perfectly fine, and then *poof!* he keels over without so much as a word. Most people in my town attribute his death to The Evil Eye given to him by the owl. They accept this as fact; any other explanation would be preposterous. And it makes sense, when you think about it. There aren't many things that would make an apparently healthy 42-year-old man keel over on the spot.
Anyway, I approached the topic with my host mom, Norma. I had a hunch that if, indeed, I was the receiver of The Evil Eye, it was probably given to me by the cat we kind of, sort of abducted to solve our growing rat problem a couple days prior. The one we borrowed against his will and tied to a post in our back yard.
My host mom nodded thoughtfully and suggested a "cleansing ritual" that she would do with her children when they were really young and colicky. She would pass a newspaper over their bodies, breathing a prayer as she did it, and then burn the newspaper. The newspaper would absorb the bad energy, and the ashes, she said, would reveal its source. She told me that the ritual typically is only done on Tuesdays and Fridays. As this was a Wednesday, she wasn't sure if it would work, but she said she'd give it a try.
We went to my room, where she passed the newspaper over me. The paper tickled the soles of my feet, and I started giggling. I checked my host mom's expression to see if my laughing fit had made the entire act void, but she didn't seem to mind.
It didn't take long – a minute, max. And then we went outside to burn the paper. We stood there silently watching the newsprint turn to ash, when suddenly –
"Robyn," she asked. "Do you see the rat?"
I had been looking for the shape of a cat, but lo and behold, there it was. The ashes made the unmistakable form of a rat. Stringy tail and all.
Of course!
For the past few months, the rats have been trying to take over my room. A few days before, I caught one stealing a whole wheat bun from my shelf. We had a good long stare before I clapped my hands and waved my arms to scare it off.
As the realization dawned on me that that rodent had perhaps given me The Evil Eye, I was furious. How DARE that little jerk curse me when he was trying to steal MY wheat bun?
Before I could say anything, Norma guided me back to my room and splashed holy water against all of my walls and doors.
Maybe it was because of the ritual. Maybe it was just the placebo effect, or the nurturing of my host mom. But soon the feelings subsided. The wind came and picked up the ashes, and I felt better. For the first time in days I felt light and happy.
Coincidentally, the cat got loose shortly after, and I brought over another from my former host family's house. Her name is Chilimasa, and she's cuddly and playful. She pushes her face against the mosquito net when I'm about to go to sleep and hangs upside down from the rungs of my chairs while I'm working.
Oh, and she loves to eat rats.
The Evil Eye.
Now before I go on. I have to say that I do not believe in The Evil Eye. I believe in science and fact checking and Western medicine. But there are a lot of things that seem crazy but I have faith in anyway, so when someone suggested that El Mal Ojo was afoot, I tried to keep an open mind.
For those unaware, The Evil Eye works something like this. A person or animal shoots a glare at another person or animal, causing them to feel crappy, fall ill or die.
In fact, just last week, a 42-year-old man died suddenly in his home. A few days before, an owl (yes, an owl) had flown into his abdomen, wounding him. He went to the hospital, was given a once over and sent home with some antibiotics. His daughter claims that he was perfectly fine, and then *poof!* he keels over without so much as a word. Most people in my town attribute his death to The Evil Eye given to him by the owl. They accept this as fact; any other explanation would be preposterous. And it makes sense, when you think about it. There aren't many things that would make an apparently healthy 42-year-old man keel over on the spot.
Anyway, I approached the topic with my host mom, Norma. I had a hunch that if, indeed, I was the receiver of The Evil Eye, it was probably given to me by the cat we kind of, sort of abducted to solve our growing rat problem a couple days prior. The one we borrowed against his will and tied to a post in our back yard.
My host mom nodded thoughtfully and suggested a "cleansing ritual" that she would do with her children when they were really young and colicky. She would pass a newspaper over their bodies, breathing a prayer as she did it, and then burn the newspaper. The newspaper would absorb the bad energy, and the ashes, she said, would reveal its source. She told me that the ritual typically is only done on Tuesdays and Fridays. As this was a Wednesday, she wasn't sure if it would work, but she said she'd give it a try.
We went to my room, where she passed the newspaper over me. The paper tickled the soles of my feet, and I started giggling. I checked my host mom's expression to see if my laughing fit had made the entire act void, but she didn't seem to mind.
It didn't take long – a minute, max. And then we went outside to burn the paper. We stood there silently watching the newsprint turn to ash, when suddenly –
"Robyn," she asked. "Do you see the rat?"
I had been looking for the shape of a cat, but lo and behold, there it was. The ashes made the unmistakable form of a rat. Stringy tail and all.
Of course!
For the past few months, the rats have been trying to take over my room. A few days before, I caught one stealing a whole wheat bun from my shelf. We had a good long stare before I clapped my hands and waved my arms to scare it off.
As the realization dawned on me that that rodent had perhaps given me The Evil Eye, I was furious. How DARE that little jerk curse me when he was trying to steal MY wheat bun?
Before I could say anything, Norma guided me back to my room and splashed holy water against all of my walls and doors.
Maybe it was because of the ritual. Maybe it was just the placebo effect, or the nurturing of my host mom. But soon the feelings subsided. The wind came and picked up the ashes, and I felt better. For the first time in days I felt light and happy.
Coincidentally, the cat got loose shortly after, and I brought over another from my former host family's house. Her name is Chilimasa, and she's cuddly and playful. She pushes her face against the mosquito net when I'm about to go to sleep and hangs upside down from the rungs of my chairs while I'm working.
Oh, and she loves to eat rats.
Delicious Veggie-filled Recipes I Make with my Host Family
Veggie Pizza
My host family, counterparts and friends in site all love this recipe.
Ingredients:
To Prepare:
Several hours before you even start to get hungry, mix the flour and salt in a bowl (I also like to throw in some oregano) and gradually add the hot water. When you have more or less a good dough, punch a hole in the center, and add the oil. Work the dough well so it is good and soft, and leave it sit for a few hours. Then separate the dough into three balls, and roll it out (with a rolling pin, wine bottle, or work it out with your fingers) so that it is even and more or less the shape of the pan you will use. Pre-bake the crust for a little while until it is no longer raw.
Chop the tomatoes and lay them out to cover the crust. Then add all the other chopped vegetables and top it off with cheese. Add salt, pepper and oregano to your liking.
And then bake until the cheese is melted. If you're using a bubble oven, expect every pizza to take ~45 minutes to bake.
Veggie Burgers
I just recently tried these with my host family, and they really liked them -- especially with BBQ sauce.
Ingredients:
Mix the veggies in with the mashed-up lentils. Add the bread crumbs and egg whites. With your hands, scoop up the picture and make little patties.
Fry the patties in a little bit of oil, and then place them on a plate covered with a layer or two of paper towels to soak up the excess grease. Add some salt and pepper, and stick it in a bun. The whole process should take you under an hour, and it's a great activity for kids.
Note: Once in the pan, the egg should help hold the patty together. But if the mixture is too liquidy (because of the lentils or veggies), they will break apart in the pan. Try adding more bread crumbs or a little flour.
For extra delicious veggie burgers, add some cheese and stick some spinach and tomatoes in the bun. My host sister tried it with some BBQ sauce and mayo and loved it.
My host family, counterparts and friends in site all love this recipe.
Ingredients:
- 3 cups flour
- 1 cup hot water
- 1 tsp salt
- 1 tsp oil
- Tomatoes
- Green Peppers
- Onions
- Spinach (... and really any other vegetable you'd like to throw on there)
- Cheese
- Pepper
- Oregano
To Prepare:
Several hours before you even start to get hungry, mix the flour and salt in a bowl (I also like to throw in some oregano) and gradually add the hot water. When you have more or less a good dough, punch a hole in the center, and add the oil. Work the dough well so it is good and soft, and leave it sit for a few hours. Then separate the dough into three balls, and roll it out (with a rolling pin, wine bottle, or work it out with your fingers) so that it is even and more or less the shape of the pan you will use. Pre-bake the crust for a little while until it is no longer raw.
Chop the tomatoes and lay them out to cover the crust. Then add all the other chopped vegetables and top it off with cheese. Add salt, pepper and oregano to your liking.
And then bake until the cheese is melted. If you're using a bubble oven, expect every pizza to take ~45 minutes to bake.
Veggie Burgers
I just recently tried these with my host family, and they really liked them -- especially with BBQ sauce.
Ingredients:
- Lentils (soaked, cooked, mashed and completely drained of liquid)
- Carrots (shredded)
- Onions (diced)
- Green peppers (diced)
- Egg (beaten)
- Bread crumbs
Mix the veggies in with the mashed-up lentils. Add the bread crumbs and egg whites. With your hands, scoop up the picture and make little patties.
Fry the patties in a little bit of oil, and then place them on a plate covered with a layer or two of paper towels to soak up the excess grease. Add some salt and pepper, and stick it in a bun. The whole process should take you under an hour, and it's a great activity for kids.
Note: Once in the pan, the egg should help hold the patty together. But if the mixture is too liquidy (because of the lentils or veggies), they will break apart in the pan. Try adding more bread crumbs or a little flour.
For extra delicious veggie burgers, add some cheese and stick some spinach and tomatoes in the bun. My host sister tried it with some BBQ sauce and mayo and loved it.
Chachapoyas
Chachapoyas is a small city in the high jungle of Northern Peru. To get there, you take a questionable bus on a neglected road through the frigid Andes. During the rainy season, the route is impassable, and bandits lurk sometimes among the bends to catch an unsuspecting bus full of tourists. To reach Chachapoyas, one must be willing to take some risks.
But man, oh man, is it worth the risk.
We arrive in the city of Chachapoyas at an ungodly hour. Tired, freezing, underslept, and a little disoriented, we find our way to our hotel with just enough time to drop off our bags and splash some bitterly cold water on our faces, before we head to the Plaza Mayor to find tours to the ruins of Kuelap and Gocta Falls. Despite our lack of sleep, we are excited to get moving. We only have two days here, and we want to make it count.
Kuelap
The mountains surrounding Chachapoyas are bare, but green. Clouds linger just above the peaks, casting shadows onto the grasses and over the adobe homes. The Kuelap ruins are two hours away, along a bumpy dirt road through switchbacks and hamlets.
I remember when I first got to Peru, I had this sense of wonder and awe at this country's beauty. But my two years of living here have left me desensitized, and I stare at the beautiful scenery with only mild enthusiasm.
We arrive to the entrance and hike the two kilometers to get to the 4th-century fortress. Our guide is a local, born in the hills outside the ruins. Outside the tall, stone wall, a lady with us wearing high-heeled boots complains to him about the pace of the group.
"You must go at the pace of everybody!" she castigates him.
"I'll go at a pace that is normal," he replies slightly flustered and calls for us all to pay attention.
Not much is known about Kuelap. It takes 2 minutes to realize everything he is explaining is speculation. Archeologists only recently have started investigating, and so they can only conjecture.
That rounded upside-down cone-shaped building? It could have been for food storage, our guide explains. Or as a prison ... But then they found remains of young girls, who could have been human sacrifices, which would mean it's a sacred temple ... And oh, and by the way, it kind of also acts as a sun-dial.
I don't mind. I tune out midway through the tour and make up my own stories. I imagine little kids running around, chasing animals. What kind of animals would they have had up here? I wonder.
Our guide mentions that the fortress was never overtaken by force, but the Incas did succeed in conquering it. How, then? we ask. Did they surrender?
No, the guide explains. When the people inside refused to give into them, the Incas waited and watched. They realized that their food and water source was outside the fortress' walls and must be brought in. So they surrounded the building and prevented anyone from entering with supplies.
They starved them into submission.
I picture this ... families huddled together in their circular homes. Children tugging at their mothers' skirts for a scrap of food. Men hanging their heads in defeat as they gave into the Incas to save their lives ...
We stop for a moment on the edge, and our guide points out into the hills.
"That red house down there," he says. "I was born there." That is the home of his grandparents, he explains. He now lives next door.
We sit there for a while, looking out into the hills. You can see the small squiggly line of the road we came in on. Green mountains stretched out like a sleeping giant. Llamas graze below, most likely brought there for the tourists. But we are the only group inside the fortress.
I have heard that Kuelap is the next Machu Picchu. And I'm sure it could be. The ruins themselves are expansive, spreading out over 60,000 square meters. The view surrounding them is beautiful and vast. Perhaps with more excavation, more knowledge of what has been here, more tourists will come. And it will become bustling and commercial like its Cuzco counterpart.
For now though, it's quiet. The empty spaces and crumbled walls sit in near silence. Their stories yet to be told.
Gocta Falls
It is a two-hour drive on newly paved roads to a bustling little town near Gocta Falls. We step out of the van and see the cascading water off in the distance. Smiling faces direct us to a large, one-room building where we can buy our tickets and meet our guide.
Inside, a group of people all wearing matching vests are listening to someone who is pointing at a Powerpoint presentation projected onto the wall. I'm herded into a line for tickets and can only catch a word or two, but they appear to be in some sort of training session regarding customer service. Off to the side, a woman wearing the same vest stands near a rack of scarves and stitched bags and T-shirts that say "Gocta." The prices are clearly labeled, and I'm impressed with the professionalism demonstrated by all the smiling, vested people.
Our guide is from this village. He has a kind face and seems excited to lead us on a hike that he does daily.
The start of the hike is flat and easy with only mild inclines and plenty of hard stones. I ask our guide how long he has been working with tourists, and he mentions that he started when a German man came and "discovered" the falls in 2002.
I am floored. After only 8 years, this small Andean village two hours outside of the nearest city, has built such an operation.
The trail dips, and we head down into the valley, cross a bridge, and hike back up the mountain again. I'm beginning to tire. I brought tennis shoes and wore layers, but I don't have any water.
We turn the corner and are immediately hushed by a crowd waiting there. They are all staring up into a tree and taking photos.
"A monkey," our guide tells us. "What luck!"
They call it a night monkey, and it's sleeping in a branch meters from the trail. Someone lends me binoculars, but I can't seem to find it in the magnified lens. I decide to look with my own eyes and watch it for awhile. A branch hides much of its body, but you can make out its tail.
We're herded once again back up the trail, and we arrive at a small thatched building where I can buy water. I can't imagine how they get supplies there. Donkeys, I suppose.
We sit for a moment, catching our breath, and then decide it would be better to rest near the water and so decide keep going. They told us it would be roughly an hour and a half to get to the base of the falls. We must be about halfway there.
The trail is steep and narrow. Like the road to Kuelap, it twists and turns on the way down the mountain. And then, as we round yet another bend, we see it. Gocta.
We saw it, of course, before when we were in the village. But that was from a distance. We take pictures but don't linger. Our energy is renewed, and we rush now to reach its base.
The falls disappear again behind a cover of trees as we head further down the trail. I can hear it though. The sound of water tumbling from over 700 meters high echoes through my ears ... until ... finally ... we're there. At the base of the 3rd tallest waterfall in the world.*
And that feeling ... that awe that I thought had dissolved after 2 years ... is back in full force. I stand unable to move. It is so beautiful. By the time the water hits the ground, it is only mist. And I stand there, feeling it settle onto every inch of me.
We run down to the pool of water at the base and dare each other to drink from it. The water is so clear. I scoop my hands in and bring it up to my mouth. It's ice-cold against my lips and tastes pure. I know I will probably get sick in the morning, but I don't care. I didn't want to miss my opportunity to drink from one of the worlds most impressive marvels.
A few of us decide that we want to try and make our way directly beneath the falls. Our guide advises us not to.
"The falls produce a lot of wind," he says. "It's too powerful. Too dangerous."
We decide to try anyway, recognizing an opportunity for later regret if we don't. I borrow a poncho and hand over my Gocta bag (purchased from the smiling, vested lady). The rocks are big and slippery, so we take our time. With every step, the mist gets thicker; the wind from the force of the water, stronger. Twenty meters from the base, we are already soaked.
We get maybe 5 or 7 meters from directly beneath the falls before we have to stop. The force is too strong. We stand there for a moment, and let the mist fall over us.
When we finally get back to the others, we are laughing and smiling and sopping wet. The poncho did nothing to keep me dry, and I know it will probably be an uncomfortable hike back up.
I am so dumb with awe and excitement that I don't even care. I feel young and free and adventurous and like I can do anything.
We sit for awhile and listen to our guide tell us the myth of the falls. The reason why it was kept hidden for so long from outsiders. I don't catch every word. The roar of the falls makes it difficult to hear. But he starts the story telling of a farmer who lived near the falls. He would disappear from time to time without telling his wife where he was going. One day while she was washing clothes, the wife found gold and jewels in his pants pocket. She became confused and slightly suspicious, and so the next time he left, she went after him. She followed him to the base of the waterfalls.
There, she saw him talking to a beautiful mermaid. When he saw her standing there, the mermaid grabbed him and pulled him under the water ... never to be seen again ...
We start our trek back up the mountain. It's a difficult hike, and everyone goes at their own pace. Soon, I find myself in the middle. Alone with my thoughts and footsteps. I stop every 20 meters or so to hold my side and breathe. It's a steep incline, and I have to convince myself a time or two that I can actually make it back up.
When I pause to breathe, I stare back at the falls or, when I can't see them, I listen to them. And despite my aching lungs and tired legs, I am smiling a wide, dopey grin. I can't believe I am here. I can't believe I'm seeing this beautiful place.
Three-fourths of the way back to the village, I catch my second wind. I'm running. Leaping over rocks and slowing down only to maneuver the steepest of parts.
Maybe it's runners high; I don't know. But I feel amazing.
My second wind carries me into the village right behind my two long-legged friends who are leading the group. It's 4 p.m., but we haven't eaten since breakfast. We eat lunch greedily and then get back in the van to return to Chachapoyas.
As we drive along through the hills on the way back to the city, I sit and smile. The falls are out of view, and the sound of them is gone, but I close my eyes to make sure I can still see them in my memory. I don't want to forget this. I can't forget this.
The Plaza Mayor of Chachapoyas.
The 7 of us outside of Kuelap: Megan, Olga, Me, Glenn, Marian, Omar and Jessica.
The ruins of Kuelap. The roofed house was reconstructed by a Canadian archeologist in the 80s.
The rounded homes. Many of them had deep holes in their centers where, our guide informs us, they either kept potatoes or buried their dead.
The view from Kuelap.
We "sacrificed" Jessica in front of the upside-down cone-shaped silo/prison/temple.
The bend where we first saw Gocta Falls fairly close-up.
I drank this water. It was amazing. And I didn't get sick.
Glenn, Olga and I trying to get beneath the falls against better judgment and the warnings of our guide.
We got soaked. But it was worth it. Totally worth it.
* This is what the people of Gocta claim, but according to Wikipedia, that is up for debate.
But man, oh man, is it worth the risk.
We arrive in the city of Chachapoyas at an ungodly hour. Tired, freezing, underslept, and a little disoriented, we find our way to our hotel with just enough time to drop off our bags and splash some bitterly cold water on our faces, before we head to the Plaza Mayor to find tours to the ruins of Kuelap and Gocta Falls. Despite our lack of sleep, we are excited to get moving. We only have two days here, and we want to make it count.
Kuelap
The mountains surrounding Chachapoyas are bare, but green. Clouds linger just above the peaks, casting shadows onto the grasses and over the adobe homes. The Kuelap ruins are two hours away, along a bumpy dirt road through switchbacks and hamlets.
I remember when I first got to Peru, I had this sense of wonder and awe at this country's beauty. But my two years of living here have left me desensitized, and I stare at the beautiful scenery with only mild enthusiasm.
We arrive to the entrance and hike the two kilometers to get to the 4th-century fortress. Our guide is a local, born in the hills outside the ruins. Outside the tall, stone wall, a lady with us wearing high-heeled boots complains to him about the pace of the group.
"You must go at the pace of everybody!" she castigates him.
"I'll go at a pace that is normal," he replies slightly flustered and calls for us all to pay attention.
Not much is known about Kuelap. It takes 2 minutes to realize everything he is explaining is speculation. Archeologists only recently have started investigating, and so they can only conjecture.
That rounded upside-down cone-shaped building? It could have been for food storage, our guide explains. Or as a prison ... But then they found remains of young girls, who could have been human sacrifices, which would mean it's a sacred temple ... And oh, and by the way, it kind of also acts as a sun-dial.
I don't mind. I tune out midway through the tour and make up my own stories. I imagine little kids running around, chasing animals. What kind of animals would they have had up here? I wonder.
Our guide mentions that the fortress was never overtaken by force, but the Incas did succeed in conquering it. How, then? we ask. Did they surrender?
No, the guide explains. When the people inside refused to give into them, the Incas waited and watched. They realized that their food and water source was outside the fortress' walls and must be brought in. So they surrounded the building and prevented anyone from entering with supplies.
They starved them into submission.
I picture this ... families huddled together in their circular homes. Children tugging at their mothers' skirts for a scrap of food. Men hanging their heads in defeat as they gave into the Incas to save their lives ...
We stop for a moment on the edge, and our guide points out into the hills.
"That red house down there," he says. "I was born there." That is the home of his grandparents, he explains. He now lives next door.
We sit there for a while, looking out into the hills. You can see the small squiggly line of the road we came in on. Green mountains stretched out like a sleeping giant. Llamas graze below, most likely brought there for the tourists. But we are the only group inside the fortress.
I have heard that Kuelap is the next Machu Picchu. And I'm sure it could be. The ruins themselves are expansive, spreading out over 60,000 square meters. The view surrounding them is beautiful and vast. Perhaps with more excavation, more knowledge of what has been here, more tourists will come. And it will become bustling and commercial like its Cuzco counterpart.
For now though, it's quiet. The empty spaces and crumbled walls sit in near silence. Their stories yet to be told.
Gocta Falls
It is a two-hour drive on newly paved roads to a bustling little town near Gocta Falls. We step out of the van and see the cascading water off in the distance. Smiling faces direct us to a large, one-room building where we can buy our tickets and meet our guide.
Inside, a group of people all wearing matching vests are listening to someone who is pointing at a Powerpoint presentation projected onto the wall. I'm herded into a line for tickets and can only catch a word or two, but they appear to be in some sort of training session regarding customer service. Off to the side, a woman wearing the same vest stands near a rack of scarves and stitched bags and T-shirts that say "Gocta." The prices are clearly labeled, and I'm impressed with the professionalism demonstrated by all the smiling, vested people.
Our guide is from this village. He has a kind face and seems excited to lead us on a hike that he does daily.
The start of the hike is flat and easy with only mild inclines and plenty of hard stones. I ask our guide how long he has been working with tourists, and he mentions that he started when a German man came and "discovered" the falls in 2002.
I am floored. After only 8 years, this small Andean village two hours outside of the nearest city, has built such an operation.
The trail dips, and we head down into the valley, cross a bridge, and hike back up the mountain again. I'm beginning to tire. I brought tennis shoes and wore layers, but I don't have any water.
We turn the corner and are immediately hushed by a crowd waiting there. They are all staring up into a tree and taking photos.
"A monkey," our guide tells us. "What luck!"
They call it a night monkey, and it's sleeping in a branch meters from the trail. Someone lends me binoculars, but I can't seem to find it in the magnified lens. I decide to look with my own eyes and watch it for awhile. A branch hides much of its body, but you can make out its tail.
We're herded once again back up the trail, and we arrive at a small thatched building where I can buy water. I can't imagine how they get supplies there. Donkeys, I suppose.
We sit for a moment, catching our breath, and then decide it would be better to rest near the water and so decide keep going. They told us it would be roughly an hour and a half to get to the base of the falls. We must be about halfway there.
The trail is steep and narrow. Like the road to Kuelap, it twists and turns on the way down the mountain. And then, as we round yet another bend, we see it. Gocta.
We saw it, of course, before when we were in the village. But that was from a distance. We take pictures but don't linger. Our energy is renewed, and we rush now to reach its base.
The falls disappear again behind a cover of trees as we head further down the trail. I can hear it though. The sound of water tumbling from over 700 meters high echoes through my ears ... until ... finally ... we're there. At the base of the 3rd tallest waterfall in the world.*
And that feeling ... that awe that I thought had dissolved after 2 years ... is back in full force. I stand unable to move. It is so beautiful. By the time the water hits the ground, it is only mist. And I stand there, feeling it settle onto every inch of me.
We run down to the pool of water at the base and dare each other to drink from it. The water is so clear. I scoop my hands in and bring it up to my mouth. It's ice-cold against my lips and tastes pure. I know I will probably get sick in the morning, but I don't care. I didn't want to miss my opportunity to drink from one of the worlds most impressive marvels.
A few of us decide that we want to try and make our way directly beneath the falls. Our guide advises us not to.
"The falls produce a lot of wind," he says. "It's too powerful. Too dangerous."
We decide to try anyway, recognizing an opportunity for later regret if we don't. I borrow a poncho and hand over my Gocta bag (purchased from the smiling, vested lady). The rocks are big and slippery, so we take our time. With every step, the mist gets thicker; the wind from the force of the water, stronger. Twenty meters from the base, we are already soaked.
We get maybe 5 or 7 meters from directly beneath the falls before we have to stop. The force is too strong. We stand there for a moment, and let the mist fall over us.
When we finally get back to the others, we are laughing and smiling and sopping wet. The poncho did nothing to keep me dry, and I know it will probably be an uncomfortable hike back up.
I am so dumb with awe and excitement that I don't even care. I feel young and free and adventurous and like I can do anything.
We sit for awhile and listen to our guide tell us the myth of the falls. The reason why it was kept hidden for so long from outsiders. I don't catch every word. The roar of the falls makes it difficult to hear. But he starts the story telling of a farmer who lived near the falls. He would disappear from time to time without telling his wife where he was going. One day while she was washing clothes, the wife found gold and jewels in his pants pocket. She became confused and slightly suspicious, and so the next time he left, she went after him. She followed him to the base of the waterfalls.
There, she saw him talking to a beautiful mermaid. When he saw her standing there, the mermaid grabbed him and pulled him under the water ... never to be seen again ...
We start our trek back up the mountain. It's a difficult hike, and everyone goes at their own pace. Soon, I find myself in the middle. Alone with my thoughts and footsteps. I stop every 20 meters or so to hold my side and breathe. It's a steep incline, and I have to convince myself a time or two that I can actually make it back up.
When I pause to breathe, I stare back at the falls or, when I can't see them, I listen to them. And despite my aching lungs and tired legs, I am smiling a wide, dopey grin. I can't believe I am here. I can't believe I'm seeing this beautiful place.
Three-fourths of the way back to the village, I catch my second wind. I'm running. Leaping over rocks and slowing down only to maneuver the steepest of parts.
Maybe it's runners high; I don't know. But I feel amazing.
My second wind carries me into the village right behind my two long-legged friends who are leading the group. It's 4 p.m., but we haven't eaten since breakfast. We eat lunch greedily and then get back in the van to return to Chachapoyas.
As we drive along through the hills on the way back to the city, I sit and smile. The falls are out of view, and the sound of them is gone, but I close my eyes to make sure I can still see them in my memory. I don't want to forget this. I can't forget this.
The Plaza Mayor of Chachapoyas.
The 7 of us outside of Kuelap: Megan, Olga, Me, Glenn, Marian, Omar and Jessica.
The ruins of Kuelap. The roofed house was reconstructed by a Canadian archeologist in the 80s.
The rounded homes. Many of them had deep holes in their centers where, our guide informs us, they either kept potatoes or buried their dead.
The view from Kuelap.
We "sacrificed" Jessica in front of the upside-down cone-shaped silo/prison/temple.
The bend where we first saw Gocta Falls fairly close-up.
I drank this water. It was amazing. And I didn't get sick.
Glenn, Olga and I trying to get beneath the falls against better judgment and the warnings of our guide.
We got soaked. But it was worth it. Totally worth it.* This is what the people of Gocta claim, but according to Wikipedia, that is up for debate.
Organic Vegetable Garden
We started talking about planting a veggie garden over a year ago. Began prepping the soil about 3 months ago. And finally planted about a month and a half ago. Now, going to our little biohuerto is the best part of my day.
Not that the experience has been a cakewalk. Few things in Peace Corps are as easy as you think they'll be. But my counterpart, Karen, and I are learning a lot. At first, the onion and ají peppers didn't sprout, and then a fungus attacked some of our cucumber plants. The ground is as hard as cement and soaks up water faster than a sponge. But despite some of our little hurdles, we're having a lot of fun. And this Saturday, we're going to debut the garden to families participating in our Healthy Homes project.
But first, I'm going to debut it here for y'all to see.
These are some seedlings I have in my backyard. The green bowl is ají peppers; the checkered bag, onion; and the small red plastic bag, green peppers. But right now, they all look exactly the same.
Spinach -- I can hardly wait to make a delicious salad out of these beautiful leafy greens.
The cucumber we might have planted a little too close together. These plants are monstrous, and I'm seriously concerned there's an ant sting operation about to take them out ...
These are carrots. I think we gave them way more space than they needed, but we weren't sure. Although now I'm fairly certain that the ground isn't loose enough for them, and they will turn out to be short, fat little things. But oh well! We'll see how yummy they are.
Broccoli and cilantro. We'll probably have two harvests of cilantro before we get any broccoli.
Not that the experience has been a cakewalk. Few things in Peace Corps are as easy as you think they'll be. But my counterpart, Karen, and I are learning a lot. At first, the onion and ají peppers didn't sprout, and then a fungus attacked some of our cucumber plants. The ground is as hard as cement and soaks up water faster than a sponge. But despite some of our little hurdles, we're having a lot of fun. And this Saturday, we're going to debut the garden to families participating in our Healthy Homes project.
But first, I'm going to debut it here for y'all to see.
These are some seedlings I have in my backyard. The green bowl is ají peppers; the checkered bag, onion; and the small red plastic bag, green peppers. But right now, they all look exactly the same.
Spinach -- I can hardly wait to make a delicious salad out of these beautiful leafy greens.
The cucumber we might have planted a little too close together. These plants are monstrous, and I'm seriously concerned there's an ant sting operation about to take them out ...
These are carrots. I think we gave them way more space than they needed, but we weren't sure. Although now I'm fairly certain that the ground isn't loose enough for them, and they will turn out to be short, fat little things. But oh well! We'll see how yummy they are.
Broccoli and cilantro. We'll probably have two harvests of cilantro before we get any broccoli.New Edition of 'Pasa la Voz'
The latest edition of Peace Corps-Peru's Volunteer magazine Pasa la Voz is hot off the pdf. If anyone is interested in an electronic copy, just let me know.
Cover
Table of contents
Cover
Table of contents
Just in case you were wondering how to make a model latrine out of cardboard
Step 1. Grab a giant cardboard box (from a fridge or, say, washing machine), some poles and your host dad.
Step 2. Attach poles to the cardboard box by using a giant sewing needle and some plastic-y black string.
Step 3: Saw open the box to make the door.
Step 4: Put smaller poles perpendicular to the long, sewed-in poles to support the roof. Then sew in the roof.
Step 5: Grab a bunch of neighbor kids and see how many can fit inside at once. Then take a picture.
Step 2. Attach poles to the cardboard box by using a giant sewing needle and some plastic-y black string.
Step 3: Saw open the box to make the door.
Step 4: Put smaller poles perpendicular to the long, sewed-in poles to support the roof. Then sew in the roof.
Step 5: Grab a bunch of neighbor kids and see how many can fit inside at once. Then take a picture.
This time for Africa
This has quite possibly been one of the most fun months I've had in Peace Corps. Why? you ask.
Wait -- seriously? You have to ask?
THE WORLD CUP!!
One full month of The Beautiful Game. Painted bodies draped in flags. Constant buzzing on the television. People crowded around store fronts and small kiosks. Waka Waka. Wavin' Flag. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAL. So much excitement crammed into ~30 short days.
Not to mention the plethora of opportunities for an educational experience. Language. Culture. Geography --- I'll even admit I wasn't 100 percent certain of the exact location of Slovenia.
Perfect chance to whip out the ol' world map and dig around on Wikipedia.
Peru hasn't participated in the World Cup in decades. But that didn't stop my already sleepy little town to go into a coma for the past few weeks, just so that everyone could watch the games. Everywhere you went, a game was on, and people were shouting, groaning and clapping along with the TV crowds.
I started the Cup rooting, obviously, for the great nation of the United States of America -- with the condition that if *sigh* we were to be booted, I would cheer on the African team that went the furthest.
Not since college, when MU played KU (go Tigers!) and I taught my elderly grandmother the cheer MIZ-ZOU, have I been so enraptured by a single sport. Every time the US played, my heart jumped into my throat, my nails were chewed to bits, and I gave in to pure joy when my countrymen kicked that ball into the net and incredible disappointment every time they didn't.
I was with my host family in their living room when the US played Algeria. My host brothers and host father glued to the screen, me hopping up and down depending on the location of the ball on the field. When the US finally took the game and advanced to the next round, I leaped 2 feet in the air and shouted so loud, everyone surrounding the kiosk outside started laughing.
Even though the US didn't advance much further than that, their participation and my enthusiasm sparked a lot of questions from my Peruvian friends. Do you really have black people in your country? They asked me. How come that guy has a Spanish last name? Watching the US play was a great opportunity to talk about the diversity in our homeland. "Yes, there are Latinos who live there," I'd tell them. "Asians, too." In a country that is fairly homogeneous like Peru, the idea of such an array of people coming from all over was finally tangible by watching the players take the field.
Which was cool. Because that diversity and mix of cultures is exactly what I've grown to appreciate and miss most about the US. And the thing I'm most ready to talk about when I am asked that ubiquitous question, "What is America like?"
For the final game, I sat around a table with 8 other volunteers, in a room full of Peruvians. Some of us rooted for Spain. Others for Holland. Every body was cheering and gasping with every shot taken. Along with the rest of the world. And at that point, it didn't really matter where you came from. Or who you rooted for. 'Cause we were all watching together.
So often, I feel like The Other. An outsider ... And as comfortable as I get in site, I've never once felt like I belonged here ... Maybe that's my fault. For placing too many definitions and specifications on where Home should be.
But this World Cup made me feel like a part of something. ... Something big. And unifying.
And yeah, sure, it's just a game. But the World Cup is an opportunity to flip traditional power on its head. Where a tiny country like Uruguay could make it to 4th place. And China never even made the cut.
In the end, it didn't even really matter who took it all. Because we would have watched anyway. And for a few short weeks, we all hummed "Wavin' Flag." All around the world. Together.
And that's something.
Wait -- seriously? You have to ask?
THE WORLD CUP!!
One full month of The Beautiful Game. Painted bodies draped in flags. Constant buzzing on the television. People crowded around store fronts and small kiosks. Waka Waka. Wavin' Flag. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAL. So much excitement crammed into ~30 short days.
Not to mention the plethora of opportunities for an educational experience. Language. Culture. Geography --- I'll even admit I wasn't 100 percent certain of the exact location of Slovenia.
Perfect chance to whip out the ol' world map and dig around on Wikipedia.
Peru hasn't participated in the World Cup in decades. But that didn't stop my already sleepy little town to go into a coma for the past few weeks, just so that everyone could watch the games. Everywhere you went, a game was on, and people were shouting, groaning and clapping along with the TV crowds.
I started the Cup rooting, obviously, for the great nation of the United States of America -- with the condition that if *sigh* we were to be booted, I would cheer on the African team that went the furthest.
Not since college, when MU played KU (go Tigers!) and I taught my elderly grandmother the cheer MIZ-ZOU, have I been so enraptured by a single sport. Every time the US played, my heart jumped into my throat, my nails were chewed to bits, and I gave in to pure joy when my countrymen kicked that ball into the net and incredible disappointment every time they didn't.
I was with my host family in their living room when the US played Algeria. My host brothers and host father glued to the screen, me hopping up and down depending on the location of the ball on the field. When the US finally took the game and advanced to the next round, I leaped 2 feet in the air and shouted so loud, everyone surrounding the kiosk outside started laughing.
Even though the US didn't advance much further than that, their participation and my enthusiasm sparked a lot of questions from my Peruvian friends. Do you really have black people in your country? They asked me. How come that guy has a Spanish last name? Watching the US play was a great opportunity to talk about the diversity in our homeland. "Yes, there are Latinos who live there," I'd tell them. "Asians, too." In a country that is fairly homogeneous like Peru, the idea of such an array of people coming from all over was finally tangible by watching the players take the field.
Which was cool. Because that diversity and mix of cultures is exactly what I've grown to appreciate and miss most about the US. And the thing I'm most ready to talk about when I am asked that ubiquitous question, "What is America like?"
For the final game, I sat around a table with 8 other volunteers, in a room full of Peruvians. Some of us rooted for Spain. Others for Holland. Every body was cheering and gasping with every shot taken. Along with the rest of the world. And at that point, it didn't really matter where you came from. Or who you rooted for. 'Cause we were all watching together.
So often, I feel like The Other. An outsider ... And as comfortable as I get in site, I've never once felt like I belonged here ... Maybe that's my fault. For placing too many definitions and specifications on where Home should be.
But this World Cup made me feel like a part of something. ... Something big. And unifying.
And yeah, sure, it's just a game. But the World Cup is an opportunity to flip traditional power on its head. Where a tiny country like Uruguay could make it to 4th place. And China never even made the cut.
In the end, it didn't even really matter who took it all. Because we would have watched anyway. And for a few short weeks, we all hummed "Wavin' Flag." All around the world. Together.
And that's something.
Camp VALOR
Photos from our boys leadership camp in Chulucanas, Piura. Because I'm a girl, I wasn't a counselor this time. But I ref'd field games with my friend Susan and played the female love interest in our dinner theatre telenovela Cuerpo de Pasión. A lot of fun and way less stress, but I didn't go away with any warm fuzzies this time.
Not to say the boys didn't have fun. The two I brought with me had a great time. But I don't know if they left motivated to change their community. Maybe I'll need to wait a little while in order to see the impact it had on them.
Jhonatan and Renson, the two boys I took from my community.
Relay races during field games.
Kick-boxing for morning exercises.
To build team spirit at the beginning, the boys had to de-ice-ify a t-shirt and put it on their camp counselor, Douglas.
Doug was pretty excited.
Me in my "ref" uniform. I found Susan's and my jersey at the border market for $3. I think they are technically from a team in Europe. The whistles are from our med kits. Thanks, Peace Corps!
The boys playing water balloon volleyball. That handsome devil on the left is Jhonatan, one of my teen health promoters.
The volunteers who participated. We always do a "loco" photo after the legit shot.
At the end of the camp, we had a talent show, and (in the spirit of the World Cup) we girls performed to "Wavin' Flag" ... the David Bisbal version. We had a hard time keeping up with the Spanish lyrics at some points, but we had fun.
All of the boys, counselors and the ladies.
Not to say the boys didn't have fun. The two I brought with me had a great time. But I don't know if they left motivated to change their community. Maybe I'll need to wait a little while in order to see the impact it had on them.
Jhonatan and Renson, the two boys I took from my community.
Relay races during field games.
Kick-boxing for morning exercises.
To build team spirit at the beginning, the boys had to de-ice-ify a t-shirt and put it on their camp counselor, Douglas.
Doug was pretty excited.
Me in my "ref" uniform. I found Susan's and my jersey at the border market for $3. I think they are technically from a team in Europe. The whistles are from our med kits. Thanks, Peace Corps!
The boys playing water balloon volleyball. That handsome devil on the left is Jhonatan, one of my teen health promoters.
The volunteers who participated. We always do a "loco" photo after the legit shot.
At the end of the camp, we had a talent show, and (in the spirit of the World Cup) we girls performed to "Wavin' Flag" ... the David Bisbal version. We had a hard time keeping up with the Spanish lyrics at some points, but we had fun.
All of the boys, counselors and the ladies.Bonding with my host mom
The smell wasn't unbearable at first. More like a mild annoyance. But despite cleaning all my dishes, washing my clothes, looking under my bed, even peeking under the mattress -- I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. And it was getting worse.
Deep down I think I knew. We'd heard the scurrying for a few days, and then one night I saw them: two small, gray furballs running along the walls just below the tin roof.
Most people don't like mice. I'm pretty indifferent, as long as they don't eat my food or fall on me while I'm sleeping. But my host mom ... it's kind of her thing. Like how some people can deal with spiders and ants but can't stand cockroaches. Norma can put up with a lot of things, but not mice.
The next day, she went into Tumbes and bought rat poison, placing a dish on the floor of my room near the scene of the First Appearance.
So, I guess that's kind of how I suspected the now rancid smell in my room was probably a decomposing rodent. Since I couldn't find it, I figured it was lodged in one of the many cracks or crevices of my walls. And I braced myself for an uncomfortable few days.
Norma took one step into my room and walked right back out, holding her nose. She returned with a small flash light and started the search. When she spotted him, Norma shrieked and ran to get the broom and dust pan.
I suppose since I was an accomplice to the rat poison, it would make sense that the mouse would choose his final revenge by dying in one of my shoes. I'd just hoped that he'd die before he got to carry out his evil plan.
I doused the spot with bleach water and threw out my shoes while Norma carried his tiny gray body away to toss behind the municipality. When she came back, we looked at each other -- pale, wide-eyed -- and we both just started laughing.
Nothing like a little pest control to provide some family bonding.
What I Have Been Up to Lately
Training teen health promoters in HIV prevention and attending their replicas in the high schools.
We have 37 teen promoters in 3 communities this year.
Teens are focusing on the ABC method, A being Abstinence, B is Be faithful
... and C is Condoms.
They also learned a little more about the common sexually transmitted infections.
Sessions this year are entirely game- and activity-based. It's all hands-on and participatory. HIV Jeopardy is a favorite among the teens.Making peanut butter from scratch ... sort of.
I brought peanuts back from the jungle, and we crushed them up with a rock.
My host brother, Samir, had a hard time getting the hang of it. It turned out exactly how you would expect crushed peanuts to turn out, but my host mom didn't want to add oil, so we just sprinkled it on top of jelly and toast.Pumping up with our aerobics group.
We do a hike every month out into the countryside.
Our group resting in a town about an hour away by foot.Working with other Global Fund committee members to present about tuberculosis and HIV in communities.
A group of college students came to present a skit about tuberculosis. People loved it.
We handed out 150 invitations and sent announcements over the loud speakers, but only 25 people came. What can you do? We had to tell ourselves that it was 25 more people who knew more about TB and HIV than before!
Educating parents on HIV and STI prevention through Escuelas de Padres.
Both the obstetrizes from the district came to help out with the session and try to appeal to the usually apprehensive male crowd.
The parents were really uncomfortable, but lightened up a little when we start to debunk myths about size of genitalia and its relation to potency, masturbatory tendencies and bestiality.
... and of course when we whipped out the banana.Celebrating Women's Health Day (28th of May)
The psychologist working at our health post gave a presentation on domestic violence.
More than 50 women came -- double the amount we were expecting. We suspect it had something to do with a promised raffling off of goodies.Attending the weddings of former teen health promoters.
Actually, just one former teen health promoter. She dropped out senior year to get married, which made me a little sad. But I take solace in the hope that she has, in fact, found her dream man and the life she wants to lead. Even if it's not what I would have chosen.
Sarah was my plus one and some of the other teen promoters were there.Playing in the dirt.
As part of our latrines project, we're also building some veggie gardens in the community for families with kids (or anyone who has interest).
All the participating families came out to help build the first one and hear a session from the NGO Cáritas' environmental engineer.
Not a bad month.
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