Dear Microsoft,

The recent changes to your 2013 line of Office Programs are admirable.  Many of the features are more accessible and easy to navigate.  Seldom am I confronted with a question or concern that a little time, diligent searching, and problem-solving can’t fix.

However, when time, diligent searching, and problem-solving prove to be inadequate, so too does your help button.  Linking all of your help articles to Internet access presents a certain, oh je ne sais quoi, black hole of inevitability and despair that those of us living sans Wi-Fi are unable to escape from.

Something to consider for the next round of updates.

Besos!

My Volunteer, My Queen (March 3rd, 2014)

In lieu of Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday, down here in South America we celebrate a little thing called Carnaval.  And this year, the volunteer in Hauri was elected/nominated/chosen/forced-to-be (choose your preferred verb) the queen of the municipality (local government) for the Carnaval parade.  Well that sure sounded like an excuse to go to Huari to me!  So in the wee hours of the morn, aka like 8:30, I’m being sarcastic, I walked down my mountain, hitched a ride in the hatchback of a passing car (Oh, have I mentioned that hitch-hiking is my main mode of transportation) and made my way to Huari where I encountered this beauty:

Lauren, striking the preferred Peruvian picture pose (how's that for alliteration) of serious

Having no other gringa to hang out with, I followed Lauren to where her throne (grass-covered pick-up truck) awaited.  Not only was the car ready for her, but so were the obligatory Peruvian morning drinking circles.

Lauren, in front of her float with her morning beer

  

What with her receiving the royal treatment I wound my way back through the streets of Huari to meet up with the volunteer from Acopalca.  As we waited for the parade to start (late of course—because nothing quite says Perú like waiting around for something to start), we grabbed some freshly squeezed orange juice from a street cart, until at last we were greeted by such fantastical sights as these:

Parade participants decorated with flour, balloons, and ribbons, carrying a yunsa tree through the streets

Creepy baby fountain

Huayno band

The DIRESA (head of the health post network) staff dressed as Tukus, otherwise known as owls

GIANT PUPPETS

The float from Chavin, with the king and queen dressed in what I can only assume is traditional Chavin garb

The queen, waving to the crowd

After all the floats had made their way past the municipality, Lauren, Daniel, and I hung out with the rest of the municipality crew.  Drinking, dancing, and getting floured.

The head of health promotion let me borrow her owl hat for a picture

Getting on the huayno dancing

Post flour

And a little taste of what huayno music and dancing is like:

Besos!

A Very Nice Day

On March 1^st, 2014, I had a very nice day.  I woke up and did everything I like to think I do daily—stretched, exercised, made my bed, etc.  I went for a walk, under threat of rain that never came.  I ate lunch at the neighbor’s, where my host mom was making bread. Lunch was a cold potato soup of delicious proportions.  I watched my host mom and neighbor cut and shape the bread dough into the traditional shapes.  I asked if I could help and was told I could.  I decorated the dough with the first letters of the family’s names, braided dough challah-style, made a cat face, and utterly wowed with my quick picking-up of biscocho decorating. As the bread went into the oven I talked to my lovely sister Laurel for an hour or so, about things that I wish I could talk to her about every day.

It was a very nice day. 

And we’re still eating the bread.

Enjoy some photos of snow-covered mountains and various other loveliness.

Besos!

Sunsets are rare in site (what with all those mountains blocking my view) but one night after staying late at the health post, I managed to see one

Kassel can wash her clothes by hand!

Building the oven.  Coming soon--bread in the backyard!

Flowers in front of the health post

Snow-covered peaks after a persistent night of pouring rain.  My host mom said that she had never seen those peaks so covered--prompting a fun climate change conversation.

Nicoll, Melly, and Lesslye as we waited for Carnaval to start

Making s'mores with Lesslye, Angel (a neighbor), Nicoll, and Melly

Nicoll lost her two front teeth and it is utterly wasted there are so few "sh" words in Spanish

Last Day of English Classes (Feb. 28th, 2014)

February 28^th was the last day of my English classes.  Slightly bittersweet—I’ll miss seeing the little rascals every week.  So after watching Como Entrenar a Su Dragon (I threw down some English subtitles to keep with the spirit of things) we made a couple of videos, mainly so I could remember them all.  The chaos is not totally representative of my classes.  This was the only time I let them stand on the tables and chairs.

Besos!

Introducing my class:

 

An increasingly sped-up version of Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes:

The Rooster

When my host dad last went to Lima he brought back with him two new roosters.  They’re fighting roosters (gag me), but apparently raising the roosters and selling them when they are more mature can reap a pretty profit, which is why they’ve joined our family.

I have a problem with one of the roosters.

It has nothing to do with crowing, which might have been your guess as to the source of my annoyance.  They are absolutely silent and in fact the chickens make more noise (passing eggs is apparently no pleasant task).  The problem happens at night, when it’s dark and cold out.

You see, one of the roosters likes to sleep at the foot of the toilet. And this rooster, it’s not a sierra rooster.  It’s a coastal rooster and doesn’t understand the Quechua sound for “get out of here,” (it’s a breathy “Saf”).  So when Saf-fing doesn’t work, I turn to my foot.  A light nudge brings nothing.  No reaction—no rapid, squawking, feather-flying scramble for the door, as one would expect from a normal bird.

Now, if he was in the shower it would be a totally different matter.  I’ve shared the bathroom with shower chickens before.  We each stick to our own side and everybody’s content.  But a toilet chicken.  Aw hell no.

So I kick and prod and he is slowly, yet surely is pushed out the door.  So far the system works, but one day, I fear, his fighting instincts will kick in, and it will be Kassel vs. Rooster, Round 1.

Besos!

The rooster in question

Ms. Galaty Goes to Huari (February 23rd, 2014)

The volunteer in Huari, Lauren, has had the unexpected privilege of a kitchen all to herself.  Her family, like many Peruvian families, went to Lima during the rainy season in order to enjoy the heat and see whatever relatives live there (and there are always some relatives who live there).  Her fellow volunteers often try to take advantage of this kitchen as well—it’s a chance to make such delicacies as steak and mashed potatoes, meat and vegetable infused spaghetti sauce, and tacos. It’s a chance to get out of your site and relax a little. 

Except not this weekend. 

This weekend there was no electricity.  At first we thought it was because her host grandpa was trying to fix the light in the bathroom and so had shut off the power to avoid electrocution.  Very reasonable.  But then he finished, the lights didn’t come back on, and he was as stumped as we were.  Still, there’s something poetic about being a Peace Corps volunteer and cooking by candlelight.  A whiff of what those early volunteers experienced back in the day (Hey Dad!).  So the avocados were mashed by the light of a candle stuffed into the neck of a Corona bottle, the beef was fried with a headlamp as an aid, and the last vestiges of the laptop’s battery were used to blast Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own.”  Eventually Lauren’s host dad came home (having not gone to Lima with the rest of family for work-related reasons) and explained that the reason there was no electricity was because he forgot to pay the bill.  Ohhhhhh.  So by the light of candlelight Lauren and I made our way to her room.  I clambered into my makeshift bed—two wool blankets as a mattress and a sleeping bag for warmth on the floor.  The comfort is exactly what you think it is.  With two melatonin in my stomach and the prospect of tomorrow’s hike as fodder for dreams I fell asleep.

A true candlelight dinner

With the house without electricity the next morning, and hence no way to charge the laptop, Lauren and I eagerly set off for Acopalca, the site of Daniel, and home to some pretty sweet hikes.  We had agreed the day before to play a game of Carnaval with his host sisters, so we hiked out with a spare change of clothing.  Once in Acopalca we quickly set off for the waterfall Maria Jiray, one of the biggest tourist draws to Huari and the surrounding area.  A peaceful enough hike, filled with pleasant views and good conversation.  As we neared the final bend, Daniel turned to Lauren and said, “Can’t you normally see it from here?” 

Do you see where I’m going with this?  Put on that Sherlock Holmes hat (yes I have seen season 3) and take a stab at it.  I give you the case of “The Missing Waterfall.”  You have essentially as much information as I did (there was supposed to a waterfall, but there wasn’t).  Ponder it for the next few paragraphs or so.

Rocking Daniel's campo hat

Where the waterfall used to be

Lauren and I, distraught and disconcerted

With no waterfall, we hiked back a little downcast (though really, isn’t it more exciting to hike to see a disappeared waterfall than a normal one?  Aren’t there enough consistent waterfalls in the world?), though our spirits were quickly buoyed by the upcoming game of Carnaval—essentially a giant water balloon fight. 

Lauren and I changed into said spare change of clothes, hardly concerned that clothes did not include shoes.  My bare feet slipped back into my hiking boots and we headed down to start filling the balloons in the thankfully bright and warm sun.

Several dozen water balloons and several huge buckets of water dumped on my head later, the clouds were coming in and I was soaked through and through.  Especially my boots.  It was as if I had taken my boots off and held underwater for several hours.  They were so wet and squishy.  As we all dried off, the incoming clouds became a raging thunderstorm.  Oh goody.  So strong was this storm that the electricity went out at Daniel’s house too.  Oh, that’s right.  I’m supposed to walk home in sopping wet boots to a house with electricity.  Nothing like a little R &R.

This whole time, by the way, Lauren’s dogs had followed us around.  They really hated to be parted from her.  So much so that they both managed to climb the ladder up to Daniel’s porch, where we all sat.  Imagine a dog’s body.  Going up a ladder seems feasible, no?  Now imagine it going down.  There’s the rub. 

Just as things seemed truly dire—a 40 minute walk in the pouring rain and thunder, with boots now both wet and cold, to a house without electricity, without the family pets who stranded themselves on the second story—Lauren got a call.  Her host dad, figuring we had the dogs offered to come in the company truck and pick us up.

Haa-llelujah, hallelujah, hallelu-u-u-jah.

And in those final minutes before he arrived, as we were lifting/dropping the dogs down to the ground below, I had an epiphany.  I could put plastic bags on my feet.  My socks and feet would be saved from the wet. 

Haa-llelujah, hallelujah, hallelu-u-u-jah.

Marveling at my own genius

As we were driving back to Huari, we told Lauren’s host dad about the missing waterfall.  Expecting shock and dismay, we got only a “Que lastima.”  Um, we just told you that a stream of water, consisting of several hundred gallons falling every second, has disappeared and you are not surprised.  Might it be that you know why? (Here it comes).

Turns out, the waterfall is not natural.  It was created in the late 1970s when a newly build hydroelectric plant needed to find a solution for its overflow.  During the rainy season, in order to stop the river overflowing from an unnatural and relentless new water source, they essentially turn off the waterfall. 

And a waterfall that can be turned off seems slightly less magnificent, doesn’t it. 

As we pondered this earth-shattering news, we were blessed with someone.  A group of police standing on the side of the road informed the car that the torrential downpour of rain had caused a house to slide off the side of the cliff and had killed someone.  Oh, great.  This is what we’re driving home in. 

As you can tell, we made it back safely.  We made it back, in soaking wet boots, to a house with electricity and as a new development, a leaking roof.  

(Lauren's) Home, sweet home.

The miserable conditions prompted a change in the sleeping arrangements (I got to sleep in the bed!) and the next morning I headed back home to Huantar a happy camper.   Huari may not have been what I expected, but it was fun and I was heading home to my own bed, with my own electrified house, ready to take a nice, hot bucket shower. 

But you see, I headed back a little later than usual in order to grab lunch with Lauren.  And that two-hour time difference resulted in a 3-hour wait at the bottom of my mountain for a car going up to Huantar.  Have you ever waited three hours for a car that might never come?  It’s super fun.

And in Huantar the electricity was still out from the storm, and as an added bonus some teenage boys had broken the water pipe so there was no water in my house either. 

Besos!

Interviews (Feb. 20th, 2014)

As I near having lived in Huantar for three months (!) I’ve begun the series of interviews I will use to provide the data for my community diagnostic.*  Being a health volunteer, I ask health-related questions: Do you wash your hands? Does your bathroom smell (first, do you have a bathroom)? Does your child’s anus itch? You can see how there’s room for awkwardness.

During my first interviews I probably asked about half of the questions.  I just did not feel comfortable asking them all.  By interview six though I had lost all verguenza.  That’s right, I want to see that hot water container, I’m not taking your word for it that you have one.  You say your child has all their vaccinations?  Show me their tarjeta de CRED.  SHOW ME THE BATHROOM. In other words, I meant business.

That said, while I did direct the flow of the interview/conversation, I let the mothers I was interviewing say all they had to say on the subject.  My comprehension was probably at about 70%, but my listening ears were on 100%.  One of the women I interviewed was a talker.  We had a ten-minute conversation about how she was willing to raise her husband’s daughter from another woman.  Eventually we got into the meat of the interview.  Every question brought a backstory.  When we got to the questions about breast-feeding, the dams broke.  I don’t know if it was because she knew that she had the attention of someone who didn’t interrupt, or if it wouldn’t happened whether I was there or not, but after telling me about her inability to breastfeed her second child, she burst into tears, letting out all her life’s woes. 

I won’t go into the individual details; suffice it to say that she is poor, she thinks everyone in Huantar hates her because she’s from a different town originally (I think was more of a heat of the moment thing cause she seemed to be happily hanging out with people during Carnaval), and there are days when she feels like throwing herself in the river.

Woof.

The health post worker I was with, kept mouthing, “We should leave.”  So that was helpful.  In the end, I gave her a hug, said that I was here in Huantar to try to help (though I’m not sure how much attending talks about childhood nutrition will help her), and that we would talk later.

One of the things that I, and most other volunteers, are confronted with is both the vast disparities between our own circumstances and the circumstances of those we live with, as well as the limitations to what we reasonably expect of ourselves.  How to walk the line between insensitivity and taking care of yourself, between greed and generosity. 

None of my interviews since have been so exciting, or so exhausting.  I’ll admit I’m thankful for that. And hopefully, when I leave Huantar in 21 months or so, I’ll feel good about the line I walked.

March 10^th update: I greeted someone in the street today and she started to tear up after I asked her name (she’s recently a widow, I think I gathered).  Maybe I just have one of those faces.

* Community Diagnostic—a summary of the state of your site.  I believe it’s intended as a means for volunteers to prove that they are needed in their community but it ends up being more like bureaucratic bullshit.**

**Very worthwhile, necessary, and well-thought out bureaucratic bullshit, she quickly amended.