The weather is moving toward autumn here: Sunday morning was damply chilly and completely cloudy, so that the nearby mountains and the ocean were both invisible from the roof. (I love hanging my laundry out on the roof because whenever I go up there, the view of all the brick houses and dusty roads up and down the hill makes me stop and ponder the fact that I'm in Peru, on a roof, hanging my hand-washed laundry out to dry.) From what I've heard, the entire winter in Lima is cloudy, chilly, and damp... something to look foreward too. On the plus side, I really have gotten used to cool or lukewarm showers--it actually feels weird to me now to take a steamy hot shower or to leave the water running the entire time. I tried it recently when we went away for the weekend and stayed in a hostel, and it just wasn't as great as I remembered. It helps that I'm getting up early to go jogging almost every other morning, so I'm all warmed up by the time I shower. Other things I am surprisingly used to are lighting the gas stove and oven with a match, flushing the toilet with buckets of water left over from doing laundry, and washing all the dishes by hand. I only very rarely miss driving; I miss my washer and dryer constantly. It's even stranger to be without things like a microwave, dishwasher, etc. now that we have recently gotten high-speed Internet in the house. (YAY!!)
We've now had almost two full months of classes at Fe y Alegría, and our schedules are finally settling down into what we hope will be a comfortable pattern for the year. A brief description of what I do on a weekly basis:
I am working with small groups of 9th and 10th grade students during their English class, taking them to the library to work on conversation and grammar a bit more extensively than they would do in the classroom. It is nice to work with only six students at a time, but Catherine and I have both felt frustrated lately because there is little continuity in teaching this way: the groups keep changing, which on one hand gives everybody a chance to work with us, but on the other hand means that you can never be sure what you have taught to whom, or establish any standards for your little "class" such as speaking English whenever possible. Apart from English groups, I am also helping two of the 11th grade Communication classes (what we would call an English class) with discussion of literature. Every Friday, half of each class goes with me to discuss the book they're reading in the auditorium, while the other group stays with the teacher to discuss their book. I've been giving reading quizzes and working with them on pulling quotes out of the text to answer the questions I ask. It's extremely difficult to make them do the reading they're supposed to do outside of class. The students are all incredibly warm, energetic, and eager to learn, but they haven't been taught to do much of anything on their own; from what I've seen, the classes seem to emphasize memorization over critical thinking. The first few reading quizzes have been abysmal, and on their test, which covered both my book and other things they're doing with their teacher, some of them simply don't answer whole sections. It's a little scary. Last Friday I think I finally scared some of them by handing back the reading quizzes, but I honestly don't know what I'm going to do if they don't respond to my attempts to get them to read. I don't want to be the bad guy yelling at them all year, but there's so little class time that I barely have time to do anything else.
For the first few months I was here, there was almost no music in my life, which I felt as a loss--but recently I have become very musically occupied once again! Last Friday was my first rehearsal with a chorus of nineteen fourth-graders, and it went very well. I call them my Pollitos, or Little Chickens, because their "audition" was to sing a children's song about little chickens in two different keys, and the ones who could more or less stay on pitch got to be in the choir. (There were surprisingly few who could.) They were very attentive for most of the rehearsal and completely unembarassed to use their voices in silly ways for warm-ups. We worked on singing the Spanish version of Frére Jaque, and I actually noticed an improvement in their intonation by the end of the rehearsal! I was so happy! I'm also working with a chorus of 9th through 11th graders, who are more hesitant about using their voices but able to sing more complicated things; so far we've managed to get four parts going on a simple song, badly tuned, but four parts nonetheless. The students love it. Several of the guys play guitar very well and accompany us. And finally, I've become a regular member of the church choir, which is fun because I get to meet adults from the parish.
In trying to find the best work for myself here, I've learned more about what my own vaguely-defined expectations were for this year and what I'd hoped to accomplish. I've discovered that being "The Teacher" is not a role I easily identify with--I don't have the training, the wardrobe, or the urge to impose my will on large groups of unruly young people, which seem necessary for the job. The way I see it, if you don't want to learn, it's your loss, so why should I drive myself crazy trying to force you? (Especially when I'm not trained to do so and don't really know what I'm doing?) I am well aware that this attitude makes me better suited for a college environment than a grade school one, and also that I have voluntarily come to Peru in order to help grade school students, so to some extent (as Catherine has pointed out) I did "sign up" to be The Teacher for a year. But if I stop to think about it, I realize that I never pictured myself in front of a class; my idea of "helping the school" was basically that of tutoring students one on one (including the adults whose classes have moved!) . Today, for example, I had a student come by for help with an English project, and I loved being able to work with just her, going through everything until she understood it. It's funny how you can get so caught up in what you think you're expected to be doing, and trying to make it work, that you forget that you might be better off doing what you're more comfortable with. For example, another thing I'd pictured myself doing was helping in the parish, visiting sick people or something like that, which I hadn't even thought to ask about until recently because I've been so focused on making things work at the school.
However, all that said, I definitely do enjoy working with my choirs, and even with the Communication class I am willing to play Teacher for the sake of having them read and talk about books, because music and literature are very important to me, and I'm confident in my ability to teach the students something in those areas. The English groups have drawn me into the school by introducing me to practically all the 8th through 11th grade students, but they are actually where I feel the least comfortable at this point, because I don't have the training that Catherine does in teaching languages. My next step is to reach out a little more to the parish and see if anything appealing needs doing there.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Holy Week and the choir
Just after I wrote my frustrated rant about not being part of this community, things began to change in that respect. Since I have never been one to walk up to random people on the street and make friends with them, I started asking all the sisters for ideas on how to meet people. We agreed that the church choir would be a good option. Then, a few days afterwards, Sister Denise brought us to visit a friend of hers, Elisabeth, who teaches at our school. We spent a lovely two hours at Elisabeth's house with her, her husband, her father, and her one-year-old baby. Peruvians are all extremely warm, gracious hosts; Elisabeth served us Coke and crackers and we talked about the school, Peru, the US, travel, etc. They were such a cheerful family and they invited us back any time. It was nice just to feel invited somewhere! Also, I found out that at least the older and more "finished" houses around here do have running water, electricity, a TV (but no air conditioning or heat, like most of the country).
The same week, I finally got connected with the church choir. Catherine and I had planned to go to Ica for Holy Thursday and Good Friday, but the friend who was going to be our ride called two days beforehand to cancel, and so we were left disappointed. Catherine took another trip back to visit Tony's house in Chaclacayo for a day and a half, but I stayed around because I wanted to see how Holy Week is celebrated here in Delicias... and it turned out to be a great thing that I hadn't left. On Good Friday there was a Via Crucis ceremony in which the fourteen Stations of the Cross were represented by fourteen people in the neighborhood who are ill. The procession left the church and walked around singing to all of the fourteen houses, and at each one there was a prayer and a song with the sick person and their family coming to the door of the house. It was really touching to visit these people, mostly elderly women, and to see the face of God reflected in them and their suffering. It was also a three-hour-long opportunity for me to meet the leaders of the choir. I asked if I could join, and the next day I found myself in rehearsal for the Easter Sunday Mass. It was the most fun I have ever had in a choir that can't sing in tune to save their lives! (The director is talented, and did a beautiful solo song with his guitar for the meditation at Easter, but the group as a whole has major issues. If you think this is just my musical elitism talking, Catherine will tell you how painful it can be in Mass sometimes.) Everybody was really warm and welcoming, asking me where I was from, what I was doing there, etc, and inviting me to sing with them at the Wednesday and Sunday Masses. I was thrilled to have another thing to do, plus a way to meet people and use my interest in music. Teresa had told me earlier that I could be of help to the choir, and I was a little hesitant to go in and try to teach them things "my way," but I never understood what a gift I can bring to them just by singing and playing in tune. I'm planning to teach them one of my favorite church songs that I've found a Spanish translation to in the sisters' song book.
The Easter celebration here was one of the coolest things I have seen yet. It combines a nighttime vigil with a Sunday morning Mass. We started at four o'clock in the morning on the big soccer field across the street from our house. The priests and the altar were in the middle of the field, and the people stood all around on the concrete stadium steps, each person with a candle. There was a huge bonfire, out of which the priest lit the Easter candle, and the youth group did a great dance around it to Andean pipe and guitar music; somebody had made a very precarious-looking tower out of sticks and mounted fireworks on it, which went off one after the other in white spirals that spun and then went out and little rockets that didn't go very high--the technology was "más o menos," like that of the microphone and amplification system, but the people loved it. From the Easter candle, the priest passed the light to the people, and in the dark as we waited for the Resurrection and the sunrise, the whole stadium was lit up with little hopeful golden candles. By the time the Mass ended, the sun was up and it was Easter morning! Afterwards, the other house of sisters came over to our place, and Catherine and I cooked everyone an American pancake breakfast... the only bad part was that we were too full later when we went over to their house for a Peruvian lunch of ceviche, chicken and rice, and fruit salad. It was a great day and a great weekend.
The same week, I finally got connected with the church choir. Catherine and I had planned to go to Ica for Holy Thursday and Good Friday, but the friend who was going to be our ride called two days beforehand to cancel, and so we were left disappointed. Catherine took another trip back to visit Tony's house in Chaclacayo for a day and a half, but I stayed around because I wanted to see how Holy Week is celebrated here in Delicias... and it turned out to be a great thing that I hadn't left. On Good Friday there was a Via Crucis ceremony in which the fourteen Stations of the Cross were represented by fourteen people in the neighborhood who are ill. The procession left the church and walked around singing to all of the fourteen houses, and at each one there was a prayer and a song with the sick person and their family coming to the door of the house. It was really touching to visit these people, mostly elderly women, and to see the face of God reflected in them and their suffering. It was also a three-hour-long opportunity for me to meet the leaders of the choir. I asked if I could join, and the next day I found myself in rehearsal for the Easter Sunday Mass. It was the most fun I have ever had in a choir that can't sing in tune to save their lives! (The director is talented, and did a beautiful solo song with his guitar for the meditation at Easter, but the group as a whole has major issues. If you think this is just my musical elitism talking, Catherine will tell you how painful it can be in Mass sometimes.) Everybody was really warm and welcoming, asking me where I was from, what I was doing there, etc, and inviting me to sing with them at the Wednesday and Sunday Masses. I was thrilled to have another thing to do, plus a way to meet people and use my interest in music. Teresa had told me earlier that I could be of help to the choir, and I was a little hesitant to go in and try to teach them things "my way," but I never understood what a gift I can bring to them just by singing and playing in tune. I'm planning to teach them one of my favorite church songs that I've found a Spanish translation to in the sisters' song book.
The Easter celebration here was one of the coolest things I have seen yet. It combines a nighttime vigil with a Sunday morning Mass. We started at four o'clock in the morning on the big soccer field across the street from our house. The priests and the altar were in the middle of the field, and the people stood all around on the concrete stadium steps, each person with a candle. There was a huge bonfire, out of which the priest lit the Easter candle, and the youth group did a great dance around it to Andean pipe and guitar music; somebody had made a very precarious-looking tower out of sticks and mounted fireworks on it, which went off one after the other in white spirals that spun and then went out and little rockets that didn't go very high--the technology was "más o menos," like that of the microphone and amplification system, but the people loved it. From the Easter candle, the priest passed the light to the people, and in the dark as we waited for the Resurrection and the sunrise, the whole stadium was lit up with little hopeful golden candles. By the time the Mass ended, the sun was up and it was Easter morning! Afterwards, the other house of sisters came over to our place, and Catherine and I cooked everyone an American pancake breakfast... the only bad part was that we were too full later when we went over to their house for a Peruvian lunch of ceviche, chicken and rice, and fruit salad. It was a great day and a great weekend.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
A day off
A week ago last Monday, there was no school for a teacher meeting, so Sister Teresa took me and Catherine to get our resident ID cards from the immigration office in Lima. We are now legal residents of Peru until March 2008. It was cool to see all the different kinds of people in the immigration office--some gringos like us, some Asian people, and some Peruvians there for their own passports and such. We took a colectivo, which is like a taxi car with a set route, into the center of the city because it was faster than a bus... and the driver was determined to get us there fast, because I counted no less than four lights which turned red just before he continued through them, and even in Peru I've never seen anybody inch between two lanes of traffic quite so daringly. Then he charged Teresa 3 soles for each of us, and when she asked when the price had gone up from 2.50 to 3, he handed her the extra 1.50 back immediately, very matter-of-factly, with no effort at argument and no air of shame for having tried to pull a fast one on the three white people. Ah, Peru.
After the immigration office, Teresa had other errands to run, so me and Catherine had a great lunch in this little corner restaurant of the type so typical here. There's a Menu of the Day written on a dry-erase board out front; you get to choose either a soup or an appetizer, and then you choose your main course from two to five options, and both courses plus a drink costs 5 soles, less than $2. These little places seem sketchy from the outside because they're so unofficial-looking, but the food is excellent! I had chicken with pinapple sauce, rice, and beans, and Catherine had goat (yes, goat) with cilantro sauce. My appetizer was avocado salad and hers was a chicken tamale. Mmmm, delicious.
After lunch we wanted to go to Metro, the supermarket that looks like any American Giant or Safeway, for some things we don't buy in the market in the pueblo. But right next to Metro is Ripley, the Peruvian version of Sears or Hecht's, and we had an urge to go shopping. I hadn't realized until we walked in how much I had been longing for something "normal," that is, similar to the world I knew for the first twenty-two-plus years of my life. We spent hours looking for sales, trying things on, and at the end I bought a sweater and jeans... I have never been so happy to be in a department store. Metro had the same effect--it was amazing to be shopping with a shopping cart, aisles, things in cans, Corn Flakes on the shelves, etc. I bought macaroni and cheese in a box as a special treat (the cheese was too expensive for us to buy enough of it to make our own macaroni, which was the original plan.) It's amazing the things that one misses being away--all the stupid little foods that are so common in America, like macaroni and cheese, and aren't even that great except that they're what you're used to. Bubble tea, Domino's pizza, the Bagel Bin in Ellicott City, and Shanghai Cafe are other cravings I've had. But what can you do... the ceviche with sweet potato or the sandwiches with avocado and lime are here to make up for it.
After the immigration office, Teresa had other errands to run, so me and Catherine had a great lunch in this little corner restaurant of the type so typical here. There's a Menu of the Day written on a dry-erase board out front; you get to choose either a soup or an appetizer, and then you choose your main course from two to five options, and both courses plus a drink costs 5 soles, less than $2. These little places seem sketchy from the outside because they're so unofficial-looking, but the food is excellent! I had chicken with pinapple sauce, rice, and beans, and Catherine had goat (yes, goat) with cilantro sauce. My appetizer was avocado salad and hers was a chicken tamale. Mmmm, delicious.
After lunch we wanted to go to Metro, the supermarket that looks like any American Giant or Safeway, for some things we don't buy in the market in the pueblo. But right next to Metro is Ripley, the Peruvian version of Sears or Hecht's, and we had an urge to go shopping. I hadn't realized until we walked in how much I had been longing for something "normal," that is, similar to the world I knew for the first twenty-two-plus years of my life. We spent hours looking for sales, trying things on, and at the end I bought a sweater and jeans... I have never been so happy to be in a department store. Metro had the same effect--it was amazing to be shopping with a shopping cart, aisles, things in cans, Corn Flakes on the shelves, etc. I bought macaroni and cheese in a box as a special treat (the cheese was too expensive for us to buy enough of it to make our own macaroni, which was the original plan.) It's amazing the things that one misses being away--all the stupid little foods that are so common in America, like macaroni and cheese, and aren't even that great except that they're what you're used to. Bubble tea, Domino's pizza, the Bagel Bin in Ellicott City, and Shanghai Cafe are other cravings I've had. But what can you do... the ceviche with sweet potato or the sandwiches with avocado and lime are here to make up for it.
Quarter-year reflections
Wow, we have been here for three months now... one-quarter of our volunteer time!
Three months seems to bring with it a kind of second-wave culture shock, what you might call an end to the "honeymoon period" of being in a foreign country. At first, everything here was so new and different that even the weird, uncomfortable, or annoying things about Peru were all part of the adventure. Now, however, the house we're living in feels like "my house," the street is "my street," the view out the front window of the guys playing soccer on the field opposite the house has become very familiar. Even the market is becoming an expected sight (only the occasional shocker, like the live frogs I saw being sold the other day, still hits me strongly) and the crazy Peruvian driving has ceased to terrify me at all. But as I begin to regard parts of this life as "normal" and thus expect less of the unexpected, things that didn't bother me before have really started to shock and irritate me. If this is "my house" and "my neighborhood," why do I still get whistled at and stared at every time I step out the door? It seems like I can't walk down the street without passing a group of men and hearing wolf whistles or badly pronounced "Hello"s or just plain "Muy bonita!" ("very pretty!") called out after me. It's something that seems completely normal to the people here, men and women alike, but as an American, I can't stop finding it rude and offensive--and more than anything, it makes both me and Catherine feel our status as outsiders very intensely. We're not the tourists here anymore, we're the tourist attraction, and more than anything I would like to figure out how to become more a part of this community.
The community is too large to meet everyone. Mostly we are friends with the sisters we live with, the other house of nuns down the street, and a group of young Peruvians we met through Dr. Tony's house in Chaclacayo. We have been out dancing with them twice and had a good time--my favorite part was seeing two amazing live salsa bands at the club we went to. But in the neighborhood where we live, we simply don't have friends. We know the people at Fe y Alegría, somewhat; at least, everyone is very warm and kind in greeting us when we walk around the school. The students all call out "Miss! Miss!" or "Señorita! Hola!" when they see you, and lots of them come up to give you a kiss on the cheek, which is how people greet each other in Lima. But students aren't friends, and most of the teachers are married with their own families and lives to attend to... and at the end of the day, most of the people we pass on the street don't know us. Last Sunday my frustration about this boiled over, and we spent a long time talking to the sisters about possible ways for us to meet people. Sister Denise has come up with a few contacts for us, so we'll see how that goes. But we discovered in our discussion that the problem may be that the young women around here simply aren't visible. They either have jobs, go to school and have jobs, or are mothers in their early twenties and spend their time with their families. They seem to live their lives in a more private sphere... at least, that would explain why we constantly see groups of men hanging out on the streets, but never a group of young women.
Anyway, our introduction period is over, we're back from our summer at Tony's and our "real work" is solidly underway... and the question appears, are we doing what we came here to do? Is it worth the enormous effort and all the donations that went into NDMVP's program to bring us here? Are we being of service to this community? So far, in the middle of much chaos as I try to find my niche at the school, one thing is working pretty well: I do feel that my English groups are contributing to those students' learning. Not only are they learning some more English, but I have also been working on some study habits with them. Peruvian students (at least these ones) are very warm, eager, energetic, and interested to learn--a far cry from American high schoolers with their "too cool for school" attitudes--but they have absolutely no study habits, no idea how to learn independently, because they haven't been taught to think critically. The idea of taking notes is foreign to them. If you tell them to copy the board, they all copy beautifully, in two different pen colors and a highlighter, but until you tell them to, they just sit there, not even taking out their notebooks. The other day I said to my Comunicación section, "Take out your notebooks," and one girl asked me in perfect seriousness, "Pens too?" I have been trying to tell them that their notebooks are their own, and if they want to remember something later, they should write down the most important things we talk about in class so they can study it. Some of my English students were actually taking notes on their own the other day and I got so happy!One of the jobs I had hoped to do here, however, has disappeared--the Saturday radio school for adults to get the equivalent of their GED has been moved to another location, and so I can't help with that. I had really looked forward to teaching adults basic reading or math, but even if I were to take on students for tutoring, they couldn't get their certification just from me, they'd have to go to the school in its new location, which is two bus rides away. So that's no longer an option.
Now that we're settling in a little bit, the next step is to really become part of the community, to start actually "living here" instead of just being here on a long vacation. It's not just something I want, or something that would be good for cultural exchange, it's something I need very badly in order not to feel like an exile for my entire year here. I'm still planning to join the church choir here to meet some people and get some singing back in my life. As soon as I get back from our trip to Ica this weekend, I'll go up and introduce myself to them after Mass and ask if I can sing. And we'll see where things go from there. Ideally, it would lead to my meeting a few families, some neighbors perhaps, and getting to know some adults instead of just the kids in the school.
The most overwhelming impression I have after a quarter of a year here is that I am now familiar with a different reality. It's kind of incredible to me that four months ago, I had almost no idea of any different kind of life that the one I had lived for 22 years in the United States--and now the sights and sounds of Peru, the crazy crazy buses, the salsa and reggaeton on the radio, the desert, the colors, the market, the mountains, the people, are all starting to sink into my mind as a coherent world, something that I recognize and maybe even understand a bit. Spanish is coming more and more easily every month. Black hair, almond-brown skin, and deep beautiful brown eyes are now the norm that my brain expects when looking at people, and I realize just how much I stand out when I see another white person and find myself staring at them exactly the way I hate to be stared at by Peruvians. I guess the eye is naturally drawn to whatever is different... anyway, it's starting to feel like I'm here to stay for a while.
Three months seems to bring with it a kind of second-wave culture shock, what you might call an end to the "honeymoon period" of being in a foreign country. At first, everything here was so new and different that even the weird, uncomfortable, or annoying things about Peru were all part of the adventure. Now, however, the house we're living in feels like "my house," the street is "my street," the view out the front window of the guys playing soccer on the field opposite the house has become very familiar. Even the market is becoming an expected sight (only the occasional shocker, like the live frogs I saw being sold the other day, still hits me strongly) and the crazy Peruvian driving has ceased to terrify me at all. But as I begin to regard parts of this life as "normal" and thus expect less of the unexpected, things that didn't bother me before have really started to shock and irritate me. If this is "my house" and "my neighborhood," why do I still get whistled at and stared at every time I step out the door? It seems like I can't walk down the street without passing a group of men and hearing wolf whistles or badly pronounced "Hello"s or just plain "Muy bonita!" ("very pretty!") called out after me. It's something that seems completely normal to the people here, men and women alike, but as an American, I can't stop finding it rude and offensive--and more than anything, it makes both me and Catherine feel our status as outsiders very intensely. We're not the tourists here anymore, we're the tourist attraction, and more than anything I would like to figure out how to become more a part of this community.
The community is too large to meet everyone. Mostly we are friends with the sisters we live with, the other house of nuns down the street, and a group of young Peruvians we met through Dr. Tony's house in Chaclacayo. We have been out dancing with them twice and had a good time--my favorite part was seeing two amazing live salsa bands at the club we went to. But in the neighborhood where we live, we simply don't have friends. We know the people at Fe y Alegría, somewhat; at least, everyone is very warm and kind in greeting us when we walk around the school. The students all call out "Miss! Miss!" or "Señorita! Hola!" when they see you, and lots of them come up to give you a kiss on the cheek, which is how people greet each other in Lima. But students aren't friends, and most of the teachers are married with their own families and lives to attend to... and at the end of the day, most of the people we pass on the street don't know us. Last Sunday my frustration about this boiled over, and we spent a long time talking to the sisters about possible ways for us to meet people. Sister Denise has come up with a few contacts for us, so we'll see how that goes. But we discovered in our discussion that the problem may be that the young women around here simply aren't visible. They either have jobs, go to school and have jobs, or are mothers in their early twenties and spend their time with their families. They seem to live their lives in a more private sphere... at least, that would explain why we constantly see groups of men hanging out on the streets, but never a group of young women.
Anyway, our introduction period is over, we're back from our summer at Tony's and our "real work" is solidly underway... and the question appears, are we doing what we came here to do? Is it worth the enormous effort and all the donations that went into NDMVP's program to bring us here? Are we being of service to this community? So far, in the middle of much chaos as I try to find my niche at the school, one thing is working pretty well: I do feel that my English groups are contributing to those students' learning. Not only are they learning some more English, but I have also been working on some study habits with them. Peruvian students (at least these ones) are very warm, eager, energetic, and interested to learn--a far cry from American high schoolers with their "too cool for school" attitudes--but they have absolutely no study habits, no idea how to learn independently, because they haven't been taught to think critically. The idea of taking notes is foreign to them. If you tell them to copy the board, they all copy beautifully, in two different pen colors and a highlighter, but until you tell them to, they just sit there, not even taking out their notebooks. The other day I said to my Comunicación section, "Take out your notebooks," and one girl asked me in perfect seriousness, "Pens too?" I have been trying to tell them that their notebooks are their own, and if they want to remember something later, they should write down the most important things we talk about in class so they can study it. Some of my English students were actually taking notes on their own the other day and I got so happy!One of the jobs I had hoped to do here, however, has disappeared--the Saturday radio school for adults to get the equivalent of their GED has been moved to another location, and so I can't help with that. I had really looked forward to teaching adults basic reading or math, but even if I were to take on students for tutoring, they couldn't get their certification just from me, they'd have to go to the school in its new location, which is two bus rides away. So that's no longer an option.
Now that we're settling in a little bit, the next step is to really become part of the community, to start actually "living here" instead of just being here on a long vacation. It's not just something I want, or something that would be good for cultural exchange, it's something I need very badly in order not to feel like an exile for my entire year here. I'm still planning to join the church choir here to meet some people and get some singing back in my life. As soon as I get back from our trip to Ica this weekend, I'll go up and introduce myself to them after Mass and ask if I can sing. And we'll see where things go from there. Ideally, it would lead to my meeting a few families, some neighbors perhaps, and getting to know some adults instead of just the kids in the school.
The most overwhelming impression I have after a quarter of a year here is that I am now familiar with a different reality. It's kind of incredible to me that four months ago, I had almost no idea of any different kind of life that the one I had lived for 22 years in the United States--and now the sights and sounds of Peru, the crazy crazy buses, the salsa and reggaeton on the radio, the desert, the colors, the market, the mountains, the people, are all starting to sink into my mind as a coherent world, something that I recognize and maybe even understand a bit. Spanish is coming more and more easily every month. Black hair, almond-brown skin, and deep beautiful brown eyes are now the norm that my brain expects when looking at people, and I realize just how much I stand out when I see another white person and find myself staring at them exactly the way I hate to be stared at by Peruvians. I guess the eye is naturally drawn to whatever is different... anyway, it's starting to feel like I'm here to stay for a while.
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