This is me with my friend Mary when we went out for Halloween. Halloween isn't really celebrated around here, except for a very few little kids I saw dressed up in some kind of lame costumes and walking around with their parents on the street. But people do go out dancing on the 31st of October, so Mary and I went to get a friend of hers, Carolina, whom I didn't know before, and the three of us headed for Miraflores.Mary told me that last Halloween they went to a certain club and had a great time, because "you can dance by yourself, no problem, and the guys don't bother you." I wondered why that would be more true at this place than at another, but said, whatever, ok. (Then I was less happy when there was a cover charge of 15 soles. Carolina lives in a really nice house that reminded me of the US, and clearly has money; but when you're a volunteer, you start to think more like your friends, who would have felt very uncomfortable in that house and certainly would never pay S/.15 to dance when you can easily go to other clubs and dance for free. I was a little disgusted by the number of handbags Carolina had to choose from when we were getting ready to leave... more handbags than my friends have shirts, I'm sure.) Then when I got into the club, after a few minutes I noticed there were a lot of groups of all guys standing around dancing, and a lot of groups of all girls... and a lot of same-sex couples dancing... "Mary, is this a gay club??" "Yup!" says Mary, perfectly happy to be dancing without those annoying guys that sometimes won't leave you alone in discos. But I got bored after a while, because no one asked me to dance! The best entertainment of the night was a guy in a Zorro costume (it was Halloween after all) who introduced himself to everyone he saw as Don Diego de la Vega.
That Sunday was the annual Lord of Miracles procession. In the preceeding weeks I'd helped out a bit by taking letters to two schools in the area, letting them know that the image would be passing by their school, so that they could prepare an appropriate reception--decorations, flowers, their own image, etc.--and by giving out flyers along a certain section of the procession's route, to let the people know the same. On the day of the procession, I, with other people's help, made over 500 soles. Unfortunately none of it was for me!
My Confirmation group decided to do an "activity," i.e. sell food, at the church that day to make some money for their retreat at the end of their program. Juancho helped a lot, but Any, the other catechist, couldn't, so I was basically in charge of organizing the teenagers into preparing two GIANT pots of arroz con leche and mazamorra and selling it after church. We were quite the businesspeople! Juancho and I bought all the ingredients, the kids showed up one by one starting at about 5:30 am, and we started cooking, i.e. everybody arguing about how best to do it, almost burning themselves on the gas stove, running out to get more sugar and corn starch at the last minute, etc. It was fabulous.
After Mass we sold a total of 150 servings of arroz con leche (Peruvian rice pudding) and mazamorra (a jello-y liquid or liquidy jello dessert made from purple corn). But that was only about half of the enormous pots we'd made! So we agreed to come back in the afternoon and sell the rest, hopefully, when people came for the procession at 3 pm. After a much-needed lunch and rest in my house, it was back to the church. The kids were great vendors--they got trays and walked around with the procession selling as they went, and eventually got rid of all of it. Grand total: S/.200 of profit after paying ourselves back for the ingredients, etc. Each of the kids who helped will get almost 20 soles toward the cost of their retreat next year. (which I won't be around for!! :(
I didn't get to help carry the Lord of Miracles this year because I had a unique job during the procession. I was in charge of carrying the limosna box, asking people for donations. The money I collected was going to be used to pay the band, so it had to be quite a bit! At first I was a little nervous about asking people for money, especially these people, because from my perspective they don't have any. But my friends told me just to walk right up to the people watching and ask for "collaborations," and if they say no, they say no. And the vast majority didn't say no. Women selling snacks from little carts on street corners, a way that the poorer people in the neighborhood sometimes make their living, dug out 20 cents or 50 cents or a sol from somewhere to contribute to the Lord of Miracles. It really means a lot to them. I became a walking (or running!) broken record all afternoon and evening, from 3 pm to 9 pm when it finished back at the church: "Señores, a contribution for the Lord of Miracles? Thank you, how kind of you! Thank you very much, God bless!"
above: stopping to pray in front of the anda
left: a very touching moment between mother, son, and the Lord... actually these were two drunk people who wandered into the procession, but still...
right: at Sheila's house they prepared a reception for the Lord of Miracles. (these good neighbors were impeccably pious and not the least bit drunk.)
Unlike my friends here, very rarely in my life have I ever felt pressured to make a certain amount of money. But I learned during that whole day, first of mazamorra and then of limosna, that when your goal is to go out there and find a way, any way, to bring back X amount of soles, you get into a kind of money-making mentality where you lose whatever hesitations you felt about bothering people. Sure, they might get annoyed if you ask them for money, but someone else will be more annoyed at you later if there's no money to pay the band. Luckily I had my little friend Ivan to show me the ropes in terms of bringing in cash.
me and Ivan carrying the limosna box, way ahead of the procession
Ivan is an expert at selling the chocotejas his grandmother makes to bring in a little extra income for his family. Very shortly into the procession he took me under his wing, and for the next five hours he ran me up and down the streets, left, right, ahead of the image, behind it, to all the stores, all the houses, everything, saying, Katalina, over there! Katalina, ask them! This store here, Katalina! In a stunt that I'd like to think will be remembered for years, we even made the rounds of a soccer field surrounded by groups of men standing around drinking--the kind I always go out of my way to avoid if I'm walking alone, because of the whistles and harassment. What did I have to fear? I had a whole procession of churchgoers behind me, plus an official-looking vest and collection box and a twelve-year-old sidekick! (Ok, so one of the older ladies of the parish was also with us at that point, and she was great, she walked straight up to those who refused at first and demanded money like a mother scolding naughty kids. "If you have money to drink, how about giving some for GOD!!") But the way their mouths dropped open when this tall, blonde gringa came up and cheerfully asked for donations for the Lord of Miracles was fabulous. Those who didn't reach into their pockets immediately just stood there gaping until their buddies yelled at them to give the señorita a contribution! "Señorita--you're a vision! Una belleza!" proclaimed one or another. "Then why don't you contribute?" I replied, laughing. And wow, did they contribute! One after another, out comes five soles, ten soles, fifteen soles for the collection box! I think we took more cash off the borrachos than the whole rest of the pueblo contributed together.
By the end of the procession me and Ivan had over 300 soles in the box. All in all it was a very profitable day.
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