(This is from "the Rockers," a film I highly recommend. Of course, being who I am, I got way into the linguistic side of things. Seen? Sight.)
This (writing) is becoming more and more difficult.
I suppose this is my life now, my real life, and it's getter harder to observe.
It's been a full ten days... last week, most of my time was taken up with the theatre workshop, as we had a performance last Friday, at Sol y Luna. They were having a function for a new book on Machu Picchu, written in Quechua, Spanish and English, so all the suits from the local schools were there. Very swanky. Then there was the Mosoq Runa table, all of us in sweatshirts, drinking Pisco Sours. I managed to lead the group of musicians, by which I mean a new Italian guy on sax and Sophia on guitar. And me on flute. It's pretty funny how this instrument, which I never took too seriously, compared to piano, and never thought much of, has become important in my life here. For instance, Yeni (the theatre teacher and Manu's girlfriend) is going to take me to Cusco to meet the musicians that play for her theatre group. I saw them perform at the Urubamba Arts festival for kids last week, and immediately asked Yeni if I could meet them. So hopefully that will work out.
I'm starting to think about what my life will be like here, when I come back in January. Did I mention that before, by the way? I'm coming back in January. I suppose this period feels like a taster, like an introduction, albeit a long, full one. Right now, my objective is to be here, to get to know Mosoq Runa, and not much else. But I realize--both due to my own restlessness as well as my creeping guilt about not having a paying job--that things will have to change next year. First, I'm going to try to specialize my work at Mosoq Runa, teaching music and theatre and English and the like. I'm also going to get a job, probably teaching English, in town. And, hopefully, I'll be playing music with these folks whom I have yet to meet.
Music. To return to that subject... it's crazy how visceral a need it is. I don't really realize it until I'm in a place without a piano, without a singing group, without music lessons. The communal guitar is saving me. I've been teaching Sophia lots of TUIB songs, and we just got the harmony down on Angel from Montgomery, which sounds pretty sweet. This new Italian guy, who's also named Francesco, is also way into music, as he directs music videos in Italy. And the original cook, Mario, who's coming back in a couple of weeks, well, it's his sax, so hopefully we'll jam.
This week has been a school vacation for the kids, so we've done some day trips with them, to a park in Cusco and to a swimming pool in Pisac. Between Sophia and my cameras, there are lots of photos to post, but I forgot to bring the necessary equipment with me today... next time, though.
I've been having lots of fun with the older kids recently. Fidel's 15, Ernesto's 14, Vilma and Edith are 13. Fidel, Ernesto and I play music together, which is pretty hilarious, as Ernesto is musical but tone deaf, when it comes to singing. I've also been teaching Fidel important English vocabulary, like "whoopass." The kids love this stuff, obviously, even though they're always slightly confused, as most of them still think I'm Italian. Meno male.
Vilma and I have taken to dancing in the evenings in the theatre workshop, where there's a big mirror, so I can see just how much of a gringa I am. I've also been practicing at the local club, where one of the only two gay guys (they're brothers) in Urubamba has been teaching me to shake my booty. I think I'm getting better.
In other news: we had an earthquake here! It was at night, and I was outside, on the phone, looking at the mountains, so I didn't notice. But the boys were inside and started flipping out. Apparently they saw, out the window, part of the red cliff fall onto the motorcross track. Yeni told me later that her entire family felt it and ran outside, her father in his underwear. I think the tremor only lasted for 3-4 seconds, so not quite at the level of Pisco, or as important at the meteorite in Puno, but, still, some excitement.
The other night, it was my turn to sleep at the kids' house and, after the usual chasing Ernesto and Fidel away from the Nutella, Ernesto's little brother, Ignacio, started calling my name. He couldn't sleep. I told him to think of happy thoughts, and he said that every happy thought turned into something bad. *One of those "holy shit how do I qualify to deal with these kids' problems" moments* Luckily, however, the topic of computers and Playstations seemed to work, and the idea that my brother works with robots sent him into seventh heaven. So, thanks, Gabe.
Another night, Ignacio's roommate, Rodrigo, asked me to tell him a Christmas story before bed. *One of those "um, you don't know what a Jew is, I have no idea what I'm talking about, what is mirrh anyway?" moments* Fortunately, he meant Santa Claus, and this I am perfectly qualified to talk about. And, of course, there are lots of lessons--about wishing, how all children are good, and the physics of time travel--within that story.
Discipline is tough. I'm trying to follow what Francesco and Manu tell me, so as to fit within the rules of the hogar, which are made with love but quite strict. For example, when Ignacio and Monica were naughty the other day during homework time, I had to scold them at lunch, in front of everybody. I get the idea behind this, as it reinforces the idea of communal living, that we're one big family, all responsible to one another. But this time it wasn't a group issue; Ignacio and Monica have problems following directions, and I felt that this should have been dealt with in private. I go back and forth, sometimes disobeying the rules myself so as to be gentler with the kids, and sometimes being fairly harsh with them. At the end of the day, I do believe that it is my job to listen to what Francesco and Ada say, and to trust that, with their years of experience with this group of kids, that they yell for a reason. Hopefully, though, as time goes by, I'll get better at adhering to these rules, without losing my own independence and beliefs as an educator.
To tell the truth, I'm exhausted, sore from hiking and swimming, and finishing some sort of 24-hour bug, so I'm going to sign off. I came into town mostly to help Vilma write emails to an Italian pen pal, so, with that done, back home. Pietro made lots of biscuits today, there's mate de coca to be had, and all our 4-soles DVDs to watch. A quiet night at home, with good friends.
Love to all.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Conservation, constipation
So there isn't a lot of water here. Although the faenas (mandatory collective work) have just started, and they're working on getting more water to Ccotohuincho and Habitat, so we'll see.
But, in general, not a lot. And it's all cold. When we do the dishes, we fill up bins with the freezing cold water and wash outside. It's chilly. My hands have started to chap and bleed, very nice.
Funny story from a couple of weeks ago-- I spent the first week taking freezing cold showers with a bucket. And loved it; how rugged I felt! This is the real life, outside of the city. Eventually, though, I discovered that Francesco had simply forgotten to tell me about the hot water switch. Ha. Go figure. Not that the water's warm now, or anything, and we still use a bucket. But it doesn't have that same bite. All I have to endure now is the endless teasing. Little Bexy (and yes, they discovered that nickname all on their own) from New York who thought she was so hard core!
Ah, well, there's been lots to deal with this week. For starters, all the kids have been getting sick, with fevers and sore throats and such. This has provided me with a most interesting view into Peruvian medicine, and I don't mean Incan medicine. Incan medicine is pretty fantastic, when used correctly, from what I've seen so far. One of the Italians guys has been practically cured of his dust allergy, which in Ccotohuincho is no small matter. Anyway, the medical care I'm talking about is something entirely different. I took two of the boys to the free clinic, as they both had fevers and one had a sore throat, and BAM! Antibiotics! At double the dose that I'd have thought necessary. Plus, after a quick exam, the doctor tells me that one of the kids has a problem with his lungs and shouldn't run for two days. Then she made me leave. And I stood in the street with these two hyper kids, wondering. Two days of no running for a lung problem? Sounds like a couple of Hail Marys to me.
Then I've had my own health business to deal with, although most of that has been comical. After all that bread and rice--without the cure of Leocadia's lentils, which we haven't had for a while--my body sort of stopped functioning properly. But not to worry, mom and dad, I started to do a tour of Italian ricette della nonna. First Pietro, with his grandma's lasagna with lots of peperoncino and uncooked olive oil. Then Manu, who fed me two more spoonfuls of olive oil. Then Sophia, the German girl, who made me eat apples, very healthy. Then I said no more thank you very much and went off and drank about a litre of coffee and felt better immediately.
So I think I should write a book about these ricette della nonna. Manu was telling me the other day about his great-grandmother, who lived near Bari, who was famous for curing earaches. She would trap baby mice, fry them alive and stick the fat in somebody's ear. The entire town would line up for this miracle cure. And, you know what, after my experience with ear infections, sulfa medications and full body rashes, I wouldn't mind having a bottle of some baby mouse fat lying around.
In other news, we had a night out in Cusco this weekend. And it really felt like a big deal, being in a city. I felt very rushed and crowded. But we went to this great club with live reggae music, in a big group of Italians who live in Cusco, and it was excellent.
I'm off. Have to deliver some bread for Pietro, who cooks and sells food for Mosoq Runa to various restaurants in the area. Then back to Ccotohuincho in time for homework.
Love to all.
But, in general, not a lot. And it's all cold. When we do the dishes, we fill up bins with the freezing cold water and wash outside. It's chilly. My hands have started to chap and bleed, very nice.
Funny story from a couple of weeks ago-- I spent the first week taking freezing cold showers with a bucket. And loved it; how rugged I felt! This is the real life, outside of the city. Eventually, though, I discovered that Francesco had simply forgotten to tell me about the hot water switch. Ha. Go figure. Not that the water's warm now, or anything, and we still use a bucket. But it doesn't have that same bite. All I have to endure now is the endless teasing. Little Bexy (and yes, they discovered that nickname all on their own) from New York who thought she was so hard core!
Ah, well, there's been lots to deal with this week. For starters, all the kids have been getting sick, with fevers and sore throats and such. This has provided me with a most interesting view into Peruvian medicine, and I don't mean Incan medicine. Incan medicine is pretty fantastic, when used correctly, from what I've seen so far. One of the Italians guys has been practically cured of his dust allergy, which in Ccotohuincho is no small matter. Anyway, the medical care I'm talking about is something entirely different. I took two of the boys to the free clinic, as they both had fevers and one had a sore throat, and BAM! Antibiotics! At double the dose that I'd have thought necessary. Plus, after a quick exam, the doctor tells me that one of the kids has a problem with his lungs and shouldn't run for two days. Then she made me leave. And I stood in the street with these two hyper kids, wondering. Two days of no running for a lung problem? Sounds like a couple of Hail Marys to me.
Then I've had my own health business to deal with, although most of that has been comical. After all that bread and rice--without the cure of Leocadia's lentils, which we haven't had for a while--my body sort of stopped functioning properly. But not to worry, mom and dad, I started to do a tour of Italian ricette della nonna. First Pietro, with his grandma's lasagna with lots of peperoncino and uncooked olive oil. Then Manu, who fed me two more spoonfuls of olive oil. Then Sophia, the German girl, who made me eat apples, very healthy. Then I said no more thank you very much and went off and drank about a litre of coffee and felt better immediately.
So I think I should write a book about these ricette della nonna. Manu was telling me the other day about his great-grandmother, who lived near Bari, who was famous for curing earaches. She would trap baby mice, fry them alive and stick the fat in somebody's ear. The entire town would line up for this miracle cure. And, you know what, after my experience with ear infections, sulfa medications and full body rashes, I wouldn't mind having a bottle of some baby mouse fat lying around.
In other news, we had a night out in Cusco this weekend. And it really felt like a big deal, being in a city. I felt very rushed and crowded. But we went to this great club with live reggae music, in a big group of Italians who live in Cusco, and it was excellent.
I'm off. Have to deliver some bread for Pietro, who cooks and sells food for Mosoq Runa to various restaurants in the area. Then back to Ccotohuincho in time for homework.
Love to all.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Gadol dag
Well, some of you may be pleased to read the title of this post. For those of you who don't know, this is pretty much all that remains of my Hebrew. Big fish. My housemates are very interested in learning all about Judaism, so I told them all I know. Including these two words, which have become very important in our house, because now, the head volunteer, Francesco, has gone from being called "capo" to "gadol dag," or "grande pesce."
Our house has changed a bit in the past week, actually, with the arrival of two new volunteers, a German girl and another Italian guy. We now have language lessons pinned to the wall, with lists of how to say "vaffanculo" in five different languages. It's good for me to have Sophia, the German girl, around, though, because I have to speak Spanish with her and can't lapse into Italian. Also, a little female companionship...!
Another great week. With Sophia around to help in the kitchen, I spent my mornings translating a booklet on Mosoq Runa from Italian to English. As a result, I was in Ada's office all the time, listening to her Dylan and Jefferson Airplane tapes. While translating the booklet, I discovered all sorts of things about the kids, and much of it wasn't so great. Ada and I have now talked at length about the families, the violence, the rapes, and how a gringa can possibly deal with these sensitive cultural issues successfully. All this really plugged into many ideas I've been having over the past few years, about what it means to be progressive, to be a woman, outside of the Northeast US. It's fascinating, what the simplest of tasks at the Home brings to my mind. For example, the three girls who help around the house, teasing me about "platanos"...
Emotionally, sometimes I struggle. For instance, the three year old who went missing last week keeps running off, and has cut his forehead in the same place that his brother did a couple of weeks ago. One can only hope that he really did bump his head on a table... Anyway, having babysat a three year old all summer, having watched her every move (and this for low key parents!), I really can't get used to letting Javier run off home when he wants. But, in his case, his mother is around, as she's the cook, so I have to defer to her. She still has me clean their cuts, though.
There's another group of kids whose house is next door, and whose mother is around. She moved her kids into Mosoq Runa last year because she was ill and had to go to Lima, but according to my housemates she's hasn't left yet. Anyway, her youngest kid, Yulissa, who's six, went home to find her mom a couple of days ago and I found her crying in a tree. I was completely confused, having been led to her by Javier, the three year old. Apparently she'd been looking and looking for her mother and couldn't find her. The neighbor told me she was next door, so I took Yulissa there so she could spend time with her mom, like she wanted. When I asked her later what they'd done together, she said, I watched a video. Like that. Jesus. I don't say this to judge, because these mothers... these women endure a whole lot of violence and many are completely trapped in cycles of abuse that began who knows when. But it's like this every day. I look at this five year old and I don't know what to think. She's extremely seductive, always kissing and hugging and asking to be carried, and... I don't know what to think.
I could tell you stories... but you can probably imagine. A mentally retarded girl in the Home, who's my age, was raped by her stepfather and her school janitor. A twelve year old girl, who was abandoned by her mother on a doorstep, was taken back by her father, raised by him, and then taken away eight years later by her mother, who accused her father of sexually abusing their daughter. Now, the father is all she has, and he's in jail. But he abused her! But he loved her. He took care of her. She loves him. She's only twelve years old. And she is lovely and at the same time old and young and all the kids love her. She lives at the Home full-time and is the only one who doesn't have a sibling there too.
I suppose what makes all this all the more confusing is the Home itself. It's an equalizer, and I don't know what their actual homes look like! They wear nice clothes and keep a strict schedule, getting up as early as 5:30 am to make breakfast. One of them plays a little guitar and fingerpicked "Dust in the Wind" for me. I'm teaching another boy how to play my flute. He's quite good.
But don't you see how confusing all this is? Compounded by the fact that I am living happily there, with Italians who I'm actually growing to adore.
I don't suppose I'll ever be able to say much more than "this happened, then this," and that's fine. There's analysis, yes, but it's not going to fit into much of anything.
What else happened: today, I took a couple of the kids to the motorcross, which we watched with all of Ccotohuincho from a clifftop, as the motorcylists raced around a course across the river. The backdrop was a red cliff, the same as the one I see from my front door.
Last night I lay on the big rock behind my house and looked at the stars for ages. Different constellations here.
The dogs are all in heat and are CRAZY. Five females and one male. All the females are mounting each other, and, when my housemates try to stop them, I have to stand up for their rights. "It's not wrong, it's her choice!" There you go, Brearley, thank you for making me into a protector of sexual preference!
We watched a film called "Sansara" last night, about a Tibetan monk who discovers women, basically. It was insane, such a good film. I highly recommend it, particularly the Italian version as seeing Tibetan monks speak Italian is pretty great.
I went out for a nice meal with a couple of visiting Italians the other night. 30 soles (under 10 dollars) for wine, carpaccio di alpaca, dessert... Mostly, I spend a sol every now and again, for mototaxis and internet.
More about the Home: The kids are doing a version of Pygmalion (go figure) for a festival in Urubamba and I'm going to play the flute for it. I've been helping out in the theatre workshop, which is run by my housemate's girlfriend, who's from here.
And so I'm trying to develop my own program, training myself in various things... like Spanish. At least I'm keeping up my Italian.
Love to all.
Our house has changed a bit in the past week, actually, with the arrival of two new volunteers, a German girl and another Italian guy. We now have language lessons pinned to the wall, with lists of how to say "vaffanculo" in five different languages. It's good for me to have Sophia, the German girl, around, though, because I have to speak Spanish with her and can't lapse into Italian. Also, a little female companionship...!
Another great week. With Sophia around to help in the kitchen, I spent my mornings translating a booklet on Mosoq Runa from Italian to English. As a result, I was in Ada's office all the time, listening to her Dylan and Jefferson Airplane tapes. While translating the booklet, I discovered all sorts of things about the kids, and much of it wasn't so great. Ada and I have now talked at length about the families, the violence, the rapes, and how a gringa can possibly deal with these sensitive cultural issues successfully. All this really plugged into many ideas I've been having over the past few years, about what it means to be progressive, to be a woman, outside of the Northeast US. It's fascinating, what the simplest of tasks at the Home brings to my mind. For example, the three girls who help around the house, teasing me about "platanos"...
Emotionally, sometimes I struggle. For instance, the three year old who went missing last week keeps running off, and has cut his forehead in the same place that his brother did a couple of weeks ago. One can only hope that he really did bump his head on a table... Anyway, having babysat a three year old all summer, having watched her every move (and this for low key parents!), I really can't get used to letting Javier run off home when he wants. But, in his case, his mother is around, as she's the cook, so I have to defer to her. She still has me clean their cuts, though.
There's another group of kids whose house is next door, and whose mother is around. She moved her kids into Mosoq Runa last year because she was ill and had to go to Lima, but according to my housemates she's hasn't left yet. Anyway, her youngest kid, Yulissa, who's six, went home to find her mom a couple of days ago and I found her crying in a tree. I was completely confused, having been led to her by Javier, the three year old. Apparently she'd been looking and looking for her mother and couldn't find her. The neighbor told me she was next door, so I took Yulissa there so she could spend time with her mom, like she wanted. When I asked her later what they'd done together, she said, I watched a video. Like that. Jesus. I don't say this to judge, because these mothers... these women endure a whole lot of violence and many are completely trapped in cycles of abuse that began who knows when. But it's like this every day. I look at this five year old and I don't know what to think. She's extremely seductive, always kissing and hugging and asking to be carried, and... I don't know what to think.
I could tell you stories... but you can probably imagine. A mentally retarded girl in the Home, who's my age, was raped by her stepfather and her school janitor. A twelve year old girl, who was abandoned by her mother on a doorstep, was taken back by her father, raised by him, and then taken away eight years later by her mother, who accused her father of sexually abusing their daughter. Now, the father is all she has, and he's in jail. But he abused her! But he loved her. He took care of her. She loves him. She's only twelve years old. And she is lovely and at the same time old and young and all the kids love her. She lives at the Home full-time and is the only one who doesn't have a sibling there too.
I suppose what makes all this all the more confusing is the Home itself. It's an equalizer, and I don't know what their actual homes look like! They wear nice clothes and keep a strict schedule, getting up as early as 5:30 am to make breakfast. One of them plays a little guitar and fingerpicked "Dust in the Wind" for me. I'm teaching another boy how to play my flute. He's quite good.
But don't you see how confusing all this is? Compounded by the fact that I am living happily there, with Italians who I'm actually growing to adore.
I don't suppose I'll ever be able to say much more than "this happened, then this," and that's fine. There's analysis, yes, but it's not going to fit into much of anything.
What else happened: today, I took a couple of the kids to the motorcross, which we watched with all of Ccotohuincho from a clifftop, as the motorcylists raced around a course across the river. The backdrop was a red cliff, the same as the one I see from my front door.
Last night I lay on the big rock behind my house and looked at the stars for ages. Different constellations here.
The dogs are all in heat and are CRAZY. Five females and one male. All the females are mounting each other, and, when my housemates try to stop them, I have to stand up for their rights. "It's not wrong, it's her choice!" There you go, Brearley, thank you for making me into a protector of sexual preference!
We watched a film called "Sansara" last night, about a Tibetan monk who discovers women, basically. It was insane, such a good film. I highly recommend it, particularly the Italian version as seeing Tibetan monks speak Italian is pretty great.
I went out for a nice meal with a couple of visiting Italians the other night. 30 soles (under 10 dollars) for wine, carpaccio di alpaca, dessert... Mostly, I spend a sol every now and again, for mototaxis and internet.
More about the Home: The kids are doing a version of Pygmalion (go figure) for a festival in Urubamba and I'm going to play the flute for it. I've been helping out in the theatre workshop, which is run by my housemate's girlfriend, who's from here.
And so I'm trying to develop my own program, training myself in various things... like Spanish. At least I'm keeping up my Italian.
Love to all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
