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where do y'all come from?
July 02 Recovery and waiting Monday did indeed have a short night, because we all had to get up around 2 am on Tuesday so we could leave our hotel at 2:45. By the time we got the group to the airport, bade them hug-filled farewells, and returned home to our respective apartments, it was 5.
Therefore, I spent most of the day sleeping, checking email, and, in the evening, washing my clothes.
It wasn't too bad of a plan to lie low, because there was a transportation workers' strike on Tuesday, and all the combi and custer and micro drivers stayed home. I believe the reason for the strike was they thought the fines for breaking traffic laws were too high. Anyway, according to LivinginPeru.com, almost none of the city's 80,000 buses hit the road on Tuesday.
I am sure barren streets were quite a sight, but I was definitely not up in time to see it.
 Wednesday I felt a little more human, so I went to visit Becky, and we spent a very pleasant hour chatting. I also got to talk to my mom and brother on the phone, and then I headed to Surquillo to my friend Eliana's beauty shop, where I got a hair repair treatment that I am hoping will make my hair cooperate with this cold, damp Lima climate better than it has been.
I'll be quite content if it curls and lays like it does in the States, instead of frizzing out like a puffball like it does here.
After my treatment, it was lunchtime, and I visited a vegetarian restaurant next door to Eliana's shop. I chose a very yummy cream of vegetable soup, locro (casserole made of squash, peas, corn, potatoes, and fresh cheese) and brown rice, rice pudding prepared with soy milk, and chamomile tea. I got it all for the very Peruvian price of 6 soles.
 I love Lima.
It was a very pretty, sunny day, quite unusual for Lima's winter, so I decided to walk part of the way home instead of taking the combi the full distance. I stopped in Wong to get some yogurt that was on sale, and I bought an ice cream cone in the park and sat on a pretty bench while I watched the speckled pigeons pecking on the ground and the little children running home from school.
-happy sigh-
Once I finally got home, I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading in my room. It was quite a relaxing day, and the only thing that would have made it even better is if Pastor Pedro Miguel (my contact for the San Juan de Lurigancho CMA churches) had answered my phone calls and told me how my interviews with the congregation of the main church would go.
Tracking him down would be the task of the next day, Thursday.
I got a hold of him fairly quickly, but he said he had forgotten to mention my research to the pastor of the main SJL CMA church, so he'd call me "sometime in the afternoon or evening."
So I sat next to the phone almost the entire afternoon, waiting for his call. I *did* take a break to eat lunch (homemade locro, superior to the restaurant's version mainly because it probably had a lot more cheese and salt and oil and garlic in it
). But other than that, I was plunked down in the same spot for about 5 hours. -sigh-
That's just sometimes how life is, though, I guess. Finally, I called Pastor Pedro Miguel, and he set up my initial meeting with the main pastor right then and there. I'll meet with him right after the third Sunday morning service at 11:30 am in the main SJL CMA church.
Guess that means I have tomorrow and Saturday off.
I'm glad, in a way, because now I can celebrate Independence Day. Not sure what I am going to do to celebrate it, though. I did hear that ACAP (American-Canadian Association Peru) is having an Independence Day/Canada Day picnic in Pachacámac. I think you have to pre-register, though, and it will probably be with a whole bunch of people I don't know who are intent on getting drunk.
Not my exact idea of "fun"...
I did have fun this evening, though. Kelsey and Becky and I popped out the Chex mix and watched Bella, an awesome, awesome movie that I love and very much recommend.
Then I walked home, in a properly contemplative mood, and right now I'm trying to figure out what I am going to do tomorrow.
June 30 AIM Project Part 3: 2nd HalfFriday was packed with both awesome ministry and tons of laughter. We began the day praying with a Christian lady who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a bus accident a year ago, but she herself wasn’t the main appointment: she said she was fine, but that we needed to pray for her husband to accept Christ. He did, during an amazing time of prayer. After that, we visited another elementary school. Yesterday, it had been the other participants who had been mobbed by tons of little kids, but today, they mobbed me to get my autograph. Well, I made them line up in an orderly fashion and only signed my name for those who stayed in line. Call it “the revenge of the person who hated it when other children cut her in line when she was in elementary school.” After the school visit, I was talking with some of the guys from the church, and one of them made a comment about Edith eating ice cream from a little corner store. "Your solitaria must be very happy," he laughed. Then he asked me if I had my solitaria, too. Not 100% sure as to what he was referring, I replied hesitatingly that I was single. This provoked bellyaches of laughter from the church guys, and Edith explained to me that “solitaria” means a parasite that lives inside your intestines. “It’s long and thin,” she said. “It makes you want to eat sweet things.” “A TAPEWORM?!” I cried. “They asked me if I had a TAPEWORM?!” “I’m not sure of the English translation, but that’s probably correct,” she said. “And then you told them that no, you didn’t have a boyfriend.” By now I was beet red with embarrassment. Really, who talks about tapeworms in public? “They’re malcriados,” Sara agreed when I told her the story. “Very naughty.” But at least it makes a funny story. After lunch, we took our group pictures and then went to another school to make presentations to the children there. Unfortunately, there were no children there. It was a teachers’ planning day, and no people under four feet were present. So we just went to a nearby sports field and made our presentation there. A lot of kids showed up, as did a nice, little Quechua couple from the local Assemblies of God church. They told us they would pray for our ministry the remainder of our time in San Juan de Lurigancho, and things were good. I then took out bubble stuff and began playing with the kids, leading them around with a trail of the round, soapy orbs. I taught them the English word “bubble,” and then I ran onto the bus. “Hey, Angie,” I said to one of our team members. “Lean out the window and say, ‘Bubble.’” She looked at me strangely. “OK.” She opened her window. “Bubble.” Instantly, she had about 30 kids beneath her window. “Bubble!” they all shouted. She looked at me in confusion. “Say ‘burbuja,’” I advised. “Burbuja.” All the little kids shouted, “¡Sí!!” in unison (‘burbuja’ is the Spanish word for ‘bubble.’). “What have you gotten me into, girl?” Angie looked around helplessly as the kids began to chant, “Buh-bble! Buh-bble! Buh-bble! Buh-bble!” in unison. Finally, she found a bottle of bubble stuff in the back of the bus and began to blow bubbles out the window, much to the delight of the children. But she was not pleased with me. Saturday, we held a kid’s carnival in the district’s zonal park. Besides taking part in all the skits and leading the song time, I was put in charge of the “dancing” station. We had a dancing station because we didn’t have enough craft materials at the other stations for all the kids. Unfortunately, halfway through the first song, the kids at the dancing station said they were tired and didn't want to dance anymore. So I pulled out the bubble stuff. Which led to several hours worth of kids asking me if I would give them each a jar of bubble stuff right now, and why I wouldn’t give them each a jar of bubble stuff right now, and could they please have the bubble jars even though I had said no already. But, mathematically, there weren’t enough bubble jars for all the kids. I had three. They were more than a dozen. But logic didn’t sway them. So, finally, I put the bubble stuff up and went around translating for people who needed me to translate for them. Finally, when all the children had been taken home, we adults had some games of our own: Marinero (“Sailor,” Pastor Pedro Miguel’s wife Lina’s favorite game, because she got to be the captain every time) and Woh-be-oh (Deb’s favorite nonsense game). That got our blood pumping after a couple long hours’ sitting around while the kids ran helter-skelter from station to station. Sunday, we had our last morning service with the church, and then we had ATL (“Ask the Lord” time, which is when we ask the Lord what ministries He wants us all to go do on our last day in our ministry area). I was assigned to a group going up to help encourage a new Christian, a little Quechua woman named Paolina who lived near the top of a cerro. We brought her keke (pound cake) and Inca Kola and spent time introducing her to the lay pastor, talking with her about her life, and praying with her. It was hard for me to translate at first, because she didn’t leave time for me to translate after she said a phrase and because she had a thick Quechua accent. It was fascinating talking with Paolina, because her accent sounded exactly like how one of my anthropology books last semester had said that it would—only three vowels (“ee,” “ooh,” and “ah”), and a constant stream of endearments to fill the space around her sentences. Example? “Oh, my dear little sister, pretty little sister, little sister, it was so kind, pretty little sister, of you pretty little brothers and sisters to come and visit me, oh, pretty, sweet, little sister, pretty little sister, pretty, pretty little sister…” etc. Paolina lives all by herself and doesn’t have a waterproof roof or running water or electricity, and her sons are drunks. It’s very hard for her, since she is old, and she is often very lonely. But we were able to pray for her, for her to know she’s not alone, for her to get plugged into the church so she won’t be without a support system, and for her to be filled with the Holy Spirit, who is our Comforter. She seemed much better as we left. She held her head high instead of slouching, and her eyes shone brightly. Thank You, Jesus. In the evening, we had a good-bye service, and although I haven’t gotten as attached to the congregations these past few projects as I did during my first one or two, I did get teary-eyed as I waved good-bye to all the children and teenagers. Each of us got to speak a few words as we bade farewell to the congregation, and these were mine: “Remember the children. Love the children; protect the children and guide them. They are the future of our church. “Remember those who don’t have anything in this world. Jesus said, ‘Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil because of the Son of Man.’ “When people reject you for Him, you are blessed. Don’t be embarrassed of Jesus. Preach Him; our reward is with Him.” Monday was the group’s last day in Peru. We first went to the Center, where Wanda had arranged for us to meet up with Samuel, her Peruvian “son,” after he got off work. She asked him to call my Peruvian cell phone so we could let him know where we were. So we went sight-seeing (saw the Plaza Mayor, peeked inside the Cathedral, got a totally unplanned and impromptu Stella-guided tour of the Inquisition Museum—that last one was fun, but I would have liked more preparation), but Samuel's calls to my cell phone couldn’t come through to my cell phone, and whenever I tried to text him, my cell phone would start a very unnecessary search for a tower (i.e., it already had 5 bars and was still searching for a new tower.). Finally, however, he found us, and he and Wanda were able to talk as we shopped in the Inca Market (I translated.). “You know, your cell phone is a very old brand, and that’s probably why it has trouble finding the towers,” Samuel told me as he was getting ready to leave us. “Your chip is fine; it’s the actual phone that’s giving you all your problems. I can help you find a new one that works better, if you’d like.” Well, it had not been my intention to buy a new cell phone while I am in Peru this summer, but if the one I have doesn’t work, there’s not much point in having it. So I just might take Samuel up on his offer. After we went to the Inca Market, we went to the beach. I sat down and contemplated the waves against the sand and was startled out of my reverie when I saw a number of our group wading and cavorting in the water. I was startled because the coast off of Lima is infamous for its dirtiness (raw sewage is being dumped into the sea until a new sewage treatment plant can be built), and I would not wade in it unless my life depended on it. But it was too late to tell them not to get in, and, after consulting Deb, I decided the lip should stay zipped. Finally, we went to LarcoMar, where one of the ladies treated Edith and me to dinner at Tony Roma’s. I got a steak and portabella salad and a Peruvian-style strawberry milkshake. It was yummy. After a bit of that wonderful Liman ice cream, we all met up at a park along the Costa Verde to pray for Peru. Usually, we go up to the cross on Morro Solar, from where you can see all the coast of Lima. However, the roads up the hill were all blocked because of a celebration to Saint Peter and Saint Paul. We had to be content with our park’s good view of the cross. And as we circled up to pray, we heard someone playing a quena (traditional Andean flute) version of “Shout to the Lord.” He continued until we were done with our prayer, and then he disappeared into the night shadows. Coincidence? I don't think I believe in them. Because of the late hour at which we got back to our hotel, we were unable to debrief our trip as we usually do, but both Deb and Sabrina prayed with me before we went to bed. Given the group’s early flight time, it would be a short night, but some sleep is better than no sleep at all. AIM Project Part 2: 1st HalfWe were more than ready to meet the rest of the team on Monday. Unlike most AIM teams I’ve worked with, these were mostly adults, not youth. In the morning, they zealously started on their evangelism and prayer-walking up and around the cerros (though they referred to the cerros as mountains, which made both Deb and me chuckle—it's only after you visit the Andean Highlands that you realize they're only hills, not mountains.). In the evening, the group zealously continued construction at the church. There were so many helping hands in the small building that I didn’t really have anything to do—until I realized water was trickling down the cerro and into the street in front of the church. It threatened to come into the building underneath the door, so I swept it away with a broom as the pastor’s daughter built up a sand wall to keep it out. (We found out later that there was a break in the aquifer near the top of the cerro, and construction workers were having to install piping all along the street to keep the water from washing away the street. Our group tracked their progress throughout the week. I cannot express how odd it was for me to see this kind of problem in Peru’s desert coast…) Tuesday morning, I stayed back at the church building again to help with painting one of the children’s Sunday school rooms. I was assigned to help decorate the wall, so I helped trace a map of Peru on the wall and surround it with figures of happy children dancing. After lunch, I stayed back and continued to help with translation for all the painters on our team. I also got to chat with some of the church’s musicians and translate for Wanda and her friend, Samuel, a twenty-year-old guy from the church we ministered at two years ago with whom she’s built a mother/son-like friendship. I continued to translate for them through dinner, until Sara gently tapped me on the arm and told me, “Eat, hijita. You haven’t touched your food, and it is cold.” Just as Wanda and Samuel have a mother/son relationship from two years ago, Sara and I have a mother/daughter relationship. I roomed with her that project and this project, as well, and we always look out for each other. That night, Sara and I watched the news together. It made my heart break; in addition to the continuing violence in the northern rainforest, there’s a roadblock strike in Cuzco and a miners’ strike in La Oroya and a bunch of violence I didn’t understand in Huacho. Peru needs our prayers. The US needs our prayers. The world needs our prayers. We prayed for the violence on Wednesday, before we went out to ministry. I translated for a prayer walking team, and God really showed up. It was my team’s goal to get to the top of a cerro in the two and a half hours we had before lunch, but it seemed like we couldn’t walk more than two yards before we met someone else ready and willing to talk about the One who transforms lives. We only made it three blocks in total. In the afternoon that day, we actually got to go back to the hostel and rest some before the prayer meeting, which was very refreshing in some ways. One unsettling thing, though, was that two or three separate people mentioned “how nice” it would be for me to be paired off with a certain member of their ministry team. Two mentioned it in a gently probing way (“Maybe you might be interested in…”), but Sara was straightforward, as usual. “Have you and _____ been seeing each other?” she asked. One good thing about straightforward questions is that you can give straightforward answers without appearing rude. “No,” I replied. “I had never met him before this Monday, I have said hardly more than five words to him on this trip so far, and I am not interested in pursuing a trans-state relationship. Plus, he’s nine years older than me.” “Oh.” Sara leaned back. “In the United States, that is too much of an age difference, no?” You think? He and the other single men on the team are all good men of God, but it does not follow that single + single = couple. Thursday was the “hump” day for me, spiritually. As with most endeavors, missions projects have rising action and falling action. I had been wrestling with some questions the entire first half of the trip, and then, during Covering Prayer that morning, God gave me the way to find the peace I needed. It was almost as quick as flipping a switch, and, although there were hard moments throughout the rest of the project, for the most part, it was a very happy, sanguine time. Lunch on Thursday was extra-good: palta rellena (stuffed avocado) with arroz chaufa (Chinese fried rice). This group has been relatively open to Peruvian foods, which has pleased me immensely. It makes everything so much more pleasant. In the afternoon, we visited a big school, where we met what seemed like utter chaos, and then in the evening, we attended Pastor Pedro Miguel’s ordination ceremony. Pastor Pedro Miguel has worked with Deb three times in the past four years and is a great guy. It was good to be there to support him in this special moment. (Very special moment, because, unlike most other denominations the Christian Missionary Alliance of Peru only ordains its pastors after they complete almost 20 years of successful ministry, write six books, and undergo intensive interviews with church authorities. Wow.) It was also good to see some of the brothers and sisters we met two years ago in Villa El Salvador, like Mary Teresa. About 30 of them had made the 3-hour-long trip to San Juan de Lurigancho to help Pastro Pedro Miguel celebrate.
-- to be continued... -- AIM Project Part 1: Waiting for the Group It's been over a week and a half since I've been able to get on my Space to update you all, and it's been a very *busy* week and a half. So I'll try to be brief. Friday, I was accidentally left at home when Ricky went to pick up the leaders from their hotel. So I simply walked to Becky’s. Not sure where the miscommunication occurred, but at least I was able to meet back up with the team there. We spent the morning in the Inca Market, where I found another pretty cap (soft, fawn brown) to add to my growing collection. I like hats. It was fun to look at all the other items that I would never dream of buying, as well. The Inca Market has a continuous turnover, and since the original artists or craftspeople come from all over Peru, it’s one of the best “contemporary Peruvian art tours” you can take in Lima. T’was a fun two hours’ worth of browsing. Followed by a cup of Lima’s wonderful, Italian-style gelato. Yumminess. After this, we needlessly ate lunch, and then we headed down to Chilca (south of the city) to visit Hannah’s Home, a place for unwed, expecting mothers to learn how to take care of themselves and their babies. Every time I visit, Hannah’s Home is more ready to fulfill its purpose. This time, I noticed many new murals of mothers and children in redemptive poses, along with carefully-pruned gardens, benches, and paths. The whole atmosphere is saturated with selfless love, peace, and second chances. Wonderful. After seeing the most recent progress, we drove back up to the San Juan de Miraflores and visited Guillermo, our many-times hostel owner who changed his disco-bar/prostitution hotel into a homey café and much-more-reputable-looking hostel. He told us he now owns three hotels and is building a fourth right on the beach. He is going to church and is anxious for us to come back to stay in the new hotel next year. Thank You, God. That evening we spent bumping around Jockey Plaza and ate at a steakhouse. The five of us shared a meat platter (beefsteak, pork chop, anticucho, German sausage, and blood pudding that nobody ate) that had been labeled “for two people.” Yeah Peruvian portions! After our dinner, we had a pleasant evening at Becky’s English conversation group, and Deb and Wanda were able to minister to the group’s “regulars.” We concluded the evening by moving to our hotel in San Juan de Lurigancho. Although we did not get as much sleep as we would have liked, Saturday dawned well. After breakfast in Monterrico near the US Embassy, we took Brandon to the Center, since he would not be able to go with the group on its sight-seeing day a week from Monday. Deb forced us all to go through the Church of San Francisco and its catacombs. Although when I calculate it out, this was only my fourth tour of San Fran, I could not share the teenaged tourist from Kansas’s enthusiasm when he whispered to me in excitement, “Man! This is so totally cool! I could spend hours here! It’s, like, so old!” We had taken public transportation to the Center and so were running a bit later than we thought we would. We headed by taxi to LarcoMar, where we showed Brandon the Pacific, and then we headed back to the hotel to bleach the bathroom showers and assign rooms. We were all beat by bedtime, but, unfortunately, people at a nearby event hall saw fit to play 150 decibel huayno until 6 the next morning. (I checked my watch, so I know it played until 6 the next morning.) Bah. Well, our translators (Edith and Sara, two dear, dear friends) met us that morning. The team was also supposed to meet us that morning, as well. Key words? “Supposed to.” They were supposed to fly into Jorge Chávez International Airport that evening, but because of airplane difficulties, they were re-directed from Miami to Bogota to Santiago de Chile to Jorge Chávez International. They didn’t arrive til Sunday night. This, of course, meant a change in plans for our Sunday. We still went to morning service at the daughter church, and I helped Brandon present a special of two songs in English for both the morning and the evening services. In the afternoon, we had some interesting ministry. AIM promotes an evangelism model based on listening prayer and relationship-building, but the local congregation member we were assigned to wanted to simply tract-bomb the neighborhood. Frustrating, yes, but we did end up having several good (albeit short) conversations, including a theological conversation with a recently-converted Buddhist. We also got to pray with a little old lady who had terminal diarrhea and who lived all by herself at the top of a cerro. June 18 First Day of AIM Project Set-up '09 After a wonderful, hot shower (new shower just installed = heavenly and amazing!) on Thursday morning, I sped over to the hostal with Ricky, Kelsey, and Sammy to help pick up Deb, Wanda, Debbie, and Brandon, who had just gotten in this morning from the States.
We had breakfast with Becky in her apartment.
 Despite the two years that have passed since I was last with the Three Musketeers (Deb, Wanda, and Debbie) as a group, we instantly connected. I am very, very much looking forward to working with them, and with Brandon and Becky, too. It's going to be a good project.
Ricky took us to a meeting with Pastor Miguel and his wife, Lina, in San Juan de Lurigancho. They are now helping out at the CMA church there. It was good to see them again and get to know the area we'll be ministering in. The neighborhood is very, very poor, with small, wooden-and-tarp houses built up on the cerros (hills). However, I've found that in Peru, the poorest are often the most generous and the people with the biggest hearts. This is regardless of what other people might think or say (when I came home today and told my hosts where I had been, one person said, "San Juan de Lurigancho! That's such a gross, horrible district," and then he laughed. It wasn't a pretty laugh, either.).
We'll be working with a daughter church of the main San Juan de Lurigancho CMA church. It apparently has about 40-50 adult members and 35 children who come to the services. It's pretty rustic, but then again, so is the rest of this particular neighborhood.
I'll load photos up to my Facebook soon.
At the right time, we had lunch with the pastor and his wife at a pollo a la brasa (Peruvian-style rotisserie chicken) place. It was yummy, as always, and I was very happy for the salad, especially. Lately, I've only been eating food my Peruvian hosts and friends have offered me, and this most often consists of rice, potato, some type of protein, and more rice. Which is yummy, but not very vegetable-y.
Yay for vegetables!
While we ate our pollo, we shared photos, stories, and many laughs, as well as food. I got my interpreting groove back on, and I am pleased to say that today was a good day for that. (Interpreting, at least for me, goes by the day. I have good days, and I have off days. I can't predict how a day will be, but once it gets started, it rarely goes much up-hill or much down-hill from where it started.)
After we spent time in San Juan de Lurigancho, we headed back southwest toward Lima proper and dropped by Becky's again. She made homemade chocolate chip cookies with the Crisco, brown sugar, and chocolate chips the Three Musketeers had brought her in their suitcases. They were ooey-gooey and oh-so-yummy, and they made it that much harder to feel hungry for dinner,
which I had as soon as I got home. (It was noodles and chopped-up hot dog in alfredo sauce, a favorite dish of Sra. Mercy's.) The others went with Ricky and Kelsey to Chili's, but it was nice to have an evening of Spanish-language chit-chat and food I've already paid for with my rent bill.
 So things are going well on project set-up so far. It's nice not to feel pressured. It's nice to relax in Jesus with people I love. It's nice to be where I am. PETA upset that Obama killed flyWow. PETA was so upset that the President swatted a fly on-air that they sent him a "Katcha Bug Humane Bug Catcher, a device that allows users to trap a house fly and then release it outside."
Read more here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31422688/ June 17 1/3 Done With My Research! I can hardly believe it! It seems incredible, but I am all done with my Catholic interviews.
The busiest day was yesterday, Tuesday. I arrived in Tablada fairly early, where Celia had lined up two interviews with staffpeople who help run the Catholic church's medical center. After that, she very kindly invited me to lunch at her house. She has four beautiful cats--three yellow ones with amber eyes and one black-and-white tom. Her mom served us a dish I had not yet tried--chanfainita--which is diced potatoes and cow's lung in spicy sauce. I'd never had lung before, and I discovered that, along with tripe, it is one of the few foods I do not like. But the kitties liked it, and they were more than happy to help me clean my plate.
Meow.
 Celia's mom also served tea made from fresh hierba luisa, a native Peruvian plant with a taste similar to lemon grass.
When I told her I had never had tea made from freshly-cut hierba luisa, she told me I should savor it so I could see how much better it tasted than tea made from dried hierba luisa.
In the afternoon, I had three more interviews, and, after a small, plastic cup of arroz con leche (hot rice pudding) I bought from my last interviewee, a sweets vendor, I made the long custer ride home. I mentally traced our route on the plastic map stuck to the window:
the twists and turns along Tablada's dusty, residential streets--both Zona Antigua (first) and Zona Nueva (later);
Senati, the industrial training center on the other side of Pachacútec, in Villa El Salvador (many working-class men lounge on the bench by the bus stop here);
Pesquero, the blocks-long covered fish market that makes the bus smell like sun-cured tunafish as we pass;
Hospital, the Hospital Auxiliadora Santa María, that stands tall inside its large, fenced-in yard--it looks professional, but none of my friends use it because it isn't any good;
Ciudad de Dios, the wholesale market across from the garish magenta-and-yellow, flashing-neon-lights of the Tropicana casino;
Cine, the large movie theater "used by the poor people San Juan and the rest of the Cono Sur," as Karina once told me with a hint of disdain in her voice;
Tottus, the grocery store that's blossomed into a strip mall of department stores (we enter the Panamerican Highway here);
La Richi, the university I used to study at here (by now it's getting dark);
Puente Primavera, the Panamerican Highway's bridge over the ritzy Monterrico thoroughfare, Primavera (things get congested here because of the new, fourth lane the government's adding to the continent-long highway);
Trebol, the gi-normous intersection of Javier Prado, the Panamerican Highway, Evitamiento, and Circunvalación (we get on Circunvalación);
and then--
"Baja," I call. The custer screeches to a halt, and my reverie is over.
At home, the two boys show me their mouse again.
"Let's try to get Bigotes out of his cage," Diego says.
But Mr. Bigotes doesn't want to leave the little hut set up in his cage. He is very careful to not let more than his head exit the hut at any given moment. He is a wise mouse.
"Hm." Diego looks genuinely concerned. "Well, if I use the tail of this toy dinosaur, maybe I can poke his tail around so I can get a hold on it...."
But the toy dinosaur's tail is not enough: Mr. Bigotes is fast and gets his tail away from Diego's probing fingers. He knows that children's hands are not gentle, and he remains steadfast in his goal to stay inside his little hut.
Ah, yes.
The domesticity soothes me after five long hours of interviews and helps me prepare myself for a night of data entry and analysis. Fun stuff.
But the end of the Tablada interviews is in sight, and I must keep my nose to the grindstone. Wednesday morning, I head to Tablada and meet up with Celia again. One interview in the morning. Lunch at her house (again with tea made from freshly-cut hierba luisa: "So you will remember the flavor when you return to your country," Celia's kind mother murmurs as she hands me the steaming cup.).
One interview later, I was ready to head back home. But not before that interviewee tried to set me up with three separate guys she knows, each politely denied.
"But my cousin lives in your country," she insisted. "He lives in Los Angeles."
That would be an interesting relationship, given that I live in Florida.
"But you'd be just friends at first."
It was time to make my exit, which I did. Celia walked me to the bus stop.
After a dinner of chicken cau-cau (an Afro-Peruvian dish Sra. Mercy made yummy because she used chicken instead of tripe) and mazamorra de manzana (apple pudding), Sra. Mercy, Diego, and I went to the market so I could buy tangerines.
I love Peruvian markets at night: they are a maze of freshly-slaughter chickens, 100-pound sacks of rice, pirated DVDs, and orange-green-red-yellow vegetables and fruits stacked higher than eye-level. You smell yeasty pumpkin picarones frying in hot lard, you hear the cell phone lady's monotone "Llamadas llamadas llamadas sólo cincuenta llamadas llamadas," and you feel the heat of people congregating underneath the sterile, flickering florescent lights as they buy sweets to make their evening walk just that much more satisfying.
Take it all in during the twenty seconds it takes to walk from one end of the market to the other--
Satisfaction.
One of the things I love most about Peru is its humanity: markets seem so much more real than supermarkets, somehow.
As we return from the market, Diego tells us a long story about a lady who stacked first a hen, then an eagle, then a bulldog, then a parrot, then a rabbit on her head.
We passed a tree with long, dangling, peach-colored flowers.
"If you put one behind your ear as you go to bed," Mercy said, plucking a blossom, "you'll go to sleep right away."
"So it's a drug." Diego skipped up from behind us. "A good drug."
"Sí ps." Mercy used the common Peruvian phrase. "Yeah."
After that, the evening has been full of picture-taking, email-checking, and blog-writing. Comforting randomness. Now I will set about analyzing today's two interviews, and I will revel in the fact that I do not have to conduct any more Catholic interviews. I am 1/3 done with my summer research. June 15 Advancement It is so sweet.
Saturday, I went to Tablada to stay with Liz for a couple days so I could pursue my research more intensely (the hour-long commute makes that a bit hard). After lunch, I went to the Catholic church and met up with Celia, who introduced me to two people to interview.
One is in the process of becoming a nun, and the other runs the church's medical clinic.
Both interviews went well, and, moreover, I really, really enjoyed hearing some of my informants' answers, especially the nun-to-be's. She said that Jesus has been like a super-friend to her through many trials, and she loved talking to Him, and she knew He loved her, too.
She glowed as she talked about Jesus.
I liked that.
Well, after I finished my interviews, I went back to Liz's house, where I analyzed my data and entered it into a spreadsheet. It made my head hurt at first--I had spent the whole day concentrating on the Spanish-language answers to my questions, translating them as I wrote my (mostly English-language) field notes, and then looking for socially-influenced patterns in the data.
When I finally came downstairs, it was relaxing to watch a Peruvian reality TV show where they sent Miss Peru Universe to live in a shantytown in a cardboard house and work at a workshop where women broke up wooden shipping pallets and pulled out the nails for recycling. Then we watched a special news report on the political situation in Bagua, where natives, fearing government-sponsored international commercial exploitation of the rainforest, have been violently protesting. The government, in turn, has been killing the natives who killed the police officers during the protests.
Not a very happy note to end the night on, but very interesting. It took me right back to my first semester grad school classes and the questions our professors made us wrestle with.
Though I didn't get to end the day laughing, I want you to end "my day" smiling.
Here are some funny moments we shared in Liz's house:
* Adriel wanted a toy I was holding, and I asked her, "What's the magic word?" Immediately she responded, "GIMME!" We all laughed.
* In the evening, when I came down from working on analyzing the day's interviews, I had on my house slippers. They're black and look like ballerina slippers. Javier, however, called them "Bruce Lee shoes," because, according to him, they look like what Bruce Lee wears in kung-fu movies when he round-house kicks people. Yeah. Kung-fu ballerinas ROCK!
* When I asked Liz and Javier why all Peruvian billboards and commercials show very un-Peruvian-looking white people, Javier countered with, "Why do all American TV shows show only skinny people? The average American isn't skinny." While I didn't appreciate that remark (
 ), I hope it brings laughter to someone else's soul. Sunday, when I walked to the Catholic church in the morning, I got to see the very last part of the Corpus Christi procession. I would've liked to see the whole thing, but I accidentally slept in.
Anyway, with Celia's help, I finished four more interviews, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. In between the two sets, she, her boyfriend, and I ate lunch at her boyfriend's house. We had charqui soup (made from jerky-like mutton) and seco de pollo (chicken in cilantro sauce). 'Twas good.
After the interviews, I went back to Liz's house and, as before, analyzed my data. Dinner was budin (bread pudding) and Peruvian-style tuna salad sandwiches. As we were finishing up, Adriel brought me a magazine with a picture of Angelina Jolie carrying all her adopted children.
She pointed to Angelina and said, "Estela."
I could hardly keep from laughing my head off at the idea that Angelina Jolie and I look anything alike, but I will take it as a compliment.
Thanks, Adri.
Monday, I woke as an earth tremor shook the house. Not too fun when you realize that a tremor can turn into an earthquake very quickly and very easily in these parts...
Once the day actually got underway, though, it went well. Celia lined up one special interview on the history of the Catholic Church in Tablada as well as two normal interviews. When those were finished, I headed out to Villa El Salvador to meet up with Robert & Becky to translate for them as they set up their July AIM project at a Pentecostal church there. I also took advantage of the oppportunity of the meeting with the pastor to ask him to help me arrange interviews with his church members.
He seemed more than happy until he realized I was asking his people for 15 individual interviews of 1 hour each. For working-class Peruvians, this is no small investment, but I'm praying I get the interviews I need, regardless.
On our way back to the residential districts of Lima, Robert got into a really good conversation with the taxi driver and had me translate for him. I did a lot better than I had done for the meeting with the pastor; God is good, and I'm gettin' my interpreting groove back on!
The conversation was interesting in and of itself. The taxi driver said he trusted Jesus for salvation and wanted to follow Him, but he had trouble finding a church where the leadership wasn't doing bad things. Robert agreed that it can be extremely hard and helped explain the criteria for a good church. He encouraged the man and prayed with him and asked if he'd be able to meet with him again. It was a really, really good conversation--a quintessential "God meeting." I was thankful to be a part of it, too.
Once I got home, I did my laundry (big portions by hand--gotta love Peru!) and analyzed my data. By the time these two tasks were complete, it was already late. However, things were not "all work, no play:" I got to chat with Kelsey and Gabi (the maid) and also play with the kids' new pet mouse, Bigote (which means "Mustache" in Spanish
). Makes me think of a song I sang in middle school:
I think--
I think that mice are rather nice.
Their tails long, their faces small,
they haven't any chins at all.
Their ears are pink; their teeth are white.
They run about the house at night.
They nibble things they shouldn't touch,
and no one seems to like them much.
But I think--
I think that mice are rather nice.
Well, it is time to turn in. I have now completed 8 out of 15 of my Catholic interviews, and I would really, really like to be either done or almost done with that section before the rest of the staff for the AIM project arrive in Peru Wednesday night.
We'll see if that happens or not. But for now, I am content to be halfway done with that category. June 13 An "Anyway Attitude"I'm taking the following devotional from my friend Luke's Facebook page. I find it very wise advice for us as we go through life trying to live as citizens of the Kingdom. ~
When dealing with people, it's recommended that we have an "Anyway Attitude". (Philippians 4:8) June 12 In the right direction... Finally!
As my previous posts have intimated, my past week hasn't gone as productively as I would have liked, at least not in regards to research. This has been hard for me, because I'd like to get things underway so I can be sure I'll have enough time to complete it before I return to the States.
Well, I spent the morning praying about my research. I felt at a loss as to what my next step should be, so prayer seemed like the best option. After a nice long while of prayer, a plan formulated itself: I'd go to Liz's house, practice-interview her, and go to the Catholic church in Tablada to ask the priest/secretary/staff-people if I could interview members of their parish.
And that's pretty much how things went, too.
Liz was happy to see me, and I was happy to see her and my adorable little goddaughter, Adriel.
 Adriel is already using words I thought would be much too hard for a child just over two, and, moreover, she speaks in complete sentences. We had an early (12:30) lunch of rice, wheat in sauce, and meat. (Peruvian cuisine isn't known for its vegetable-dominatedness.) After we ate, Liz let me practice-interview her. She as an English teacher was able to correct some of the awkwardness of my questions and clarify terms for me, too.
Then, as she went to work, we stopped by the local Catholic church. The secretary wasn't there, but a very kind man was. He was enthusiastic about my research and quite willing to help. He introduced me to a girl about my age who works at the Catholic clinic who will help me select informants and introduce me to them so they know I'm not a dangerous quack. (
)Well, when I asked this man who he was, he said he was the priest! His name is Father Washington. ("But I've only been to Miami in the United States." He winked.) As I was finishing talking with Father Washington, another priest who works in the same church came up, and he seemed very skeptical about me and my research. I was even MORE thankful than I already was at this point, because I realized if I had met the first priest first, things might have turned out quite differently.
Glll-oh-ry!!! I hope to complete my Catholic interviews before Deb gets here and the AIM project starts.
Very satisfied, though also a bit timorous for the days and interviews to come, I spent the rest of the late afternoon wandering around Salamanca. I bought a piece of turrón de Doña Pepa (a yummy sweet usually only served in October), added minutes to my cell phone, made photocopies of my informed consent form, and enjoyed the quiet residential streets. At home, Mercy made a mazamorra morada (purple pudding filled with fruits), and the night looked like it would wind down quite tranquilly, but when I called Robert to see if he was going to Villa El Salvador tomorrow, he invited me to Becky's English conversation group (for Peruvians).
I came by their apartment and had a lovely hour chatting about their lesson on motivational spiritual gifts in English. After the lesson wound down, those of us native English-speakers had a fun time chatting and joking.
It's been a good day. Thank You, Abba. |
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