My Final Post

So we've been back in the US for a week.  I think that this post (forgive me), is going to be one part summary, one part random thoughts, and one part advice.

The Monday before we left (we left Urubamba Tuesday night, and Lima Wednesday night), we had our despedida (going away party).  It was nice to see the people we worked with (Ameriko, Jaime), and all of our host families in one place.  Since it was our last night, at dinner Chris and I gave our host mom two framed pictures of our host brother as our goodbye gift.  She kissed one of the pictures, so I think we did good.

Our final day in Urubamba, Tuesday, we finished at 711 by giving all the classes new soccer and volley pelotas, and played some games with them.  After that, we were told to stick around for a bit.  6B gave us a cute speech on how much they appreciate what we've for them, how we'll be in their hearts, and how they're giving us gifts so we can remember them.  Each of the classes gave us a gift - 6A gave us each a money holder/satchel bag (handmade!), 6B gave us one too, and 6C gave us a beautiful ceramic bowl made in Urubamba.  It was really, really touching.  Also, 6B gave us a song on the environment, and on colors too!  See below. (videos are a little large, maybe I'll youtube it).

Figure 1: Confetti

Figure 2: handmade satchel

Even though they gave us gifts, and showered us with confetti (I swear I'm still finding it in my things), you gotta wonder - did we really do that much to help them?  I would like to think that yes, Emily and I made a significant change in their lives, they'll become more responsible with the environment, and they'll be role models in that aspect.  But you know what? I sort of doubt it - Urubamba's just not really a friendly place to be environmentally friendly.   I guess with a project like this, it's hard to really measure the progress you've made.  With stoves, you can count the number of stoves you've made, and say, "wow, I did a good job by making 'X' stoves."  With education, you just gotta give them a push and hope for the best.  Yes, a goodbye party is nice, and it is nice to know that we mean a lot to them, but really (and I'm being blunt here), did they like us because we taught them environmental science and English (and they liked it?), or did they like us because we represented a time away from their normal teachers?  I know that this past paragraph was really cynical, and that we probably did make a significant change to some degree, but as community service goes, you have to question your actual impact sometimes.

That Tuesday afternoon, we said goodbye to our host family (our mom gave us hats!), and we took pictures/exchanged emails.

Left to Right: Augusto, Ana, and Andre

Onto happier things: re-entry into the states.  Here's a list of changes from Peru-life to USA-life that I've noticed.

• The US is so clean.  Modern sanitation (and the ability to flush TP down the toilet) is amazing.
• We can drink tap water. Makes life so much easier
• I miss speaking Spanish to store-owners and people in general
• The US (summer) is so green.
• Supermarkets just rock.
• The skies in Urubamba are just way bluer. No comparison to US skies.
• Dogs have leashes!
• Roads are wide and paved/Drivers are nicer
• Wifi is unbelievably fast
• Having internet 24/7 is a luxury that we don't really realize we have
• I miss mountains

Finally, for all the dukies, or travelers, planning to go to Peru in the future and have stumbled across this blog, I'll leave you with an unofficial packing list of what to bring, but you should check out the rest of this blog to know what to expect.

Bring:

• Warm clothes + layers.  Dress for maximum high of 70 F, minimum of 40 F
• Really warm clothes (if you're going hiking, prep for 20-25 degree F)
• Internal Frame Backpack if you plan on hiking
• Rain jacket/pants (just in case)
• warm hat/socks/gloves
• pack light, because you can always buy alpaca sweaters for cheap
• dSLR if you've got one - Peru's just way pretty.
• clothes to get dirty
• all toiletries (more expensive in Peru)
• quick dry towel
• for guys - ex-officios
• Medicine: Immodium, lots of pepto bismol, 2-3 rounds of Ciprofloxacin (literally a life saver), hand sanitizer, sunblock, aloe vera, band-aids, blister band-aids/moleskin/duct tape.
• Water treatment: a water filter (like MSR Miniworks EX), or treatment tablets would've been great. Parasites suck.
• A good sleeping bag.
• Headlamp
• Leatherman
• ziploc freezer bags
• 3 prong - 2 prong adaptor
• Education: scotch tape, markers, english-spanish teaching book (with pronunciations)

I'll add more if it comes to me, but that's mostly what you should bring if you go to Peru (in the cusco region at least).

That's all! Thanks for reading everyone.


Posted by David Chou

Respect and Reward

So this idea's been rattling in my head for a while (to all the teachers reading this blog, this goes out to you).

Respect in the classroom.

Now that we're coming to the end of our time in Peru, I feel like I can talk on the difficulties of teaching in Peru, and teaching in general.  In Peru, the children love: being competitive, and hitting each other.  With being competitive (in activities), we've just told them to calm down, and tried to be just.  With hitting each other, we tell them sternly to not do it, and tell their teacher if things get worse than a little hit.  From what I can tell, that's the only difference from American children. (oh, and they really love copying things from the board for some reason).  Now on teaching, sixth graders are sixth graders.  They're loud, don't want to pay attention sometimes, and can be difficult to teach sometimes.

Onto respect.  I feel like despite us spending so much time with them, we have yet to gain their full respect as teachers.  That feeling, my friends, is not a good one.  For example, we can't get the class to a full silence without the teacher there (attempts elicit laughter/mockery).  Maybe it's because we're too nice, or we're just too gringo for them to take us seriously.  While I feel like we succeeded in teaching them the material we wanted them to learn, which is great (some of them spontaneously broke out in "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes" Tuesday!!), I still kinda regret not fully gaining their respect like their teachers have.  Again, maybe it is because we don't yell enough (Peruvian teachers yell a lot), or because we can't really do much to punish them.  (the Spanish component might have something to do with it as well)  Either way, for all student teachers I've ever had, for all teachers that have had a difficult class/student, I completely understand, and am sorry.

The beautiful part of this, however, is that we can see how far they've progressed.  I think some of you know how good it feels to see when a lesson has gotten through. That's where reward comes in, and makes my qualms about respect irrelevant!  See, the best part about teaching (and volunteering), is getting something back in return for all the sweat and tears you put in.  I think in the end, that's what I'm going to let define my time here.  Because honestly, seeing my kids sing in English was pretty awesome.


Posted by David Chou

The New "Sad House"

For the Stoves group, we travel to Janahuara or Cotohuinchu every workday, divide ourselves into groups of three or four, and each team hikes to their respective house to (hopefully) complete a stove. Each group hopes that their house will hold all of the necessary materials, smooth, pebble-less mud, and a cooperative family. More than anything, each groups will hope that they are not working at a "sad house".

In my first four weeks here, I have heard of only two houses being given that title - one in which there was no wall to support the chimney, the other in which a family refused to hold up their end of the deal (mainly by providing workable mud) and had to be left alone until they could take the project seriously. Then today three other volunteers and I unwittingly entered a home that would win the title of "sad house" from all the others. 

 
There were two Duke volunteers and two new arrivals, who we were supposed to engage in on-the-spot training. Jaime, our boss, led us to a house where we were not immediately granted admission. We stood back as Jaime yelled through the thin wooden door in Quechua until we gained entrance. We walked in and were met by an old man leaning on a cane. One eye was white with blindness and the other I suspect had also failed, as it neither moved nor focused. He had a a small smile on his face as we delicately crept around him -at Jaime's request that we took extra special care not to bump into his frail figure. 

And then we were on our own.

 
Usually, the volunteers try to work alongside the stove recipient. My favorite stove was one in which the husband - who was perhaps younger than I - eagerly climbed onto the roof to cut the hole (usually one of our people has to do that) while we built the stove below. His wife found us whatever else we needed, and our breaks consisted of playing with their 6 month old baby in the yard. Yet this stove was vastly different. It wasn't that the recipient didn't help, it's that he couldn't. Our efforts to speak Spanish to him came to no avail, and I repeated the one phrase I knew in Quechua ("I am fine") over and over again throughout the morning so that he knew we weren't ignoring him. With difficulty we had to search out every material that usually is provided upon request and when we finally began we had to start not on the actual stove, but on building up the wall for the chimney with cumbersome and back breaking adobe bricks. This consisted of choosing a brick from the pile outside, and (with the help of a pick) separating it from its brothers. Then, haul it inside, hack away at it with the pick another time until it seems the right size, wet it, and finally hoist it up to another volunteer standing on the stove platform so they can use copious amounts of mud to stick it to the brick that lies underneath. The ground team and the platform team sweated equally, but the worst part came when we had to make more mud. As one of the new volunteers hacked away at the pile of dirt above the mud basin we heard a shout - "We've got ants!" 

Thinking it was merely a few stray insects I ignored the call and continued to work on the wall, only to see out of the corner of my eye the older gentleman ambling across the room. I called to him to ask him what he was doing, and thus found out that he was quite deaf. The commotion outside continued so I followed the man out the door and found that the ants were a bigger problem after all- our mud basin was built at the edge of an anthill that came up to my chest. At this moment our attention was drawn again to the man, who had been making his way to an outhouse that we had failed to notice, hidden 20 feet away behind foliage. His cane was slipping on the underbrush, and he was struggling over the brick that we had unknowingly left in his way. The only male volunteer in our group helped support him there, a service that the man gladly accepted. Meanwhile, we decided to saturate the basin with enough water that the ants would leave the mud, or drown. That worked, but when Jaime returned to check on our progress he found three of us sitting forlorn and spattered in the dirt around the water spigot, trying to tie down the handle which wouldn't close. The other volunteer was helping the elderly man back from the outhouse. Confused, Jaime attempted to stifle the pouring faucet, speak to the old man, and put us back in order before he left again. While we wrestled with the water a pair of chickens had descended on our buckets and the old man had settled himself in a chair facing us, and proceeded to watch our progress on his stove. 

Finally the proceedings became smoother, and although the work was still unusually difficult we settled into a rhythm. And I began to wonder about the old man. I wondered how he managed to live on this little farm, with no sight and limited mobility. I wondered if he was happy, when a trip to the bathroom took him the greater part of an hour. Later I found out that his wife was a good deal younger than him, and cared for her ailing husband. That made me wonder about the wife, and how her life differed from other women in that pueblo - was it consumed with caring for her husband, or was it less work or more joy than at seemed? What I was most curious about was why the old man was so content to watch us for a hour, although he could not understand us and probably could only barely make out our foreign forms. Yet he watched, with a hearty grin on his face: a look of pure joy.

Later, in Spanish class, I asked about the existence of elder homes in Peru. My teacher explained that they have them, but those that enter die quickly. Confused, I asked if this was a reflection of the quality- she responded that while the quality could be quite good, when a man like the one we had encountered has spent so long listening to the birds that chirp outside his home, or the river that runs through his land, or his wife chattering to him about whatever (whether he fully understands or not), moving him to a nursing home is a fatal mistake. Taken out of his habitat, he would die quickly. It was then that I realized why he sat their and smiled- even though he couldn't understand us, we were company. Even though he sat and watched us make a mess of his house, we were entertainment. He knew his life on the farm well, and slippery trek to the bathroom forgotten, he has comfortable and happy. 

But the aspect of the day that I wondered about the most was how he was when he was younger. Now, we saw him as old, blind, decrepit. All we knew of him were his ailments. But he could only have been this way for a few years. I wondered how his younger self would feel if he could foresee this moment- a bunch of foreign students entering into the home that he had carefully constructed, in which he had perhaps used his big smile and wit to land his much younger wife and subsequently provided for her so that when he fell ill she would have the means to maintain the house. I wonder how the younger, more virile version of this jovial grandfather would feel knowing that we saw him and constructed our judgments of the situation based on this version of him. That we never knew him in his youth. He no doubt spent many years toiling in the rocks of Ccotohuincho, coaching a life out of the arid desert. Yet we have no idea about THAT man, only the old one in front of us, picking his way across the floor. Ninety percent of his life has most likely been filled with labor, self-sufficiency, and perhaps passion. Yet we will never know of that side. I wondered how different the way we saw him was from how he sees himself. I know that when I am old and my health is failing I will still think of myself as the 20 year old who built stoves in Peru, as the adolescent who likes adventure. But how will others see me? Most likely as we see the man - weak and vulnerable. He is a shadow of the man he used to be, yet we can never know that other man for comparison. I very much wish I could know what this old man was like in his prime, and what would be his thoughts about his position today.

Posted by Brynne Sekerak

I guess we're doing something right?

So our wonderful Site Coordinator, Kate, came by 711 today to talk to the teachers about a field trip we're taking the kids on next week (we're taking them to the La Salle greenhouses!), and to observe us teaching.  She talked to the 6C teacher for a while, and told us that he said that the Duke volunteers coming to teach has been a really positive experience.  So much so, that he wants to try and work out something where Pro-World volunteers can come teach at 711 year-round!

That's really great to hear, and it's fantastic that we've made such a positive impression.  How cool is that?


Posted by David Chou

Election Day!

Sooo, word on the street (literally) is that Ollanta won the Presidential Elections (confirmed by BBC). Let's hope he doesn't end up like Chavez?

I guess either Keiko Fujimori's too young or her daddy left too much of a bad mark on Peru.

Most people I've ever seen in Urubamba (because they have to come to their original town to vote). People watching at it's greatest - such a grand variety of people here. Guards everywhere (one with an AK-47?) and just a ton of people. Street vendors are having a field day I guess.


Posted by David Chou

The 14 year old porter

In life, there are those who come and go, and those who make an indelible (and positive) impression. Most times, those in the latter are role models, or loved ones. Rarely does one encounter someone of the latter whom he’s met once in his life, especially when that someone is only a child.

This past weekend, during a grueling 2-day, 9-hour hike up to Glacier de Chicon (peak: 17,500ft), I met one of the most remarkable, yet unmistakably average, 14 year old boys ever. He was one of the five porters leading the group, all of whom were carrying our meals and water on their backs on a square sheet of cloth held together by a knot wrapped around their necks. While most of us gringos in our hiking boots and padded backpacks were panting for air, eagerly awaiting the next descanso to let our accumulating lactic acid disintegrate, these porters, in their sandals and 30 or so pounds of bulky things unstably hanging off their backs, were frolicking (ok maybe that’s a bit of a stretch) up the hill. And guess who was leading them all? Cristian, the 14 year old boy. Of course, this physical feat alone would not make him great. It’s what I saw in him throughout the course of the two days that prompted me to reflect.

Christian on the very left. (Photo by David Chou)

It’s indubitable that Cristian was going through a painful degree of physical stress, given his pace up the mountain. It may not have been to the extent of most others, but at our few breaks, he laid down his heavy bag and fell to the floor in exhaustion like the rest of us. But you wouldn’t even know he was tired because he was always smiling or cracking a joke. I can imagine what many other 14-year olds would do in such a situation as physically demanding as his, and laughing would not be one of them. He offered the four non-porters in the “fast” group (Busack, Bodner, Chou, Me) some nuts at a few stops, and led our group the whole way on the first day.

I really got a sense of his impressive sense of maturity the next morning. When I say I didn’t sleep the night before, I actually didn’t fall asleep a minute from 8 pm - 5 am, given the less than ideal tenting situation and lack of warmth in the 20 degree wind. It was torturous. I waited outside the tent from 3 am to 5 am, and at the sound of the fire starting up nearby, I joined the porters by the fireside. At my response to their inquiry of how I slept, Cristian offered me mate (tea), bread, and jelly, and encouraged me to come on the 2nd leg of the hike to the glacier, even if I were struggling. And again, even at 5am, when he was clearly cold and tired himself, he was cracking jokes, offering the other porters tea, and seeing if I were feeling better. I wouldn't be lying if I said I ended up going on the 2nd leg to not disappoint my boy.

By noon, I had taken an Advil from Jina and felt much better. I eventually joined Kach, Busack, Bodner and two porters for the return run-down through the woods, led by none other than our 14-year old. When we reached the base of the mountain, I gave all the goodies I had to the two porters whom were with us (some empanadas de carne y pollo, ketchup, and fruits), in an attempt to show our appreciation. Busack, in his generosity, gave his sweatshirt and sweet pocketknife to the other porter and Cristian, respectively, who took them with earnest gratitude. Maybe he saw the same admirable traits, and wanted to reward him. Anyway, looking back, I wish I could’ve given him something more substantial. It’s not everyday you come across a kid who subconsciously makes you reflect on maturity, attitude, and life.

Que un chico!


Posted by Jun John Yoo

How to Produce a Stool Sample

This is the story of my unfortunate trip to the medical clinic here in Urubamba. I had been having diarrhea for a few days, so Kate, our site director, went with me to get me checked out. The doctor decided that I should have some tests done, so we headed up to the lab where the technician asked me for a stool sample. It’s not every day that you’re asked to defecate on demand. She hands me a few tools, and I enter the bathroom. Outside the unusually thin door, I hear Kate and the lady chatting; I’m fairly sure that every one of my bowel movements will make it through the door with embarrassing clarity. I survey the tools that I have at my disposal: a clear container and a Popsicle stick. I try the container on for size and decide that it is much too small to warrant a direct transaction. That must be what the Popsicle stick is for! After finishing my business I employ the Popsicle stick to scoop a sizable stool sample into the container. I emerge victoriously and proudly hand my container of poo to the lady.


Posted by Dave Balthazar