Suerte

“Suerte que mis pechos sean pequeños, y no los confundas con montañas” – Shakira

My first day of work was exhilarating–much smoother than I expected it to be. The coordinator of the Hospital de Niños (where I was working), Marta, was so extremely sweet and very helpful that I felt perfectly comfortable. After a general tour of the hospital, I was assigned to work in Medicina D, more specifically with a girl named Lady (like much of the rest of the world, Peruvians have taken a liking to semi-English names) who I think has some type of sclerosis–she is 15 but itsy bitsy, so thin I’m scared to accidently snap her bones when I touch her, and wheelchair bound. Her head was wrapped in bandages, and according to Marta she is just recently losing control of her hands. Also, according to Marta, she doesn’t really have a family. But despite all this she is extremely bright, remarkably intelligent for her age, upbringing, and physical condition. She’s also sassy, really something else–since she can’t really move at all she’s gotten accustomed to asking people to do things for her, and orders around the nurses and Aprendo Contigo workers like she’s their boss. People endearingly refer to her as “la jefe del hospital.” I really probably should not have been so happy after my first day of work, because I saw so many beautiful little children with pipes and tubes sticking out of their bodies, which is quite a sad thing, but I think Lady made it easy. I returned home light, starving but bouncing on the soles of my feet.

After my second day, however, I feel much heavier. Today I went to a different location, to the Hogar Clinica de San Juan de Dios, a live-in hospital that treats many children who were born with some kind of physical disability or deformity. I work two days at San Juan, three days at Hospital de Niños, and half a day at Posadita. San Juan de Dios is very different from the Hospital de Niños because there is a special space for Aprendo Contigo–the organization has a very large portion of the clinic all for itself, with three classrooms, where the children come to have class from their hospital beds. The Hospital de Niños is much larger, and cannot have a classroom setting for that reason and also because the children have a multitude of different problems, not just physical disability, some of which are infectious. Maybe San Juan de Dios seemed sadder because it was darker, or maybe the classroom setting made the state of unhealth feel more permanent. After all, the hospital is literally a home–some of the kids have grown up in this hospital, some of them learned everything they know with Aprendo Contigo in the makeshift hospital school. The oldest boy, in particular, makes me feel very heavy. He is 16, a little shy but strong, he doesn’t use a wheelchair like many of the others but prefers crutches–he has lived for 4 years in San Juan de Dios, one of his legs is about a foot shorter than the other and basically useless (I think he has a Cuban sort of splint in it right now to make it grow)–and to top it off, he is currently only at a 5th grade level, or worse, because he cannot multiply. It really seems like nothing he has been given in life has gone right, or will go right. Even if he miraculously got two working legs, what chances does he have in a country like Peru with barely an elementary level education? Will he be like that ex-student who visited the other day who is now living on the streets, most likely stealing to get by? Seeing all this in such a tangible way really makes me feel kind of bratty for being born with a working body, for having parents that care for me, for my education, for having the luxury to aspire and daring to dream.

Heavy. Yesterday I was naive enough to forget that every adorable smiling little face has a very sad story behind it, and most likely is facing an even sadder story in its future.

Getting Places

beach

Of course, my experience in Peru would not be complete without diarrhea. But no more needs to be said of this.

Today was my first day of work, a short day in hours, but not lacking in memorable events. This morning, I headed out with my mamá peruana Alicia to the street to get a micro, which is a type of public transportation–medium sized buses brightly decorated with stripes of color and names of major streets or districts they go. Of course, like maps of Lima, the route of a micro cannot be found anywhere but inside a limeño’s head. This can be a little frustrating for the extranjero, but it seems to be an integral part of Limeñan culture; things are disorganized, a little hectic, and very cozy–but people are helpful and kind. Anyways, I was glad to have Alicia with me, even though I felt like I could get a micro myself. The day before, her 28 year-old son Ricardo had told me that there was a purple micro that went directly to the Hospital de Niños, where I was going to work, and I had this brilliant idea that I would just hop out on the street, flag down the purple one, ask them if they went to Hospital de Niños, and hop on. It was going to be a piece of cake and I was going to be super-independent and able. Anyways, Alicia and I waited for about 10 minutes at the stop and no purple bus passed, luckily her neighbor came out and we asked her if she knew the route, and the neighbor said that she had never seen a purple bus pass by here, that it didn’t go by this street but another one, that the only one that passed by here was a “chiquitito,” a combi–large van like transport–with blue stripes. Right then, a blue striped combi drove by, and we waved our arms, but it didn’t stop, because it was filled to the brim. We went to another street to catch the purple bus, and finally, after being told that it was red and white, then green, then purple again, then hopping onto and off a red and brown one that only went near the hospital but not directly to it, I got on the purple bus, standing and packed literally like sardines.

DIA 3…Barranco y Embajada

vista del mar from barranco

Today is día 5. Today I arrived at the house at about 6:15–truly a record. For the first time, I am not half asleep while writing this. I even feel a little self-conscious.

bueno. día 3, miércoles. we met very early, at 8:15 at the Starbucks en el Parque Central de Miraflores. I was late, so I practically ran, which was not great news because I wasn’t sure of the way but I got there panting and realized that I was not the latest. Cultural lesson: when they say that in Latin America, time is more fluid, they mean that in Latin America, time is more fluid. Anyways, after that we went to the US embassy, and basically had a round table discussion/info session with some of the foreign service workers at the embassy, including the Deputy Ambassador guy (something high level and important–he showed me where the bathroom was), and lots of other high profile sounding people. It was actually extremely interesting–I learned a lot about US foreign policy and some of my preconceived notions of foreign policy were reinforced–but anyhow, the thing lasted about 2-3 hours. The Peruvian embassy is gargantuan–the building is fortress-like and extremely intimidating, and about 1000 people work inside (700 of which are Peruvians), it is one of the biggest embassies in the area. The most interesting discrepancy between Peruvian perspectives on Peru’s problems and American perspectives on Peru’s problems was that the US overall approves of Alan Garcia because of similar economic ideology (ie free trade, trade with the US) whereas most Peruvians disapprove of Garcia. Also, it seems like Peru is one of US’s strongest allies in Latin America, and it is one of the fastest growing (if not the fastest growing) economies in Latin America, but it is also home of the worst education, and most gaping inequalities. Hmm. We also heard from the department of narcotics on eradication of coca production (Peru is the second largest exporter/producer or something of cocaine), from USAID, PeaceCorps, and stuff like that. Anyways, it was far too long, one guy from this department would talk, take questions, then another guy from some other department would talk, and take questions, and on and on and on and in the beginning it was extremely interesting, but by the second hour I was tired, thirsty, and needed to pee like a racehorse. Of course, by the end of this, I also had forgotten Spanish completamente, because we were on US soil, and all the people we talked to were estadounidenses. Bueno.

After this lovely little chat we went to Barranco, the bohemia of Lima, where all the artists are and whatnot. I went in Patricia’s car, which was lovely and filled with laughter, except that I thought I was going to die about half the time and throw up the other half, because I was in bitch seat with no seat belt, and Patricia drives LOCAMENTE. Traffic in Lima is terrible, and we nearly ran over about 10 people, and to top it all off, once in a while, Patricia would take her hands off of the wheel (while driving, of course) to enhance our conversation with hand gestures. A los latinos les gusta hablar con las manos. Anyways. Barranco, and it was very pretty–que lindo–we saw the sea and some nice yellow buildings, and had lunch at a cheap little place, where I ate lomo saltado, which is a famous peruvian dish of beef, onions and french fries, and it was very yummy except that the beef was really chewy, like bubble gum, but the entire meal only cost 7 soles, which is about 3 dollars, so I thought it was okay.

After that we went to the Universidad del Pacifico and had a presentation about Villa El Salvador from a company called Inti-Quilla, which we were going to visit the next day. Then, we had a round table discussion with some Peruvian students about Peruvian politics, economics, and “development” and whatnot, which was kind of cool, I guess, but I really would rather have talked about normal life. Also it was kind of annoying because we had talked so much about that shit already, it was like–I get the point, Peru is a developing country, full of inequality, and development needs to be sustainable and whatnot. But really. I don’t want to go somewhere looking for poverty in all corners, and return home smiling on one side and shaking my head in pity on the other–I’d rather just see what I see. And of course, I am rather pessimistic in general about “development,” and it was difficult to communicate this in Spanish, which was also frustrating.

By the time this little chat was over, it was about 6pm, but we couldn’t go, no we had to meet with the supervisors in our programs for another two hours. Of course, we were exhausted, from 5 hours of lecture and 2 hours of talking in spanish, so it was the perfect time to be introduced to our bosses. But luckily for me, Soledad and Marisol, who came from Aprendo Contigo, were wonderful, so sweet, they spoke very clearly, are going to take good care of me, and I think I communicated relatively well, because its easily to have a more intimate conversation then talk about politics in a group of 20.

Later, much later, Charo drove us home, but her car broke down about 20 blocks from my house, in front of Alejandra’s hotel, and it was already dark, but one of the guys was cabellero enough to walk me home, which I felt a little bad about at the time because it was late and I knew everyone was exhausted, but today I heard that Peruvian men are always taking care of the women around them, are extremely chivalrous, Patricia said that whenever she was out with guy friends she never ever has to worry about having an empty glass or anything because the men take care of her, and now I don’t feel so bad. I hope these American boys learn something from their Peruvian counterparts.

street musician in barranco