Signing Out

I am home now, sitting next to the Christmas tree. I just wrapped presents for my family and drank an eggnog shake. Snow is falling outside. Before coming home, I had to spend a week at Northland; no skipping finals and debriefing meetings! So I have had a little more than a week to think through everything and process life.

One of the things that stood out to me about the Peruvian culture is the multiplicity of ways their collectivism is manifested. They are so collectivist, traditional, so satisfied with the status quo. Their mindset is so different from ours. If an American sees someone progressing, doing well at something, we think, “If they can do that, I can too – I’ll do it better.” If they see someone do well and get ahead in life, they think something like, “What business do they have being better than me. I need to do something to bring them down a peg or two.” One missionary gave me this illustration.

Suppose there were a contest to climb to the top of a pole, or something. Whoever wins gets a big cash prize. Two Americans come, can’t do it by themselves, so they’re like, “Ok, let’s work together on this and split the prize.” Two Peruvians come – one can’t do it, so he does everything he can to ensure the other one doesn’t get anywhere near it, either. 

When I went down, I prayed I would learn new things about God through learning things about new people – that I would see more of Him because I was seeing foreign believer’s views of Him. But I didn’t really. I’m not saying I didn’t learn more about God, because I definitely did. It was rather that He just affirmed everything more – He is the same to me in Peru as He is in the states. I struggle with many of the same things there that I do here. 

Yes, the family of God there is more close and warm. Sin is more blatant there, so God’s holiness, trustworthiness and unconditional love are more distinct – in my mind, at least. But the Holy Spirit can produce the same change in their lives as we see Him do here.

God affirmed His faithfulness, trustworthiness, and love so many times. He emphasized to me that He is the Potter, I am the clay. He answered my little prayers – sometimes they were not even prayers. Just, “It would be nice if…” I had to constantly give my time to Him, but He allowed me to get more school done in less time than I imagined possible. I am so thankful that He allowed me to spend this time in Peru.

You know the "Be A Missionary" song, right?

"Be a missionary every day,
Learn to eat whatever comes your way!
If it's ants down in your corn chips

or it's roaches in your coke,
Just don't let it bug you, just eat it till you choke!

Oh, be a missionary every day,
It may stink but eat it anyway,
It may be warm and fuzzy,

and sometimes it still moves, but..
You don't need a skillet!
Chew it till you kill it,
Be a missionary today!"

Jungle Joy

“I’ve never been this ridiculously happy!” Kristie said after we had finally managed to stop laughing. Raquel looked at us like we were crazy. Nothing was particularly funny – we had just been smiling hugely to ourselves as we walked through the jungle, and happened to look at each other. We were eating oranges almost as big as our heads. The juice was running down our arms, dripping off our elbows onto our dusty feet. The day was warm and we had walked three kilometers to a clean river. For several hours we waded, swam and collected interesting rocks in the refreshing water. The walk was gorgeous and we took pictures of the Urubamba River, banana trees, passionfruit, chirimoya and a plethora of other plants. The birds were loud and numerous. The air was warm and heavily scented with plants. Occasionally, a nasty dead smell came to us from across the river where buzzards were circling.  A couple days later, we returned to the river with our Bibles, sat on big rocks in the middle and spent a good part of the morning just reading with the sun warm on us and the minnows nibbling on our toes. Of course it would be a waste to come to the river without washing, so we climbed in and had fun floating down. Those were probably my favorite days on my whole trip.

Continued Jungle Chronicles

Pastor Rolando had a full schedule planned for our week. On Saturday, Raquel and Kristie taught lessons at a kids club. I helped with games, songs, the lessons, and took pictures. On Sunday, Raquel taught escuela dominical, she and I gave our testimonies in church, and we three girls did two specials – one vocal and one with our flutes. We began to see how rare it was for gringas to be in the area; they treated us rather uncomfortably like celebrities. On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, we each taught our instrument to whoever wanted to learn. I had the front of the church with the little keyboard (middle C did not work – what a pain when you’re teaching beginners), Kristie had the back with her guitar, and Raquel sat in the middle with her flute. We each had two students come for all three days. If we didn’t have students, Pastor Rolando or Gladis would come to pick up what they could. I explained the

I, IV, V chord concept to Gladis so she could play better for church. The other two students were guys: Eder, a very fast learner whom I regretted leaving with just the little information that I was able to give him before something came up and we had to stop. My other student was The Snake, as Kristie and I call him, who slithered after me for those three days. Wednesday afternoon, we had a ladies meeting. Kristie gave her testimony and taught a short lesson, and Pastor Rolando led songs and a few games. Afterwards, they all took turns having their pictures taken with the gringas. 

Tuesday was Gladis’ birthday. Pastor Rolando mentioned that he would like to surprise her with a cake, so we girls took it upon ourselves to make it. We requested the help of the hermana with whom we were staying since we had no idea how to make a cake without a recipe. We bought what we needed from the store and, since the oven for the area was going to be baking something at six the next morning, agreed to meet at five.  Although I set my alarm for 4:45, it went off at 3:45 in the morning; I had forgotten that my cell phone had changed an hour automatically like the States does every fall. We were dressed by four in the morning, realized the mistake, laughed sleepily at me, and went back to bed for an hour. Hermana Claudia had been up since three preparing the ducks for Gladis’ birthday breakfast. She showed us how to cream the sugar, butter and eggs by hand – literally. No such thing as an electric mixer existed among her things, so she and Kristie mixed it with their hands for seven or eight minutes to get it to the right consistency.  We divided the egg whites into three dishes and Raquel, Kristie and I whipped and whipped them with forks. They were stiff enough about the time our arms were ready to fall off. The path to the oven goes right past the Arias’ house, so we surreptitiously and nonchalantly walked by, just happening to be going to the oven, on the morning of Gladis’ birthday, at six-thirty in the morning, with a mysteriously covered cake pan. She saw us. Una falla. Later, she tried to get out of us what time we had gotten up, but we evaded answering. The surprise was definitely ruined when the oven person brought the cake to her house with the ducks instead of farther up to Hermana Claudia’s house. We snuck it out, decorated it, and told Gladis to look surprised for our pictures – she must have just been laughing at us. That was the first morning that we went right back to bed after breakfast.

Jungle Gringas

Kristie, Raquel and I got back last night from staying in the jungle with a national family. Amazing!!!!! I love the jungle!!!! I don’t know how many times Kristie and I, already smiling hugely to ourselves, looked at each other and burst out laughing for pure jungle joy. Raquel may have thought us rather peculiar and Pastor Rolando and Gladis probably wondered about us too.

Imagine a jungle . . . any jungle things your mind has gleaned from movies or books. Now come to Urubamba, get on a bus at 10 pm, sleep off and on for several hours, then get off the bus in Quillabamba at 4 am (in a warm pouring rain). Your next preferable mode of transportation, I found, is the back of a truck (like an open produce-kind-of-truck); perch yourself on a bag of rice or potatoes that are being transported into the interior and hold on tight for about five hours. Warm, heavily scented air will blow in your face, dust from passing vehicles will coat your hair and face, and you can watch the banana, mango, papaya, pacay, coffee, cacao and coconut trees roll by. The flowers are huge. The butterflies are like those I’ve only seen in butterfly conservatories in the States – bright green, orange, fluorescent purple. Heaven’s got to have a jungle. You will not know when you have arrived in Kapashiari – it is not exactly a town.  The town center is the house with the store. About 20 other houses are spread out on the road along a distance of about five or six kilometers. They are not close together or visible from the road, though. We three girls stayed at the town center house, owned by an hermano in the church, because Pastor Rolando’s house consists of just three rooms – sleeping room, cooking/eating room, and study/storage room. So we slept in our room and spent the rest of our time with the Arias Huillca family at their little house.

Jungle necessities, for gringos at least, are bug repellent and a fan. We had the former, but sorely missed the latter. Even with the repellent, we got bitten up, Kristie especially. Without anything to cool us from the oppressive humidity in our room at night, Kristie and I slept very little. Raquel managed to sleep, but Kristie and I lay awake for hours, too warm to sleep, and talked about everything from Aristocats to Proverbs. About two in the morning, we would doze off, then usually rise fairly early. We learned at the end of the week that we could sleep a few hours in the early morning, get up for breakfast, then go back to bed around nine while the room was still cool and sleep for a few hours. As it was, I don’t think I ever got so little sleep in a week. We tried wetting our hair every night before bed, which did help some; one night Kristie dampened her sheet, but it just made her feel more damp. We also learned, one night, the art of sleeping three on a twin bed. 

Living with nationals, we learned that it does not have to be difficult to live with very little. I loved cooking with Hermana Gladis and just watching how she did things. Her kitchen consisted of a two-burner gas stove, a little shelf that held all her dishes and pots except for some things in a cardboard box next to it. All her plates, cups and utensils fit in a small drainer. Her counter was the three foot square table that they also ate at. The “refri” – their shortening of refrigerator, was a huge blessing. The “pila,” the sink, as usual, was outside. What if you wanted to cook three or four things for a meal? Well, you just cook the rice and segundo first, set them on the floor, then fry the yucca and make tea. You do your laundry in the same pila in which you washed the chicken for dinner, as well as the dinner dishes. You very well may bathe your toddler in the same pila. We got a shower – showering in the jungle is such fun. Mainly because the water is not heated – I could just stand in the cool water and look out the slats in the door at the coffee tree right outside and the occasional person passing on the road below. One thing you do have to get used to is the different standard of modesty in Peru. 

I am going to post more later; you might be more likely to read everything if I post it in shorter installments :-)

Cusco Week-end

The churches here seem to often get together for activities. I skipped out on the soccer get-together in favor of homework. Practicing volibol at the seminary with everyone was just too fun to pass up, and we got together twice to practice. On Saturday, we crammed 18 people into the car and went to Cusco for the tournament. The girls won their first game, but lost the other two – we were remarkably bad, but had fun. For the life of us, we cannot “matar” (kill – spike) the ball.

Lois Hutchinson is a widow missionary in Cusco. Her two grandkids, Jaycee and Lois, live with her while their parents are currently in the states. She earlier suggested that Kristie and I spend a week-end with her. After the tournament, Kristie, Raquel and I went to the church she works with and waited for her to pick us up. She is in the process of moving, so we helped load up a rented truck and unload it again at the house they are currently living in. Two seminary guys do extension at that church, so they helped as well. Most churches have “jovenes” – youth group – on Saturday night; Lois, the granddaughter of Lois Hutchinson, is in charge of it, and she asked us to do a special for it; Kristie played the guitar and sang “Fuente de la Vida Eterna” (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing) with Raquel and I. One of the seminary guys who helps at the church has been smitten with Kristie for quite some time. I had too much fun catching him at manipulating the games so he ended up in line next to her, and Kristie intentionally making mistakes so she had to be moved back in line away from him.

At the morning service, we did a piano-violin-guitar-recorder quartet for special music; violins are few and far between in Peru, so it was fun to do that. For lunch we went to a McDonald’s-kind-of-restaurant that overlooked the Plaza De Armas. I love Cusco’s plaza. People-watching is so much fun. We make it a game to pick out the American tourists from the European tourists. It was also fun to watch Peruvians come to the restaurant; coming to a restaurant like McDonalds is a major event for upper class people only – common folk stick to the pollerias and chicharias. 

I did my first official sight-seeing after lunch. We walked through the old part of Cusco that caters to tourists. Everything looked ancient, clean, worn, and picturesque. Cathedrals rise high above every other building; an old Quechua Indian lady, well under five feet tall, sits alone on the vast steps in her traditional country skirt and knitted leggings, waiting for a tourist to take a picture of her and give her a sol. Stone arches frame narrow cobble streets where a young man is trying to sell paintings. Tourists are everywhere, taking pictures and ducking into the low doorways advertising art, ceramics, or alpaca fur sweaters. As I walk through the city, I feel like I’ve been transported somewhere else: maybe some European town, somewhere very foreign and unfamiliar – definitely not Peru. This is far removed from the Peru I know. 

For the evening service, we attended a different church in the city. On our way there, the police pulled us over. Aunt Lois showed them all her documents, which were correct and legal in every way. For fifteen minutes the two policemen stood outside her window and insisted that a certain document was not official or claimed that something was expired. Aunt Lois explained again and again that everything was correct and nothing was expired for another month yet. The men were clearly trying to drive her to bribe them to leave her alone. I sat in the back seat and prayed that they would be satisfied with her documents. Finally, they backed off and let us go, telling her to drive more slowly. We had not been speeding. They just like to razz on “rich gringas.”

I religiously check my bed for fleas before I go to sleep; to prevent them from even getting on my bed, I undress in a certain order and, preferably, in the bathroom away from my bed so that any I may have collected in my clothing during the day have no chance of finding me while I sleep. The flea-check that night turned up one little booger who jumped away when I tried to catch him – they can jump like nothing else. He refused to show himself, so Kristie and I had to sleep with him. He took some small vengeance on us both, each of us waking up with five or six bites on our hands. I think biological warfare is in order. DIE, VERMIN, DIE!!

Update

Huayco – all cleaned up except for random piles of dirt in the road. The reservoir has not been cleaned out, but Chichubamba is getting water from a different source now.

Typhoid – the two students are doing better. Yoni has been attending classes since the beginning of two weeks ago. Danilo had it much worse. He was in the hospital for a week, released for a week, then relapsed and had to be admitted again. I saw him at the seminary today, so he must be recovering.

While we are talking about hospitals, I shall tell you why you don’t want to be in a hospital here. Hospitals exist to treat illness and wounds, no more. They are not here for your comfort or normal physical well-being. You are not fed and there is no way to bathe. You hope that you have friends in the area who will bring you food and maybe a tub of water to wash your hands and face sometimes. While Danilo was in the hospital, Rachel brought him food every day, poured homemade gatorade down him by the liter, and sweet-talked the hospital staff into letter her bring him back to campus for two hours to take a shower. Hospitals in the States might more parallel a really nice Peruvian hotel.