¡Dios Mío!

Last weekend I had a meeting in Chiclayo so I went in early with Susan to take care of some other errands. We went to see the movie Rendition which we both enjoyed. Only Susan and I got any of the humor, which I admit was subtle. It was kind of like being transported back to the States; emerging after two hours was somewhat surreal. The one difference was the theater’s temperature which was refreshingly sane compared to the absurdly cold temperatures of movie theaters in the U.S.

Walking back to the hostel afterwards it seemed as if the entire population of Chiclayo was headed in the opposite direction. Go figure, Grupo 5 was playing a free concert just down the street for the anniversary celebration of Chiclayo. No one misses a free Grupo 5 concert. It’s basically sacrilege. Luckily we went back to the hostel first to leave all of our valuable things—cell phone, money, etc.—because as we pushed through the crowd of thousands of people to catch a glimpse of the stage we were accosted by a group of roughly 20 people. It took us a second to realize what was going on because we both just figured they were shoving to get by. Then they started grabbing us and reaching in our pockets, meanwhile knocking us around and causing a general commotion. I imagine it was kind of like being in a mosh pit but I have no firsthand experience. Most of them were trying to rob us but I think at least one guy was completely oblivious of the scheme because I caught a glimpse of him and he was smiling and jumping around like he’d never had so much fun in his life. We were directly outside the entrance for a bar so we pushed our way in, leaving the rabble-rousers behind. Except for an increase in heart rate we both came away unscathed. Our money was all in our bras which is basically the only place to keep it. Pockets are good for almost nothing in a country where sporadic mass robbing is apparently socially acceptable.

While in Chiclayo, I bought my host-sister some kidney beans because she’s anemic and I happen to know that they are a good source of iron. Imagine my surprise when I emerged from my room the other morning to discover my mother in the process of peeling the skin off of every last bean. She had already made a good dent in the bowl by the time I arrived so I just let her keep at it and pretended that I thought it was perfectly normal. Unless she fed my sister the skins while I wasn’t looking I’m pretty sure it defeated the purpose of the kidney beans, as I’m fairly certain that the iron is contained in the skin.

Recently, I attended a mass for my counterpart’s mother who died a year ago. As is the custom here, they continue to celebrate the deaths of loved ones at certain intervals long after they die. It seems like there are at least two masses a week in my community alone. The mass itself was normal but the “lunch” afterwards was, as always, an experience. First of all, they passed out mementos – Jesus clocks with attached picture frames containing a eulogy and a crazy picture of the deceased woman’s head. Let me tell you, everyone and their mother wanted one. My own mother attempted to get her hands on two. In our house we have an entire shelf dedicated solely to these somewhat disturbing mementos. Back at the family’s house, they provided a lunch and more importantly, liquor. At first it was just chicha, but then the Peruvian whiskey came out. Nearly every man there made sure to offer me a drink. The custom is to pass the alcohol around the entire group, with each person pouring themselves a glass and then passing the bottle to his or her neighbor before drinking. However, in this case, the males actually broke the circle and came across the room to offer me a drink. They didn’t care how much I drank they just wanted me to accept it from them. It got a little ridiculous and at one point my host-mother decided I had had enough and made the woman next to me very obviously pass the bottle around me. I actually wasn’t even approaching tipsy because the chicha was really weak and I managed to avoid most of the whiskey. The women were funny to watch because when the whiskey got to them they would pretend to get distracted while pouring it until, oops, all of the sudden they had a full glass. They would make some comment about not realizing their glasses were so full and then they would pour a tiny bit back and drink the rest. One visiting guy from Lima kept trying to take picture of me with his phone only he was drunk and kept trying to take them at really close range. I would be having a conversation and all of the sudden I would realize there was a phone waving around in my face. I’m sure he has some lovely pictures of my nostrils.