¡Que viva el santo!

On Monday I turned 24. I wasn’t sure if anyone would even know, so I was prepared to pass the day like any other. However, a group of somewhat random women ended up organizing a small party which consisted of cake, papa a la huancaína, wine that tasted slightly better than cough syrup, a cocktail, some singing and plenty of somewhat forced and awkward dancing. I had to dance the Marinera with every single person in attendance even though it’s pretty complicated and none of them could dance it either. They also serenaded me which was pretty hilarious in itself. My counter-part, who out of nowhere busted out a perfect tenor voice, sang the main part, while the rest of them, all with horrible voices, sang the chorus. I tried to thank them, but I couldn’t really figure out a way to truly convey just how much I appreciated it. Considering how little they have, and that they rarely buy cakes for their own birthday parties, it was extremely generous.

Back at home I invited my host-mother to some cake. Earlier I had gone to the house to invite her to the party. She actually had no idea it was my birthday and was a bit surprised. However, she said nothing like, “Oh my goodness! I had no idea. Happy birthday!” No, she said, “I already ate lunch,” and didn’t come to the party. Still, as I offered her the cake I assumed that we were on good terms. Then came a diatribe about how she was mad at me for having my birthday party at another person’s house. She refused the cake, telling me that I should have told her it was my birthday, because she would have bought me a cake. Maybe it was my fault, but I would have felt awkward telling her “Tomorrow’s my birthday; maybe you should throw me a party.” I tried in vain to explain that I had not actually chosen to celebrate my birthday in the house of another and that I wouldn’t have even celebrated if it hadn’t been for those women. At this point she told me she didn’t believe me. She looked pissed. I got upset, put the cake down, thanked her for wishing me a happy birthday and walked away. She followed me into my room, continuing to explain that she was highly offended. I mean, what would my real mother say when she found out that I had not had my party in my own house?!

I started looking for a new house/family. It’s really not that easy and kind of over-whelming. There are only 50 families in my town and at least half of them are related to my host-mom, if not more. Furthermore, most of them do not have any extra rooms. It´s also far more difficult to chose a host-family now that I know so many of the habits and histories of the families. I approached one señora who previously offered me a room, but she told me that she didn´t want any problems with my current host-mom. By the time she started listing other families I could live with, I had pretty much gotten the hint.

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As far as birthday celebrations are concerned, many volunteers dislike them. In the Peruvian campo, they are usually family affairs and consist of a circle of people drinking, usually for many hours. I, however, usually find them quite entertaining. The last one I went to was already in full swing by the time I got there. It was me and eight other people. I got stuck between two very campo men who had already been drinking for awhile. Most of the time they were both talking to me at the same time. One of them kept bursting into song. He sang with such force and frequency that it was difficult for anyone else to carry on a conversation. When the food came out and I didn´t eat (because they had just served me a special plate of food), he insisted that I at least consume the spoonful that he was waving around in my face. I told him I couldn´t eat the big hunk of meat on it so he picked it out with his fingers, in the process knocking beans all over my lap. The man on the other side of me was delighted when I told him that it is indeed legal for me to marry a Peruvian. He proceeded to warn me about Peruvian males, and told me that it was okay for me to date them, but that I should never remove my bra. He got stuck on this subject and told me at least four more times before he decided to share his advice with the rest of the group. I left around the time someone was asking me to pronounce my last name in Peruvian.