Feliz Christmas!

Chocolotadas

As a new arrival to my community last year, I wrote about the onslaught of Christmas parties which begins in mid-December. Known as chocolotadas, these parties include the invariable constant of hot chocolate and may include turkey, sweet empanadas, panettone and toys. Chocolotadas are primarily for children and are hosted by local organizations and potential political candidates. On any given day there may be as many as three such parties.

While the children are perfectly content merely to be at the chocolotada, the mothers take full responsibility for analysing the quality. I have come to learn that the hot chocolate must be made with milk and it must not be hot. Turkey and empanadas are optional, but panettone is required for a successful outcome. Anyone who hosts a mediocre chocolotada is subject to the local gossip. The current mayor apparently served hot chocolate made with water and gave out small toys. I already knew he was a poor politician but now it is confirmed.

On Sunday, I helped out with a chocolotada which was hosted by the local ecological committee. Based on the criteria I would deem it a success. Instead of toys we handed out pencils which my parents brought me from the States. I should probably not admit that they are remnants of an embarrassingly large pencil collection which is a holdover from childhood.

As we were about to start the event, a couple of representatives from ECO, the sponsoring NGO, showed up, prompting the president to claim that the party was so thoroughly ecological that the hot chocolate was even made from organic cacao beans which he himself had harvested. I figured he was joking so when one of the NGO workers turned to ask me if it was true, I immediately said, "No, of course not." I was quickly shushed by the other members of the committee. Cacao is not even grown in this region.

Later on the same guy was talking with the kids about the importance of protecting the forest and the role they play in its protection. I had to laugh when, after explaining everything, he asked the kids what kind of work they do, implying work that is done to protect the forest. One excited little boy, clearly confused by the question, screamed "¡A la leña!" meaning that he goes to cut down wood for cooking. Then the NGO worker asked what they should do when all the trees they have planted are grown, too which one boy enthusiastically responded, "Cut them down!" He was serious.

A Oyotún

Also on Sunday, I went with Susan to visit our fellow volunteers, Wil and Eva, in their new site. They are from the same group as us but recently changed sites. As always it was interesting to see a different site because it is easy to imagine a false reality for other volunteers until you actually see where they live. The geographical variability of Perú makes for a lot of site diversity. Among volunteers, comparing experiences can be very helpful but also dangerous because the reality is that each person's experience is very unique.

Their new site is about 3 hours from my own. It is also located in the dry forest, but it is nestled among hills and lies along the bank of a placid river, which I imagine is significantly less placid during the rainy season.

Anyway, we made the trip to their site, not only to see them but also to attend the local grade school promotion for which Eva was selected as the madrina (godmother.) Eva already possesses her own unique sense of style but for this event she decided to go all out. Embracing Peruvian fashion, she purchased a top which mixed sequins with an unrecognizable blend of animal prints. It had a random flap hanging from one side which was complemented by a sheath of sheer fabric which was draped from her pants at the hip. Really only Eva could pull off an outfit like that and still look normal.

A promotion in Perú is not like a promotion in the States, especially not a grade school promotion. In many cases it involves dancing and it involves beer. This particular promotion was scheduled to commence at 8:30 but was delayed for two hours because the godfather was late. No one seemed at all upset by this. Of course, once it started speeches had to be made, every graduating student had to dance the waltz with what seemed like every other person present, and the godparents were presented with at least 8 roasted guinea pigs each.

As guests of the madrina, Susan and I were given special seats at the front and we were presented in front of all. When it came time for pictures we were included in the sole picture of the students and the godparents. Plus, as individual pictures were taken, numerous mothers and aunts asked us to return to the stage for more photos. Someday they will probably show those photos to friends and family and pretend like they know us. Maybe they won’t even pretend; maybe they will just talk about how pretty or strange we are because we look different.

The DJ at the event was rather amusing. While we were still waiting for the godfather to arrive he decided to play some classic love ballads in English, such as Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You and the Titanic theme song. Susan and I took note and mistakenly glanced in his direction. He and his posse were all staring at us, as if by playing romantic English songs they believed they were sending us not-so-subtle and irresistible signals. During the dance he played the standard mix of cumbia, salsa, merengue, and reggaeton; however, he also had a rare penchant for techno and Susan had to dance “retro rock” with the school professor.

Privacy? What’s that?

Yesterday I had to pay a visit to the doctor’s office in Chiclayo to get some stitches removed. Unfortunately, the stitches were located on my underwear line so that keeping my pants on was not optional. Of course, I walked into the emergency room to get them removed and the doctor was not only a male but also young and highly attractive. Neither he nor the nurses knew where the stitches were located but when I told them they at least shut the door opening into the main hallway. Nonetheless, they gave me no gown and the nurse would not allow me to remove my own pants. I’m still not sure why as it seemed far more difficult for her to remove them. While I was lying on the table in my underwear, a random young male assistant burst through the door and seemed a little startled. I don’t think he really knew what to do with himself. Yet, he came back in a few more times. As I was pulling up my pants, I realized you could see through the door into the rest of the emergency room so that everyone else in there could also see me. Luckily, I’ve been here long enough to expect as much.