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.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Back at Site
Brace yourselves for this one. I usually try to write my blog entries ahead of time but it seems that I've found myself in an internet "cafe" with nothing prepared. There's reggaetton blaring kind of in the background but pretty much directly in my ear. I also happen to like reggaetton so it's a bit distracting.
Since Semana Santa I've spent much more time in site. It's been a much wetter year than most so we've had some issues with the water. The La Leche River has flooded a couple of times, leaving the old Pan-American covered and threatening to collapse one of the bridges I cross to get into Chiclayo. The last time it rose it took out a few light poles and left us without electricity and, hence, water for around a week. The municipality finally got around to sending us water which unfortunately must have been treated by someone who doesn't understand that more of a good thing isn't always better. Certainly, there was nothing living in that water but it tasted like pool water there was so much chlorine.
I've started doing surveys in my community in order to get some more information for my community diagnostic. More than anything, I've found that it has been a good way to get to know people better. It's a good excuse to spend time talking with some of the people I still haven't gotten the chance to chat with. Of course, some people have been confused about why I want to do the surveys. One woman was fairly certain the info was going straight to the desk of the U.S. President. I'm sure he would be highly interested in the details of her trash disposal.
A couple of the visits proved more humorous than the rest. One woman in her seventies decided I couldn't hear when I asked her to repeat the last two parts of her name. She had at least five names. She started edging closer and closer to me until she was shouting into my ear. Her husband's name was yelled at me in short bursts while she thrust her head as close to me as possible kind of like a pecking chicken. I'm assuming this action was an attempt to aide my apparent inability to hear. Then, she told me her husband was 98 years old which I of course believed until 30 seconds later he came striding through the door. She was only 20 years off. He's 78. Luckily for her I didn't tell her husband she thinks he's nearly 100 years old.
At the next house I went to I was asked if I would be interested in doing a radio interview. The senor who lives there works for the local radio station of Pacora. I agreed assuming it wouldn't hurt. Before I knew it he had recorded a short interview which I assumed was just practice and possibly a trial to see if my Spanish was decent enough. Much to my surprise, two days later a teacher in my town told me she heard me on the radio. I asked if she could understand me and she said she could and even added that it was very clear. However, she proceeded to ask me about my knowledge of making crafts out of recycled trash which she seemed quite convinced I mentioned during the interview. I'm fairly certain I didn't but I told her that it does happen to be one of my skills.
The other day I took the opportunity to tell a couple of ice pop venders that, indeed, it is not a compliment to refer to a senorita as mister. They were quite surprised and I later heard them telling their fellow venders about the blunder. Unfortunately, I provided them with the correct word and missed an excellent chance to spread another incorrect form of address around the streets of Chiclayo. They would have believed anything I said.
Since Semana Santa I've spent much more time in site. It's been a much wetter year than most so we've had some issues with the water. The La Leche River has flooded a couple of times, leaving the old Pan-American covered and threatening to collapse one of the bridges I cross to get into Chiclayo. The last time it rose it took out a few light poles and left us without electricity and, hence, water for around a week. The municipality finally got around to sending us water which unfortunately must have been treated by someone who doesn't understand that more of a good thing isn't always better. Certainly, there was nothing living in that water but it tasted like pool water there was so much chlorine.
I've started doing surveys in my community in order to get some more information for my community diagnostic. More than anything, I've found that it has been a good way to get to know people better. It's a good excuse to spend time talking with some of the people I still haven't gotten the chance to chat with. Of course, some people have been confused about why I want to do the surveys. One woman was fairly certain the info was going straight to the desk of the U.S. President. I'm sure he would be highly interested in the details of her trash disposal.
A couple of the visits proved more humorous than the rest. One woman in her seventies decided I couldn't hear when I asked her to repeat the last two parts of her name. She had at least five names. She started edging closer and closer to me until she was shouting into my ear. Her husband's name was yelled at me in short bursts while she thrust her head as close to me as possible kind of like a pecking chicken. I'm assuming this action was an attempt to aide my apparent inability to hear. Then, she told me her husband was 98 years old which I of course believed until 30 seconds later he came striding through the door. She was only 20 years off. He's 78. Luckily for her I didn't tell her husband she thinks he's nearly 100 years old.
At the next house I went to I was asked if I would be interested in doing a radio interview. The senor who lives there works for the local radio station of Pacora. I agreed assuming it wouldn't hurt. Before I knew it he had recorded a short interview which I assumed was just practice and possibly a trial to see if my Spanish was decent enough. Much to my surprise, two days later a teacher in my town told me she heard me on the radio. I asked if she could understand me and she said she could and even added that it was very clear. However, she proceeded to ask me about my knowledge of making crafts out of recycled trash which she seemed quite convinced I mentioned during the interview. I'm fairly certain I didn't but I told her that it does happen to be one of my skills.
The other day I took the opportunity to tell a couple of ice pop venders that, indeed, it is not a compliment to refer to a senorita as mister. They were quite surprised and I later heard them telling their fellow venders about the blunder. Unfortunately, I provided them with the correct word and missed an excellent chance to spread another incorrect form of address around the streets of Chiclayo. They would have believed anything I said.
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