swimming pools and sugarcane

8/2/2009

Today was a good day. It started out like any other Sunday, waking up early to a drizzling rain outside and getting my things together to head out to Naranjo to teach my weekly English class. My alarm went off at six but I hit snooze until six-thirty. I had thought about getting up and doing some push-ups and sit-ups, one way I try to maintain my sanity though some semblance of a regular schedule, but this morning I just wasn’t feeling it. It probably had to do with the fact that we played fulbito for four hours last night after dinner. I was surprised to hear noises coming from inside the house; the rest of the family usually isn’t up until about eight, it being summer vacation. But I quickly remembered that Nestor and Adrian, my two oldest brothers, had planned to come with me today, and immediately felt uplifted about the impending hike through the wetness. Finding Claudia in the kitchen frying up some caballa (mackerel, I think...we get fish, relatively fresh actually, up here about once a week), I filled up my electric water boiler at the kitchen sink and retired to my room to make some coffee. After a month or so of the same, luke-warm, almost-tasteless-except-for-the-sugar café, I realized that I can just as easily buy my own instant Nescafé and make my own cup in the morning. It’s still not real coffee, but it’s changed my mornings dramatically for the better.

After a breakfast of fish, sweet potatoes, and fresh cheese, the three of us set off. We cruised through town, heading down the Calle Comercio, or Chalaco’s version of Main Street. I really like leaving town early to head out to the campo; the streets are mostly empty except for some store-owners opening up and sweeping off their sidewalks, and a few kids selling bread out of oversized woven straw baskets, honking bicycle horns to rouse the Chalaqueños from their beds. There’s usually at least a sliver of clear sky above, and the town just feels very peaceful. Looking out over the tin roofs, the hills stretch out as far as you can see, divided neatly into square-shaped parcels of corn, sugarcane, and vegetables; it looks like someone just threw a giant, green patchwork quilt over the whole landscape. Completing the pastoral scene, donkeys tethered to telephone poles watch lazily as you pass by, and roosters can be heard crowing from everywhere (although those things happen all day anyway, regardless of the sun’s position.)

We stopped at the closed door of Don Santos’ bodega where in a couple hours there would be a table set up outside with various chocolate bars and different kinds of candy; tangerines, apples, and a few other assorted fruits; and the other basics of everyday life, such as bobby pins, the familiar blue and yellow D-cell batteries used in the radios everyone carries; a few horse-hair brooms and some plastic buckets used for carrying fresh milk and cheese from the fields. Nestor knocked and shouted for Willy, the brothers’ uncle (though having graduated just from the secundaria this year, he’s only a couple years older than his nephews) who was also coming along. He emerged with a serious case of bed-head, a bag of apples in one hand, courtesy of his mother (my aunt?) Doña Esther, and his plastic boots in the other. Quarter ‘til eight: half an hour later than I would have liked, but no worries. Chances are the rest of Peru was running late, too.

We had some good conversations as we trudged along through the mud. I told them about everything from the dangers of hiking in moose-territory in Wyoming, to what I studied in college, to what exactly snow feels like (try to do that without saying “snow” – it’s tough.) I’m gonna have to download a picture of a moose because they were a little lost on that one, but in return I learned that Willy is heading down to Piura at the end of the month to enroll in the National University there, where he’ll study ingineria de mineria, or mineral-extraction engineering. With a laugh I told him they’re gonna kick him out of Chalaco for good, but was surprised to hear him say that, No, it’s not like that, he wants to find ways to do it safely, without harming the land or the water or the people. He’s got his work cut out for him, but it was great to hear that the kid’s got some perspective on those things. He started to tell me about some new technology he had heard of, but then got distracted by a crab scurrying across the path. I also found out that Nestor wants to be a doctor and Adrian wants to be a chef – crazy how you forget to talk about stuff like that when you’re just sitting around at home. I guess there really are benefits to taking the time to walk places once in a while (or, like, all the time.)

We got to Naranjo after a surprisingly dry couple hours to find a group of kids waiting (or two groups, rather, separated by gender.) This was a good sign; I missed last week because I had to meet with a local JASS (community water-management committee) near Chalaco to help fix a pressure-break valve, or rather, learn how to do it by watching them and pretending that I do this kind of stuff all the time, being the water “expert” that I am. I had relayed the message that I wouldn’t be making it out to Naranjo, but wasn’t sure if the health-post workers had actually followed through. Turns out they had, and about half my normal class showed up even after my two-week hiatus. Better than no-one, which I had half-expected. The class went well – we played “Mateo says” with parts of the body and the face (the kids in Chalaco love it, so I figured we’d try it out in Naranjo), and then a game my friend Frieda – a fellow Wat/San volunteer who’s also teaching English at her site – told me about in an email, which involves the kids standing in a line facing me, and taking a step forward each time I call out a color they’re wearing (winner gets a caramelito.) Around eleven I gathered they’d had enough of me, and I let them go running back to their houses.

My brothers and Willy immediately observed that the kids had had a lot of verguenza (embarrassment, or shyness.) It was true, it had been a pretty one-sided hour and a half of class, with me really having to revv them up to get them to repeat the parts of the body after I drew them on the chalkboard. My kids in Naranjo are far more timid this way than the ones in Chalaco. In fact, it’s like night and day. I think this has to do with both the fact that kids from farther out in the campo are simply raised to be less independent and outgoing, and also that I teach the kids in Chalaco three times a week to their one (assuming I even make it out there, that is.)

After class we headed up to check-in with the health post, but my buddy Mere (short for something ridiculous like Heremenejildo which I’ve never even attempted), the head técnico, wasn’t around so we headed out. The four of us had decided that we were going to take the long way home, passing by the hydro-electric planta on the way. We all felt like doing some exploring, and I also wanted to check out the plant; I had passed by once or twice but never really poked around. Plus my buddy Hector works there and I thought he was usually down there on Sundays. We half-hiked, half-bushwhacked our way down the side of the valley to the river, crossed the bridge “El Nogal,” and followed the concrete diversion canal on the other side down to the plant. Adrian and Willy wanted to stay up above the plant and go for a swim in the collecting pool there, where the water passes before heading down in huge, above-ground tubes. But Nestor and I, in an act of older-brother-solidarity, decided it would be better to go down and ask permission. Plus I wanted to see if Hector was around.

Turns out he was, and she showed us around the inside of the place. I’d never seen the inside of a hydro-plant, but I always imagined them being much bigger operations than this. The equipment was impressive, for sure; I told Hector the bright blue pipes and generators reminded me of scene from a bad science fiction movie. The huge instrument panel looked like one of those WWII-era computers that takes up half the room. But the place itself was little more than a long shack with sheet-metal roofing and a couple little side-rooms for the operators to sleep and eat. Amazing that the place provides energy for the whole district of Chalaco, and in fact is now connected to the national energy grid because it was pumping out more than Chalaco itself could use. Hector told us he was actually on his way out after a 3-day shift (he’s one of only two operators), and would meet us at the top of the hill after he grabbed a bite of whatever he was cooking. He gave us the green light to go for a swim in the “pool,” and we headed up.

Swimming was awesome. I’m not sure if it was because I hadn’t swam in a couple months, or because I hadn’t showered for several days, even after playing hours of soccer...probably a combination. But it felt amazing. The meter-by-about-15-meter tank wasn’t deep enough for me not to touch the bottom, and the river water was far from clear, but it was good enough. I don’t know, but there’s something uniquely liberating about swimming that just makes you really, really happy sometimes – like a little kid. And it’s a universally human thing, regardless of culture, age, or other superficial differences. The (surprising) fact that it still wasn’t raining made the whole scene even better. I found out that Adrian can’t swim, but was glad to see that he wasn’t afraid of the water, and stripped down with the rest of us and hopped in (though he didn’t do any real “swimming.”) After 20 minutes or so we were all pretty cold – but happy – and we got out to eat our apples and head home. Hector met up with us and we continued on our way.

Hector’s the man. I can see why Casey got along with him so well during her years here. He’s probably around forty or so, and has been working at the plant for a number of years. I’m pretty sure he’s got a wife and kids in Chalaco, but I can’t remember for sure. In any case, during a walk back from San Lorenzo a couple weeks ago, he told me that he’s got a couple kids in different parts of the country; he’s “slowly learning how to have kids” he told me with an easy laugh. Like I said, the man. He’s one of the few people I feel really comfortable around in Chalaco, probably because he’s got a sense of sarcasm, which most Peruvians I’ve met tend to lack. Just a laid-back, cool dude. He also speaks some basic English, and has a genuine interest in learning more, which makes it fun to talk with him.

As the younger guys lagged behind to “borrow” some sugarcane from a field we passed, we continued ahead talking, greeting the occasional passer-by. The campesinos you pass on the way into or out of Chalaco generally fit the same mold: almost always draped in a sheep’s wool poncho, heading up with their cows or other livestock, or home with burros loaded down with supplies for the week: cooking oil, rice, potatoes, eggs, tools, rope, plastic sheeting, and the like. The men generally have a burning cigarette hanging out the side of their mouth, and the older women are often spinning an endless ball of yarn onto a stick to prepare it for the loom. Most wear the same style of sandals – made of old tires – and whose popularity is rivalled only by the traditional wide-brimmed straw hats of the northern sierra. Virtually all greet you as you pass, and about half the time you’ll stop to shake hands and make some quick small talk about the mud or the rain, or where they’re heading or coming from, and so on. So, punctuated by a “buenas tardes” and a nod here and there, Hector and I talked about my work and how I was settling-in. I confessed that I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of potential work there is here: from water systems and latrines in the seemingly endless series of caserios, to the water and trash situations in Chalaco, to the various side projects I’m entertaining, including English and computer classes, a radio show, developing a website for Chalaco, home gardens and worm-composting, a world map project, small-scale trout-farming, and various others – not to mention my most urgent task of organizing all my survey data into a presentable document to present to Peace Corps folks and as well as local agencies and authorities. Now, this is obviously much better than not having any work opportunities or people to work with, but when everyone – yourself included – acknowledges that you’ve got more than your share of work cut out for you, and that you would have to be an idiot not to be massively successful in two years of work, it can’t help but feel a little daunting.

But, echoing my own thoughts, he advised me to keep it simple and stick to the most realistic projects, and those through which I can have the biggest impact on improving peoples’ lives. We started talking about the latrines, and I explained to him that my biggest hurdle at this point is figuring out whether the local government is going to provide them for certain towns or not. They’re already putting in latrines in a few of the caserios, and the last thing I want to do is duplicate already-existing projects or do something my way when there’s already a plan to do it the mayor’s way. This sounds simple enough to solve: just go talk to the mayor, right? It actually isn’t: there’s a lot of politics involved, not to mention weird budgeting schedules and procedures that I’m trying to learn. Did I mention politics? More than a few times I’ve had the situation explained to me in stark, black-and-white, “they voted for him” – or – “they didn’t” terms.

I’m very friendly with the alcalde – he’s actually been coming to my adult English classes, which is somewhat shocking. But it’s the kind of thing you have to approach delicately. For example, they’re putting in latrines in a town that often doesn’t have enough water for its people to drink. Seems like a good idea, right? Well, except that the design isn’t just a standard pit latrine, but rather a flushing toilet that connects to the same water system, and will consume up to six liters each of water with every flush. Not to mention, all the modules also have sinks with running faucets, and some even have showers. There being no water to begin with, this design would seem a poor choice. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, except work with the JASS to try to figure out just how they’re gonna find more water. It also sets a precedent for the whole area; who wants a pit latrine when the neighbors have a flushing toilet and shower? Whether they function properly is largely irrelevant.

But all that talk, while frustrating in a sense, didn’t bring me down at all. It had started to drizzle, but nothing major, and I was gnawing on all the raw sugarcane I could want – really refreshing stuff, though I think another reason everyone around here has a gold tooth, or five. The light rain was kinda nice, actually – there’s a sort-of explosion of great smell from the eucalyptus trees right when the rain starts. We parted ways in Chalaco and my brothers and I headed home, where we found a late lunch of chicken, beet and carrot salad (a standard), and rice awaiting us. Adrian was excited to find that we had arrived just as Manchester United squared off against West Ham in a British Premier League match on DirecTV, and as I slathered some Piura-bought BBQ sauce on my chicken, I realized that (much like swimming) there’s something about coming in wet, hungry, and tired to a good meal and a game on TV that transcends cultural, economic, and age gaps. Whatever that thing is (in that case I think it’s just being a dude), it made for a good end to an even better day.