Alabanza

                                   

Entrance to Santisimo Sacramento

In keeping with Kathleen and my theme of “In the Heights,” I’ve affectionately and appropriately titled my last blog “Alabanza.” According to Lin-Manuel Miranda (aka the reason I’m getting Twitter), “alabanza” means to raise this thing up to God’s face. This trip is unlike any other I have experienced. I have such mixed feelings about my experiences that will take me quite a while to sort through. This is my attempt to raise this trip, both the good and bad, to God’s face.

 

According to my mother, sister, father, previous roommates, and several co-workers, I’m not the most organized person. My thoughts and reflections on my Peruvian adventures have added to this disorganization as I feel challenged in several ways. In attempt to improve my organizational habits, I’m going to try to explain what I mean this way:

 

Challenge:

Physical- No surprise here. I’m not the world’s most physically fit person. My first full day in Peru, I helped build walls for someone’s home. My mother told me before how physical it would be and how much I would feel it the next day. I completely blew her off.

Lesson learned: Always listen to your mother.

 

Emotional- My mother, sister, and I went on a home visit to deliver food one day and our first
stop was a mother who had a severely mal-nourished 2 year old daughter. Her ankles and wrists looked like those of a 5 month old. The mother had taken her daughter to see several doctors but couldn’t afford the formula, which turned out to be Pedialyte. I stood there listening to this conversation between the mother and the social worker with us bracing myself not to cry. Then later, I was frustrated- why shouldn’t I be allowed to cry? Crying proves that you care. To clarify- I didn’t allow myself to cry. No one else was telling me not to.

Lesson learned: You can’t save all the starfish in the sea, but you can help that one.

 

Spiritual- I do not agree with the priest at Santisimo Sacramento in regards to anything except his commitment to the poor. I do not normally attend mass everyday. I do not remember the last time I went to confession. I believe in birth control. I do not sit down and read the bible each year. I believe in gender equality, like letting women drive (for crying out loud!) How can I reconcile our differences and still respect him?

Lesson learned: Focus on the greater good. The people of Piura are better off because he is there.

 

Familial- I come from a family of large personalities. To quote West Wing, “in my house, anyone who used one word when they could have used ten just isn’t trying hard.” Also, please see above for organizational difficulties.

Lesson learned: Shower quickly. Make your bed in the morning. Clear each other’s plates after meals. Be sure to play Bananagrams as much as possible. Don’t accidentally lock anyone in the bathroom (Mom- this is directed at you.)

 

Intellectual- Despite what my mother will tell you, I am far from fluent in Spanish. I struggled so much with my Spanish. I was also asked by the staff and other volunteers to translate for them. Please stop and picture a dear in headlights when I was asked to translate “laxatives” in Spanish and then having to describe what it meant when I realized the family had no idea was that was.

Lesson learned: Keep up on my Spanish skills

 

Personal- There are still more than a few moments from Piura that I won’t share on purpose. Some things are hard to explain and that is okay. Selfishly, I want to keep those memories to myself.  They are special to me.

Lesson learned: Take time to reflect and steal the moment.

 

Sunset over Piura, Peru

Apologies for the long post. I am currently on my back porch and listening to Pandora’s “Hamilton” station this beautiful morning. I’m also watching the apartment building behind mine go up and I’m considering asking if they need help. Maybe they’ve heard of my mad plywood skills.

 

Alabanza,

Erin

One big beautiful but complicated family

In re-reading my contributions to our blog, I realize I may have come across as more than a little angsty. It would appear that I experienced all the same emotional and growing pains as years past, but was unable to keep up with them in such a concentrated period of time. My heart still breaks and my insides bubble when I think about what I have left behind—not that I think I am the answer to anyone's needs, but selfishly because, despite all blog posts to the contrary, I feel most at peace and most myself when I am in Piura and don't know what to do with that information.

I had a moment one afternoon last week during siesta where I was blown away by a feeling of complete and utter gratitude that I was once again able to return to Santisimo Sacramento. I like to think that my 22 year old self would be shocked but satisfied to know this truth. To be able to return and return again with my mom and then again with my mom and sister (and hopefully again with my mom, sister and dad), has given me the truly humbling opportunity to see what is possible with great faith and great love.



www.santisimo.org

One thing that was hardest for me was coming to terms with my relationships in Peru. It is hard for me to reconcile the profound love and respect I have for the people on staff and the families we meet with the little time we are able to spend together. I got stuck in a rut wondering whether or not it is even possible to really know one another when languages, oceans, continents, income inequalities and cultures divide. The conclusion I have come to (at least for now) is that I know the people I encounter in Peru as well as I know anyone. In many ways we are just one large, beautiful, complicatd and sometimes dysfunctional family that extends from Piura, La Legua, San Jacinto, La Piedra, Monte Castillo and Cumbibiera to Green Bay, Wisconsin, New York, NY and everywhere in between. It encompasses all who live there, all who live here and all the many groups who support in person, in financial aid or in prayer. It includes all of us, all of them, and all of you, who have so patiently and graciously supported our time at Santisimo Sacramento.

And so I thank you for sharing this journey with us and for walking with us through some of the ugly and icky feelings. Our feelings this week have been complicated and to some extent I hope they continue to stay that way—because to feel uncomfortable is to feel aware and I don't want to fall asleep again. Your prayers have meant the world and help provide context for what is possible in this world.

La paz,

Kathleen

www.santisimo.org

Back in the USA

Cathy, Erin & Kathleen

I guess it is my turn to write on this blog.  I promised the girls I would at some point, and as seeing we are back in the US, it is time.

We left the church yesterday amid sad, tear-filled farewells that went on way too long considering most of the social workers and drivers went to the airport with us.  There was a large group from Dallas on our same flight out of Piura, so we had quite the parade of trucks and vans accompanying us.  Once again, we hugged and cried like we would never see these wonderful people again, but this year I know differently.  This place has a way of drawing you back.  It is mostly the people who work there, but the feeling you get when working with them is all encompassing.  Last summer, Ken blogged the Starfish Story and working at Santisimo Sacramento reflects that very well.  We were not able to help everyone, but it made a difference to the ones we were able to help.

This summer, although our time was much shorter, was just as profound.  The need is still great amongst the people of the villages.  There is little to no electricity, which at this time of year (their winter), makes their daylight very short.

We adopted a family last fall through the Family to Family program and were able to meet them this week.  They have five children ranging in age from 2-13, three girls and two boys.  They were as excited to meet us as we were to meet them (I hope that does not sound conceited, it was not meant to).  Because of Erin's fluency in Spanish, we were able to communicate well.  They live in a very far out village, outside the city limits of Piura.  Even so, the mother made the effort to be at the church to welcome us on Friday AM as we arrived.  Tuesday, we delivered their monthly food supplies and two large suitcases of household goods we brought from home.  Things we take for granted: towels, toothbrushes/paste, cookware, ibuprofen,etc.  They were very appreciative.  We asked what they would like to make their lives easier...livestock, furniture, beds..They chose beds.  Their beds consisted of three double mattresses made of straw that was coming out of the material holding it together.  No sheets, but torn mosquito nets above.  One mattress was on the dirt floor, one on a very bent iron frame and one on a handmade wood frame.  We purchased two sets of double bunk beds and one double bed, and sheets, blankets and mosquito nets.  With the help of Martine, we set them up and made the beds.  I don't know who was more excited, the family or us.  When we met them the next day, Erin asked how they slept and they replied that they were late for school because they slept so late.

Wednesday, we met our family at the church and walked over to see the movie, Finding Dory at the nearby mall.  I think they were just as amazed at the mall as they enjoyed the movie.  They actually handled the escalator quite bravely as another family approached and chose to take the stairs.  They were in awe of the bathroom and the running water and did not know to flush the toilet.  They ate the popcorn and soda with gusto and kept giving up the  international 'thumbs up' sign.

Since this was Erin's first trip, we wanted to give her every experience we could in one week's time.  Saturday, we added an addition onto an existing house and divided the original rooms.  The parents worked with us and they have three beautiful little girls.  A few days later, we delivered food to that same home and we were so happy to see each other again.  On Saturday, as we were waiting to leave, this mother and her daughters came by the church and we had another chance to visit with them.  These people are very incredibly warm and appreciative for all you do for them.  I think it is why people go back year after year.  I, for one, would love to see her again on a future visit.

I am so proud of both of my daughters.  The warmth, energy and skill they showed this week tells me that their hearts are in the right place.

I realize this got quite long, but it is more for me to look back and reflect on this life changing experience.  Thanks for following our blog.

If anyone wants to participate in the Family to Family Program, please let me know.  It is only $300.00 per year and provides the family with basic food supplies each month (pasta, rice, beans, milk, oil). It is GREATLY appreciated by the families.  The list to be matched is two years long, so the need is great.

-Cathy-

Paciencia y Fe

Like a good majority of the rest of the country, I got swept up in the excitement of Hamilton this past year. I would pop in my ear buds nearly every afternoon at work and let the rap-based retelling of the life and death of America's first treasury secretary entertain me and my data analyses. I did this for months up until I was able to see the show and then decided it was time to "take a break." (If you know the soundtrack, you'll get that reference. If you haven't listened to the soundtrack, do it. Do it now).

What better way to take a break from Hamilton, I decided, than to listen to the music from Lin-Manuel Miranda's first Tony-winning musical "In the Heights"? I will spare you the reader's digest version of the show (if you haven't listened to the soundtrack, do it. Do it now.), but there is a scene in which the protagonist's grandmother sings about the importance of "paciencia y fe"—patience and faith. The song is cleverly titled "Paciencia y Fe."

It would appear from my last post that I am perhaps struggling with the whole "paciencia" side of things here in Piura. So while I continue to work that out, I thought I would reflect on the concept of faith.

Today is our last day in Piura. I am handling this fact with the same grace (or lack thereof) that I have in trips past. Last night after a dinner out with some of our favorite friends and staff, I found myself in search for a quiet yet familiar place to do some soul searching, which is how I wound up sitting in a dark corner in the back of the church at 11 PM. Now you might expect, as I did, that at 11 PM on a Friday night, a church would be deserted. Alas, you would be sorely mistaken, but in the best possible way.

When I came downstairs, I was pleasantly surprised to run into my friend Renzo, a 19 year old parish volunteer who serves Mass and oversees the activities of the parish every night until 10 PM. Not only was Renzo still at the compound with his friends Pedro and Wilder, about 10 members of the staff were also still hanging out—catching up, joking, occasionally popping into the chapel with their spouses or children. (I think I have sufficiently waxed poetic about the profound respect and love I hold for the staff here at Santisimo Sacramento. They are among the kindest, most selfless and generous people that I have ever had the good fortune to know, and to know again after 6 and 7 years). After saying hello to the staff and wishing them a good night, I proceeded to the completely not-empty church, where I was blown away by the number of people attempting to do the same as me: find comfort, context and courage. Only one door is left open at nighttime, so I was treated to a constant procession of individuals, pairs and families walking past me to pray—a stream of faithful that never slowed until it was time for me to go to bed.

If faith is defined as a complete trust or confidence in a higher power, the faith of the Peruvian people with whom we have interacted is all encompassing, awe-inspiring and the perfect anecdote to my own anger and questioning.

I may not always understand the plan that God has for me, my family, my Peruvian friends-- new and old-- but I can believe that in our trust in God, we can be lifted up ("Alabanza"-- another song from "In the Heights"-- seriously, listen) and find that which we most seek: paciencia y fe.

#Tangry (Tired and angry)

It's midnight on Thursday and I am awake because I am angry. I'm angry that two friends of ours no longer work at the parish for reasons I don't understand. I'm angry with the other volunteers for attitudes and beliefs outside of my control. I'm angry about the circumstances we witness day in and day out, and I am angry at the system that perpetuates them. But most of all I am angry with myself.

My latest emotional outburst has been triggered by an argument with my mom. The fact that we are 3 adults staying in a room smaller than my childhood bedroom, in a foreign country, and being forced to face our physical and intellectual limitations on a daily basis, has compounded these emotions to the point that I am seeking refuge in a LED screen at this late hour.

When my dad resurrected the blog, I really had no intention of making much of a contribution. We are only here for one week, I felt like I had already said what I had to say about my time here, and I have a proclivity for babbling (see previous posts re: incoherent tears). But tonight I'm pretty irritated, and it took me about 2 hours too long to realize that the person I am most upset with is myself.

At the risk of sounding trite, this week has been a whirlwind. I knew it would be. But I also knew where to set my expectations: I knew the area, I knew the staff, I knew people staying at the parish. I knew at least conversational Spanish. I knew the level of poverty to expect and both my role and inability to make it anything other than what it is. What I didn't know is how much I had forgotten.

It's easy to idealize things after they have happened. To package them up in a nice little box and remember them the way you choose. And to some extent I must have done that with my time here. Sure I got frustrated by my lack of command of the language—I was desperate in my desire to connect with the staff and with the people of Piura. Sure I was regularly irritated by some of the other volunteers that came down—their lack of awareness, sense of superiority and competitive possessiveness made me cranky on a semi-regular basis. Sure I remember coming home on many days and literally sobbing about what I had seen. But what I had forgotten was how much it all hurts.

And I am so angry at myself for forgetting. I'm angry with myself for letting my time in Piura be just my time in Piura—a neat summer before I re-started my real life in New York. I'm angry for letting myself believe that this is just a small part of my life that I can remember when it's convenient and when I have accrued 1 week of vacation. I'm angry for letting myself think that just because I spent a couple of summers here, I am friends with these people that I truly love but with whom I cannot fully communicate. And now I am angry at myself in advance, knowing that the literally starving 2 year old that I was heartbroken about yesterday may be a distant memory in a week.

I'm also angry at myself for not being fully present. For letting stressors of work, too much company, and that ever-persistent fear of bed bugs shadow the little time I have down here (living in the city has done nothing to normalize my anxieties on the latter). I'm angry and disappointed in myself for the frequency with which I check e-mail, Instagram and snapchat. And I'm angry with the lack of reliable internet to do the things I will eventually be angry about.

To top it all off, I'm angry about being angry. Contrary to what this post might imply, I actually hate being angry. It is my least favorite emotion. I think this is because it deals with one of my other least favorite things in the world: confrontation. To get over being angry, one has to confront whatever it is that is causing the emotion (if you know of any other way, I'm open to suggestions. See above re: avoiding confrontation).

Tonight I only have the energy to acknowledge that I am angry. Tomorrow I will work out the rest. 

Kathleen

Ps. It is worth noting that as I type, a nun who is staying at the compound just came by to say good night. I can't help but wonder what anger issues are keeping her awake at this late hour.

Pps. I just re-read for grammar and am already angry that I took Benadryl before deciding to word vomit. Re-structuring will have to wait until tomorrow.

How is Ken coping?

Many of you have asked me how I'm doing with Cathy, Erin and Kathleen all in Peru.  Well, that’s not really true.  Some of you have asked, well a few of you have asked, a couple of you, ok, nobody has asked me how I’m coping with my family 7,000 miles away but I’ll tell you anyway. 

One of my goals was to do a little reading while they were gone.  I found the book, "I am Malala" laying around at the cottage.  I was 75 pages in to it before I realized that it wasn’t about President Obama's oldest daughter!  

Also at the cottage, I took off the storm windows and replaced them with the screen windows.  This is a job Cathy and I normally perform together.  Standing inside the cottage, Cathy gently taps the bottom of the storm window.  Standing outside, on a ladder, I take the window off.   This year as I tapped on the bottom of the window from inside the cottage, the window fell five feet to the ground!  Luckily the window didn't break so I may have accidentally discovered a new way to change the windows next year.

 

One evening I tried to fix a leaf blower with some duct tape, a screwdriver and some weed-wacker cord.  Later that evening I used the exact same tools to repair a pair of biking shorts.

On Father's Day night the Cubs game went long and I stayed up too late.  Cathy had left a Father's

click on the photo for a larger version.

Day gift for me on the bed so I was not as observant as should have been when I went to sleep that night.  Cathy's sister Jeanne had brought over Cathy's baby picture from the Kolb family home and had hung it in our bedroom as a joke.  I was shocked when this is what greeted me when I woke up Monday morning, a laughing, six month old Cathy Kolb looking down on me!

 And for those of you who inquired, yes the duct tape is back on the kitchen counter.  It's been there so long now I've reached the point that the kitchen counter is just where it goes now.  And last but not least, the default position of the toilet seat is once again "up".