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".

Girls Go To College

But actually, Mom and I went to Madre del Buen Consejo- the co-ed Catholic school.

This photo was taken off the Santisimo Sacramento website

Mom and I went to MBC for the morning and went to 3 English classes. The first was for 5 year olds, the second was for 3 year olds, and the third was a 5th grade class. If you knew us back when we went to Ireland in 2001, I'm sure we have told you about the time we went to a Catholic school there and how cute the little kids were in their uniforms. The students here were, naturally, adorable, but boy, were they also smart! They were learning English from a teacher who would only speak English to them. It was weird being on this side of the language barrier for the first time this trip! Mom's teaching skills came in handy and I was trying my best, too. 

The fifth graders were learning what the teacher called "present progressing"- I am running, she is playing, etc. We were asked to write examples on the board for the students to change and, having been beaten over the head with gender stereotypes when teaching family members, I couldn't help myself when I had a little girl come up to the board and write "THE GIRLS ARE GOING TO COLLEGE." I had had an hour of teaching 3 and 5 year olds that "mommies clean, daddies work, boys play with soccer balls, and girls play with Barbies." 

We also helped a student with her pronunciation when singing "God Bless America" and "You Raise Me Up," which she will be performing for their Fourth of July celebration. I'd go into more details, but Mom actually taped her on her phone because she was so moved.

While we were at the school, the reality of the living conditions that most families in the area live in came back to Kathleen full force when she was out delivering food . We are off to see our "family" that we adopted in 5 minutes so I will have more of an idea of what that was like in a little while. Then it was back to Santisimo Sacramento for lunch and siesta.

In the afternoon, I was asked by a couple from Oklahoma to stay back and translate for them. They had "adopted" a girl from Madre del Redentor about 9 years ago and lost contact with her about 2-3 years ago. They reconnected via Facebook, saw that she has a 2 year old daughter, and, naturally, wanted to catch up. Her story is heart-wrenching and I'm still processing it myself so I'm going to beg off sharing it here. Maybe in time.

Mass and dinner were wonderful, per usual and it has been great getting to know the other groups here. Later that night, after going through 2 large suitcases sorting things for our "family," I was able to talk to Sr. Betty from Ursuline Academy in Delaware for a little bit outside. It was one of those hazy overcasts nights that look like it should be a painting. Sr. Betty and Amanda, another chaperone, brought 9 high school girls to Piura as part of an immersion program. Both Sr. Betty and Mom agree that these types of service trips are so important for us- us meaning those privileged enough to go to a private, Catholic high school and grow up without want. 

(Four hours, 3 trips in the back of a truck, 2 sunburned Irish girls, and 1 German-Dutch woman who tans later)

We just got back from visiting our family! This is Tuesday now, by the way. Our family lives way outside Piura and today we went to meet them and bring them their food. We also went to see what they needed for their home. Honestly, we could have bought them anything. You know those heart wrenching commercials you see on TV of people living in 3rd world countries in bamboo huts with dirt floors? That is roughly where our family lives. I am purposely calling them "our family" not only because we adopted them through SS but also because we were reminded last night during Padre's homily. What is your identity? What does it mean to lose your identity? Are we all not children of God? Are we all not brothers and sisters with Jesus Christ? Everyone is our family. Since we were young, one of the (many) messages hammered into us was the importance of family. How, then, can we not help each other with the most basic of needs? As it turns out, this includes bunk beds for our family in Peru.

Our family consists of 2 parents and 5 children. Their home has straw walls, dirt floors, no bathroom, and a hole in the floor for cooking over a fire. Unfortuntely, because of lack of access to gas, we can't buy them a stove; however, we did buy them 2 sets of bunk beds and 1 double bed for the parents. After a very entertaining and hot trip to the open market back in Piura, we found out that no, you can't actually get 6 fully grown adults, 2 sets of bunk bed frames 1 double frame, 5 mattresses, 5 mosquito nets, 5 sheet sets, and 5 blankets in a single pick-up truck, no matter how tightly you tie 4 of the mattresses onto the top of the truck. Needless to say, riding in the back of that truck back to the parish was the most fun I've had since I've been here. Coincidentally, it is also probably the dumbest and most unsafe thing I've done in years. We're going back to the house at 3 to assemble the beds. Patience is not extactly my strong suit when doing really anything in English. Pray for me as I try to do this in another language. 

It is currently 1:48, 84 degrees, and I'm signing off to go take a much needed siesta. Nos vemos!

-Erin-

No Pare!

Sunday

June 19, 2016

I added this photo to the blog
without Erin's permission.  It
was taken in Piura, Peru.

Let me preface this post with a disclaimer that the title is from "In the Heights," a musical that has been stuck in my head this entire trip thus far. "No pare- sigue! Sigue!" which roughly translates to "don't stop! Keep going!" I've been feeling this way since I've arrived so I'm finally taking some time to stop and reflect.

I haven't written anything for a while but I'm trying to make up for it now, so stay with me if this gets a little long today.

 

The most important news is that Kathleen is here!! Kate got to the parish on Saturday night and joined us during the mass. It was so incredily great to see her! Maybe now people will not think I'm her as much. =-) Saturday night we all crashed pretty hard-- Kate because she had either been traveling to Peru or through Lima since late Friday night and Mom and myself because we helped build the bedrooms on the house. (Sidenote- if I could stop ripping my clothes, that would be great! RIP Erin's yellow shirt). 

 

Sundays at the parish are a bit different. We woke up and had a fairly lazy morning until we left for a tour of the sites the parish runs around 10. This included the hospice, technical college, Catholic school, rehab center, and soon-to-be therapy center. We also had mass at San Jacinto, a beautiful, welcoming parish like none I've ever seen. Every building here is so open it's hard to tell if you're indoors or outside! After San Jacinto, we toured a field and spoke to it's farmer about the growing season and the church's microloan program. We also discussed the social revolution a bit that severely limited the farmers' authority and kept the vast majority of farmers in poverty. I also tried guava for the first time.

 

We had lunch back at Santisimo Sacramento and left for Catacao (where I learned it was NOT appropriate to call it "the cow" place). It was a quick trip to look for souvenirs and all three of us bought a piece of art. Then it was a quick trip back to Santisimo Sacramento and then off to Madre del Redentor, the girls orphanage.
 

First, let me say that up until this point, I very much liked Piura. Everyone had been very nice and welcoming and I felt like I made a difference on Saturday, but I hadn't gotten that "feeling" you're supposed to get on a mission trip. That changed at Madre. Madre del Redentor is an orphanage for girls aged 11-18 (I believe). For whatever reason, their families are not able to raise them. Madre is a safe home for them to get an education and be protected. And boy, are they protected. The walls around the compound are easily 15 feet high and have barbed wire on them.
 

Let me also say that it would be SO incredibly easy to get a big head down here. You pull into Madre in your big van and as soon as you get out, the girls, dressed in white blouses and pink skirts,  all say hi and give you a kiss on the cheek. One girl grabs your hand and does not let you go for the entire 2 hours you are there. They bring your to their chapel, where they pray 3 times a day, and sing "Hallelujah" in Spanish. Let me tell you, if there is anyone who can get through that song without tears in your eyes you are either a stronger person than I am or you have no heart. My friend was 11 and extremely sweet. We were shown their classrooms and dormitories. Right now, Madre houses 88 girls.  After a game that I still don't understand, they danced 4 traditional dances and 2 "fun" dances that we joined in on. Sidenote: Kathleen and I may have unintentionally gave these girls the impression it's cool to dance like us. We apologize.

 

We did not go to mass at Santisimo Sacramento because we went at San Jacinto so we picked up our room and FaceTimed Dad and Grandpa. Then it was dinner and all three of us were in bed by 9:30. 

 

Other highlights of yesterday:

1) Seeing the power that Alcoholics Anonymous has had worldwide. SS has meetings 7 days a week.

2) Padre blessing children after mass at San Jacinto- you would have thought he was a Beatle by the way everyone was rushing him.

3) Standing in front of the congregation at San Jacinto getting a blessing.

4) Learning that my friend at Madre's favorite story was Winnie the Pooh.

5) Kathleen playing the drum at the school. Don't worry. I have pictures.

That was Saturday and Sunday. Stay tuned for Monday later on! 

             -Erin-

                                         Saturday 
                                     June 18, 2016

I'm purposely not counting yesterday as a day in Piura for a few reasons:

1) We didn't actually get to the church until 10:00 AM.

2) We did not go out on a work site.

3) I was also sick-- I'm chalking this up to a mezcla de un dolor de cabeza (headache), el calor (heat), mis vuelos (my flights), y falta de dormir (lack of sleep).

4) I was so exhausted I didn't even want to think about blogging.

Today Mom and I went out with 2 other Americans- Mackenzie and Thomas, both in their 20s. We are helping to put on a bedroom addition to a house. Don't worry! We are with Peruvians who, thankfully, know what they are doing. We dug about 7 post holes while singing the song from "Holes"--- or maybe that was just Mackenzie and me. Then we either got promoted or demoted to nailing plywood to the frames for the walls. I like to think of this as a promotion in that there were times we were in the shade and sitting on the dirt We did have one casualty, though. RIP Erin's black pair of yoga pants. It was not the feral dogs or the nails but a rusty pipe I was using as a bench that did my pants in. Thankfully, we only had 5 minutes before we left for lunch.

It is now 1:45 PM and we have until 3 for siesta. I didn't really understand how much siesta would mean to me until this very moment. It gives me time to stop and reflect on our journey here, not just traveling, but the broader journey. I thought I had an idea of what life down here would be like, having been to Costa Rica and Tunisia and being fairly well-educated about poverty throughout my education, but I was wrong. Everything is so much hotter, dryer, and dustier that I had imagined. I said to Mom when we were digging the holes, "it's like Canton, but hotter and in Spanish!" I left out that it is much poorer too. 

The family whose home we are working on includes Henry, Liliana, and their 3 daughters, all of whom have double names and whom I'm failing to remember. One is Stefanie-Sofia, one may be Claudia-Jimena, and I think the last is Valeria-Rosario. All are extremely nice. Henry works as a gardener for the parish. At one point, Liliana brought us water and after we all accepted it quickly, Mom pulled out one of our empty bottles and waved it, saying "empty!" Naturally, Liliana thought Mom was asking her to fill it up but Mom was trying to show her how happy we were for the water she gave us.

I forgot how satisfying physical labor can be. Your body can feel the work in every part. In my school, almost everything I do is conversation-based- talking to a student about conflicts, collaborating with staff on how to help a student, consulting with the counselors about a particular issue. This work can also be exhausting, but today's work was on a different level-- not harder or easier, just different. It's like working muscles you haven't used in a while. Huh. That analogy actually fits perfectly with how I'm feeling right now. 

On that note, I'm going to go either sleep or color. Yes, I'm that person who colors to relax. We go out again at 3 and then we have Mass at 7 and hopefully Kathleen will be here by then!! So excited to see my "sisser"!       -Erin-

Peru 2016

                       PERU 2016
Inspired by last year's trip to Peru and encouraged by Kathleen and Erin, Cathy is returning to the same Catholic mission that they assisted at last year.

 Kathleen and Erin will be accompanying her.  This will be Kathleen's third trip to Piura, Cathy's second and Erin's first.

If you wish to follow their adventure they will again be posting to a blog. To find the blog please go to:  www.perublaney.blogspot.com.