Bienvenidos a Carabayllo: Distrito Histórico y Ecológico: August 2006

domingo

I noticed today that my left eye is queer, my scalp dry, and fingers crooked. And more: my right eye is fair, my scalp covered with curls, and the crooks of my fingers are character, each digit fitting nicely into the other.

Sweeping brings comfort. The sound of the broom hairs on the laminate floor soothes. I swerve left then right, to my dominant side, take a right then left step back, and swerve again. This continues for some time, depending on the dimensions of the room. My own personal Zen garden.

Dust becomes dirt gathered to form Nazca lines, less intricate but as mysterious in origin. Where did all this dirt come from? I just swept two days before.

I enjoy hunting mosquitos but realize that they are not in season. So I continue to sweep.

These are the thoughts this morning and I am good.

past work/present work

Here I bring up the past.

Positive/Negative

All,

It has been brought to my attention that I have a talent for the negative.

Yes, it is true reader, I am wont to focus on the dark or disturbing, dwell on it, until any sign of positive is gone. But what will you have me do? Lima is disturbing. I will meet you half way, and stop dwelling.

I was called here to do a job.

In keeping with that, I have decided that now is a time to ask questions and listen for answers. This technique has led me to learn the lay of the land, careful not to jump to conclusions.

More to come.

More details

All,

I need to provide more details:

I spend most of my time trying to maneuver the chaos of the "taller educativo," our educational workshop. Each week, our small team has played host to an average of 30 children ranging from age 6 to 12, four afternoons a week. Each afternoon we spend two hours spreading the love between five tables of children, all seeking help with their homework.

Something is always off. It is not the poverty, the lack of personal hygiene, the incessant noise, or the educational deficiencies. Something deeper?

I find a system that has been set up to relieve the burden of responsibility from teachers, parents, and students. In the classroom, teachers fail to teach but conspire to assign massive amounts of homework to prove they are "teaching." Parents, some unable to read or write, find comfort in our presence and have faith in our abilities to make sure their children "finish" their homework. Students, keenly aware of our naive generosity, demand "help" with their homework without so much as lifting a finger to help themselves.

But really, there is no need to point fingers... for too long.

Form follows function. We must define our function. This is the goal of the week.

Our program must be sustainable, must address the needs of the poor, and must be wary of decay that is the product of complacency and irrelevance. We will aim to equip the children of San Gabriel, Santa Rosa, 28 de Julio, with the tools to forge a new future. What that means exactly, I'm not too sure.

Any ideas?

movies

I continue to read movie reviews by the New York Times and noticed the measured yet heartfelt appraisal of World Trade Center (awful title).

It's amazing that we Americans have the privilege of having this sad story told on the big screen, regardless of the quality of Mr. Stone's work.

It's a shame that Peruvians do not have the priviledge of having their sad story told on the big screen. Perhaps it's for the best... Nicholas Cage would make an awful stand in for our character.

And then you see in large print that the itinerant bombers were foiled and other folk delayed and 35 blown to bits in Iraq.

un mes

There is so much to say...

First of all, I must thank you all for helping me come here. If you have followed this blog, you've noticed the tendancies toward the negative. It is time to write of all else and the things found here that I lacked back home.

Shall we begin with some confessions?

Here I wear familiar green khakis paired with a similarly colored fleece stolen from an old college friend. Everyday a different T-shirt donned underneath and some sneakers when there is field work to be done. I have learned to leave the $330 Mephisto walking shoes at home on most days for fear of damaging their soft leather in dusty Carabayllo. In my pocket, a copy of my passport and no more than S/. 10 in coin.

I live with two other volunteers, Collin and Chloë, in a posh apartment in a posh neighborhood. We have 3 1/2 bothrooms to share between us, leather couches and wordly cable on a decent sized flat-screen television. I sleep in a decent twin bed, the bottom bunk of a half-empty bunk bed. The sheets and towels are changed weekly and we find fresh fruit bounty in the kitchen and dinner in tupperware stored in the fridge.

In this context, at 7a.m. daily, I am driven in a van to plough through outbound Lima traffic until I arrive at the office at about 8a.m.

My entry into the district of Carabayllo is always welcomed by a large and dirty sign reading: "Bienvenidos a Carabayllo: Distrito Histórico y Ecológico." Carabayllo is 184 years old and one of the first settlements in colonial Perú. That hidden fact vouches for the "Histórico" portion of the sign. Supposedly, at some earlier point in time, the valleys of Carabayllo were littered with green. People here farmed land and those from outside noticed its green. Little now in the landscape I know vouches for "Ecológico."

I work in Salud Infantil, Child Health. My position has not crystallized yet but I'm beginning to carve my own way. I help solve quadratic equations and tell stories to 6-18 year olds. I also walk though the dirt in San Gabriel and 28 de Julio, two settlements that did not exist 15 years ago, and visit the sick.

In my first week, I freaked at the prospect of having to teach kids everyday and was fascinated when meeting a woman on her bed, legs bloated with water, face gaunt with death. That strange feeling persists now.

This is the place I longed to be. I may not be able to teach Valeria how to solve for x or to save Karina's life, but I can most certainly try. I have much help from the folks down here and I can learn from many others who've come before: Danny, Katie, Melissa, Fiona, Francisco, Anjuli, Sonya and Paul. And of course I have all of you: Elaine, Mimi, Pekok, Nunu, the boys and the girls.

Stay tuned for more....

mototaxis

A mototaxi painted Richard Sachs colors speeds down avenida Merino Reyna at 15 mph. I ride one of these converted motorcycles up and down the bumpy roads off avenida Tupac Amaru leading into San Gabriel.

a beautiful day

This was the dusk for a beautiful day... I survived one month.

stefan hat recht

From Stefan:

Ich have gerada deinen Blog wieder besucht. Zuerst habe ich geadacht, daß du da nicht viel schreiben wirst (so ist es bei den meisten Blogs), aber ich habe gemerkt daß du ja jede Menge Neuigkeiten in deinem Blog veröffentlichst.

Ich bewundere deine Arbeit, ich kann mir sehr gut vorstellen, daß es ganz schön hard sein kann! Ich hoffe, daß du nicht nur die negativen Seiten siehst. Manchmal habe ich diesen Eindruck. Vielleicht verarbeitest du aber auch einfach manchmal deine Frustration in deinem Blog, und das ist ja gut so. Solange du nicht den ganzen Tag depressive Gendanken hast.

....

So keep up the good work, don't let it take you down too much and look at the bright side, too!

Viele Grüße aus Detschland, tschüß und bis bald,

Stefan

step back

Yesterday was a hard day. I've decided to take a step back and spend the morning in the apartment in San Borja, woking on this blog and avoiding my frustrations.

I am here because I was inspired to come. However, this motivation comes undone with frequency. It is not the poverty, disease, dirt, grey, cold, or incompetance that wears me down.

It is the realization that I am ill-equipped to make change. I console my anxieties by believing that I have yet to hit my stride.

Our goal is interesting. In plain language: to help poor children of the shantytowns of Carabayllo develop their academic, social, and physical health.

I've yet to figure out how to go about doing that.

so much more to say

It's time to put some meat on the bone!

I escaped the educational workshop yesterday afternoon after my perfunctory goodbyes. As is customary, one child catches me and begs for something: a hug, a promise that I will return tommorrow, etc. I compromise and carry Evelina along for two meters before putting her down, dusting off, and shaking hands with Hitler, the driver waiting to take me back home.

I climb up the dirt and rocks to reach the car parked on the collection of dirt above us. I misstep and falter, slipping down the hill but still standing. I was ready to fall and unwilling to get back up.

Teaching is difficult, frustrating, draining and tragic. I fail to see an end to the challenge or feel the rewards of spending two hours trying to extract, cajole, inspire and force others to learn. I walk a fine line, between empathy and disdain.

another dream

Last night I dreamt of Paul Farmer:

I walk up the outdoor stairway that leads to the second-story offices. I arrive late for a meeting that has begun to full capacity. Some are sitting, others standing, but all paying close attention to Dr. Farmer's instructions on how to use walnuts to "brush" teeth. He sits, lanky and laid back in the center of a circle of Peruvians, with a bowl of orange-golden walnuts. There is one open seat to Farmer's right and so I take it. Somebody asks him to show how to prepare these nuts to be used for "brushing". Ah, of course! Always ready to teach: "First, you toss the bowl to freshen and prep the nuts." He demonstrates and before the next step he takes a long wiff of walnuts by diving his pointy nose into the bowl. I interrupt the scene jokingly and confident: "Second, you stick your face in the bowl!" He breaks out in laughter and the rest is vauge.

I feared writing about dreams would be dangerous. Does this one reveal a hidden obsession with Farmer? Or perhaps a strange conception of alternative methods for oral hygiene? Does my poor account begin to describe the joy I felt under his guidance for this silly task?

I am here because of him. He was there because of me.

An introduction to Dr. Farmer here: Mountains Beyond Mountains

mangy dog

Mangy dogs are everywhere in the settlements. This one I'm particularly fond of, seeing that it is by far the mangiest of the lot. Notice the skin around the snout and the missing patches of hair in the coat. No one pets him.